María Elísabet Bragadóttir (b. 1993) holds a degree in philosophy and has served as a columnist for an Icelandic newspaper and the national radio station. Her debut book, a collection of short stories titled Room in Another World, garnered unanimous acclaim from both critics and readers. It was chosen as the "Discovery of the Year" by Iceland's leading newspaper, Morgunblaðið, and voted one of the three best works of fiction of the year by Icelandic booksellers. María has moderated discussions at the Reykjavík International Literary Festival and Icelandic Noir, engaging with notable figures such as the Spanish writer Alejandro Palomas and the Norwegian novelist Vigdis Hjorth. In 2022, she participated as a guest at Authors' Reading Month, the largest Central European literary festival.
The Soap Bird consists of three stories.
Happy Birthday follows a single mother in her thirties on a night out, who becomes captivated by a troubled artist. Battling low self-esteem, she grapples with age and unworthiness, revealing self-destructive tendencies intricately woven between the lines.
The title story, The Soap Bird, is about a 20-year-old café barista who falls for Jóhanna, a truck driver and artist. Their romance is tinged with unease toward Jóhanna's close friend. Unable to articulate her feelings, the unnamed protagonist buys a symbolic soap bird for her love but struggles to find the right time to gift it to her. Amid jealousy and self-doubt, she confronts her sexuality, an aversion to sex, and a fervent yearning for love.
In Dwarf with the Ear, the narrative explores the life of an Icelandic teenage girl navigating her unique time-traveling lineage. The story defies genre norms, blending realism and fantasy to subtly touch on themes of isolation, bullying, depression, and generational trauma.
The collection weaves a tapestry of diverse emotions within the human experience, offering a nuanced exploration of relationships, self-discovery, and the intricate emotions of daily life.Agent / Rights Director
Publishing House
Excerpt
Dvergurinn með eyrað var löt í beinan kvenlegg, að minnsta kosti "óra ættliði aftur. Það er slæmt að vera löt á Íslandi, þar sem dugnaður og vinnusemi eru æðst dyggða. Samt stærðu formæður hennar sig af letinni. Þetta voru stoltar konur sem gengust við ákúrunum og slúðrinu með reisn. Mamma Dvergsins varð ófrísk fimmtán ára til að sleppa við samræmdu prófin og liggja í ljósabekkjum. Hún hjólaði til og frá sólbaðsstofunni og menn undruðust að hún héldi jafnvægi, svo hægt steig hún á pedalana. Amma Dvergsins var alræmd fiskvinnslukona sem hvarf oft frá línunni til að taka sér kríu bak við karfavélina. Langamma hennar var sögð hafa setið við uppvaskið, haft púða undir vöðvarýrum sitjandanum og sápað diska og bolla lúshægt. Langalangamma hennar átti að hafa drekkt sér í bæjarlæknum frekar en að taka þátt í heyskapnum þegar þjarmað var að henni. Hennar seinustu orð voru: Ég nenni þessu alls ekki!
Letin var vísbending um sérkennilegan hæfileika sem gekk konu fram af konu. Þær ferðuðust um í tíma. Allar sem ein voru þær tímaferðalangar. Leti tímaferðalangsins er leyndardómsfull og á henni eru engar þekktar skýringar. Kannski skortur á metnaði fyrir augnablikinu eða óþol fyrir hefðbundinni very í tíma.
Fólk sem ferðast um í rúmi er oft með slæma meltingu því líkamsklukkan vanstillist í háloftunum. Tímaferðalangar fá hins vegar suð fyrir eyrað og þekkjast á því, halda gjarnan um það og biðja fólk að endurtaka sig: Hvað varstu að segja? Það er erfið sítruflun, sambærileg við kláða eða sviða og getur orðið sársaukafull.
Við styðjum okkur við orð eins og fortíð, nútíð og framtíð en þetta eru villandi hugtök. Staðreyndir um tímaferðalög: Þau lúta engri skiljanlegri lógík og því ómögulegt að rökræða nokkuð sem þeim viðkemur, það er eins og með ástina eða hvaða dularfulla sjúkdóm sem er. Að búa yfir þessum hæfileika er viss tegund af ófrelsi. Miða fæst ekki skipt eða fargað enda eru engir miðar. Það má segja að bindandi samningur hafi verið undirritaður við fæðingu. Ef ferðalangur festist á (akkinu endar það ekki öðruvísi en með dauðsfalli.
Konurnar í kringum Dverginn vissu að í henni blundaði hæfileikinn en samt tók engin þeirra af skarið og sagði henni allt af létta. Í rauninni hefur (akk í tíma alltaf verið blygðunarhegðun, eins og klósettferðir og kynlíf, svo Dvergurinn þurfti að komast að þessu upp á eigin spýtur. Ferðalög af þessu tagi eru rómantíseruð í bókum og bíómyndum en í alvörunni talað þá er þetta nöturlegt líf.
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Það voru strákarnir í skólanum sem gáfu henni þetta nafn, Dvergurinn með eyrað. Mamma hennar sagði að hún væri löt að stækka, að hver einasta fruma líkamans væri í þrjóskukasti. Hálfnuð með unglingadeild hafði hún náð 147 sentímetrum eða eins og amma hennar sagði: Búklöng en klofstutt. Hún var send til læknis og vigtuð og mæld á alla kanta. Læknirinn sagði: Hún er líkamlega seinþroska og svo er það eyrað á henni sem mun alltaf vera til vandræða, það er allt og sumt.
Endanleg niðurstaða: Hún var grár og gugginn dvergur með suðandi eyra.
Á morgnana læsti hún hjólinu sínu við innganginn að 9. bekkjar-álmunni. Hún átti sæbláan talnalás, 7777 (happatala). Á hjólagrindina hafði einhver skrifað með svörtum túss: Eivör Magnea í 8-Þ er lítil hóra. Hún settist á hækjur sér, sleit upp túnfífil og nuddaði knúppnum fast yfir nafnið, braut stilkinn af og rúllaði honum eftir járninu. Safinn varð að gulgrænni slikju á stöfunum, en Eivör Magnea í 8-Þ var ennþá lítil hóra.
Orðfærið á göngunum var biblískt, það var alltaf meydómur þetta og meydómur hitt.
Hey, ekki afmeyja kókið mitt, sögðu strákarnir þegar þeir stimpuðust í fatahenginu og á tilskildum tíma hrukku stelpurnar (issandi í gang eins og pínd sirkusdýr. Fyrir stráka var það manndómsvígsla að glata sveindómnum. Hvort sem það var á félagsmiðstöðvarklósetti eða undir upplituðu Manchester United sængurveri, þá skriðu þeir óþreyjufullir í gegnum lostahlið unglingsáranna.
Ef stelpa átti kærasta missti hún meydóminn af skyldurækni, það var hinn almenni skilningur. Kærastinn afmeyjaði hana eins og hann afmeyjaði kókdós með því að taka úr henni fyrsta sopann. Viðbúinn fórnarkostnaður stelpunnar var svíðandi sársauki. Þetta átti ekki að vera ánægjulegt, ekki einu sinni þótt það væri gert undir rómantískum formerkjum. Það var engin leið að (ýja skömmina, stelpa var annað hvort of (jót að missa meydóminn (Eivör Magnea í 8-Þ er lítil hóra) eða of sein (hún er nunna, píkan hennar er samansaumuð og full af sandi).
Það var talað um að tölvufræðikennarinn væri með sand í píkunni. Hvað eiga þeir við með því? spurði Dvergurinn með eyrað og hallaði höfðinu aftur með klósettpappír í báðum nösum. Hún var alltaf með blóðnasir á þessum árum. Bekkjarsystir hennar stóð nær speglinum og makaði sólarpúðri á kinnarnar og bringuna.
Að það þurfi einhver nauðsynlega að ná í skó(u og moka sandinn úr píkunni á henni.
Já, sagði Dvergurinn nefmælt, ég skil hvað þú meinar.
Tölvufræðikennarinn var ekki aðeins með mislanga fótleggi heldur líka lesbía, var sagt. Hún gekk um með lykla í regnbogalituðu bandi um hálsinn. Dag einn mætti hún í skólann í kjól og með varalit. Þvílík transvesta, góluðu strákarnir. Hún var á leið í jarðarför og girti óvart kjólinn ofan í sokkabuxurnar að aftan þegar hún kom haltrandi út af snyrtingunni. Tveimur vikum síðar kom það í fréttunum að heimagerðri sprengju úr (ugeldapúðri hefði verið komið fyrir á fatlaðraklósettinu í skólanum. Hvern átti að a(ífa á allra heilögustu stundu? Tölvufræðikennarann? Eivöru Magneu í 8-Þ eða kannski Dverginn með eyrað? Margar óskuðu sér að geta (úið þennan tíma.
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Dvergurinn missti meydóminn með skólafélaga sem var árinu yngri en hún. Það var mikill aldursmunur, sér í lagi þegar stelpan var eldri.
Ég er samt enginn pedófíll, sagði hún.
Nei, ég veit! svaraði hann.
Hann var Íslandsmeistari í sínum þyngdar(okki í karate og með áberandi spékopp á hægri kinn. Þetta er ekki spékoppur, sagði hann. Kinnin var löskuð eftir högg á stórmóti. Á kennarastofunni gekk raunaleg kjaftasaga: Að stjúppabbi hans hefði hrint honum á gluggakistu í bræðiskasti. Þess vegna var hún ekki með rómantískar yfirlýsingar varðandi spékoppinn. Hún sagði honum ekki að hún vildi sjá spékoppinn hans fyllast af vatni og verða að djúpri tjörn sem hún gæti drukknað í.
Ég hef heyrt að þú sért algjört brainiac, sagði hann.
Og?
Ég hef heyrt að þú talir sex tungumál.
Og?
Stelpur eru yfirleitt lélegar í stærðfræði því þær ná ekki utan um abstrakt hugsun.
OG?
Þær eru betri í utanbókarlærdómi, tungumálum, íslensku. Ég hef heyrt að pabbi þinn sé í Hells Angels. Er pabbi þinn Pólverji? Ég spyr út af nafninu. Og hvað er málið með eyrað á þér?
Pabbi minn er frá Dalvík og keyrir vörubíl, þakka þér fyrir kærlega, svaraði hún og hélt um eyrað af gömlum vana þótt það væri þögult eins og gröfin. Þetta var undanfari getnaðarins.
Nokkru síðar fékk hún krampakast í sturtu. Fyrirvaralausir túrverkir, hélt hún, en blóðið fossaði niður á milli læranna. Svo fann hún eitthvað detta neðan úr sér. Blóðköggull rann til í baðkarinu. Hún var alls ekki komin langt á leið, fóstrið var ekki í nokkurri mannsmynd en hún sá að þetta voru ekki venjulegar blæðingar. Blóð og slím sytraði ofan í niðurfallið. Hún náði í pappír og veiddi köggulinn klaufalega upp úr karinu og sturtaði ofan í klósettið. Stakk svo matprjón (í baðskápnum kenndi ýmissa grasa, og eins geymdi "ölskyldan stundum naglaklippurnar á eldhúsborðinu) ofan í niðurfallið til að ganga úr skugga um að það væri óstí(að, þannig að litlu systkini hennar færu ekki í sturtu og upp úr (yti eitthvað hræðilegt. Hún hellti sömuleiðis hálfum brúsa af stí(ueyði ofan í. Margra kynslóða gamalt farg þyngdi alla útlimi. Tilfinningin var sönn og óbifanleg: Hún nennti þessu ekki.
Eyrað suðaði sem aldrei fyrr.Excerpt - Translation
The Dwarf with the Ear
María Elísabet Bragadóttir
Trans. Larissa Kyzer
The Dwarf with the Ear was lazy and descended from a long line of lazy women, at least four generations back. It’s not good to be lazy in Iceland, where doggedness and diligence are the highest virtues. And yet, her foremothers boasted about their laziness. They were proud women who bore reproofs and rumors with dignity. The Dwarf’s mother got pregnant at fifteen so that she could get out of her oral exams and loll about in tanning beds instead. She biked back and forth from the tanning salon, pedaling so slowly that everyone she passed was amazed she was able to keep herself upright. The Dwarf’s grandmother was notorious around the fish processing plant where she worked for walking off the line and curling up for a nap behind the redfish grader. Her great grandmother was said to have done all her washing up while seated, a cushion under her scrawny bum as she soaped plates and cups as slow as you please. Her great great grandmother supposedly drowned herself in the village creek rather than take part in the haymaking, as everyone was pushing her to do. Her last words: I just can’t be bothered!
Sloth of this kind was an indication of a peculiar gift that passed from woman to woman: They traveled through time. All of them, to a woman, were time travelers. The laziness of the time traveler is a mystery, however, for which there are no known explanations. Maybe it stems from a lack of enthusiasm for the present moment or just an intolerance for a traditional life in time.
People who travel through space often have poor digestion because their internal clock gets thrown off mid-air. Time travelers, on the other hand, get a ringing in their ears. You can tell a time traveler by the fact that she’s generally holding a hand over one ear and asking people to repeat themselves: What were you saying? It’s a difficult and constant source of irritation, comparable to an itch or a burn, and it can be quite painful.
We bolster ourselves with words like past and present and future, but these are misleading concepts. Some facts about time travel: these journeys abide by no intelligible logic and as such, it’s impossible to debate anything that pertains to them—no different from love or any mysterious illness you could name. Possessing this gift is, to be sure, a kind of thraldom. You can’t change or cancel your ticket; there aren’t any tickets. You could think of it like a binding agreement, signed at birth. And if a traveler gets stuck during their wanderings, the only possible outcome is death.
The women around the Dwarf knew that the gift was dormant within her, and yet, none of them stepped up to explain anything to her. That is, time travel has always been considered shameful, like defecation and sex, and so the Dwarf had to figure it out on her own. In books and movies, travel of this nature is always romanticized, but in reality, it’s a wretched way to live.
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It was the boys at school who gave her that name, the Dwarf with the Ear. Her mom said she
was a lazy grower, that every cell in her body was in stubborn rebellion. Halfway through upper secondary school, she’d grown to 147 cm, about 4’8” or as her grandma put it: long of body and short of leg. She was sent to a doctor and weighed and measured every which way. The doctor said: Physically, she’s a late bloomer and that ear of hers is always going to give her trouble, but that’s the extent of it.
Final verdict: She was a pallid and pasty-faced dwarf with a ringing ear.
Every morning, she’d lock her bike at the entrance of the 9th grade wing. She had a seablue combination lock, 7777 (a lucky number). On the bike frame, someone had scrawled in black marker: Eivör Magnea in 8B is a little whore. She crouched on her heels, pulled up a dandelion, and rubbed its blossom, hard, across the name, snapped the stalk and rolled it along the metal bar. The sap lent a yellowish-greenish tinge to the letters, but Eivör Magnea in 8B was still a little whore.
The vernacular of the halls was Biblical; it was always virginity this and virginity that. Hey, don’t devirginize my Coke, crowed the boys when they stampeded into the coat room, don’t pop its cherry. To which, at the designated moment, a gaggle of girls would titter like tortured circus animals. For boys, losing their virginity was a rite of passage. And whether it was in the community center toilet or under a brightly colored Manchester United duvet, they were impatient to scrabble through the lusty gates of adolescence.
If a girl had a boyfriend, she lost her virginity out of a sense of duty—that was the common wisdom. Her boyfriend popped her cherry like he popped the cherry of a can of Coke by taking the first sip. In exchange for her sacrifice, the girl was rewarded with searing pain. It wasn’t supposed to be nice, not even if done under romantic pretenses. There was no escaping the shame, the girl was either too quick to lose her virginity (Eivör Magnea in 8B is a little whore) or too slow (she’s a nun, her pussy is sewn shut and full of sand).
People said the computer teacher had sand in her pussy. What do they mean by that? asked the Dwarf with the Ear, tilting her head back with toilet paper stuffed in both nostrils. She always had bloody noses in those days. Her classmate stood close to the mirror dabbing bronzer on her cheeks and chest.
That someone needs to get a shovel and dig the sand out of her hoo-ha.
Right, the Dwarf said snuffily. I get what you mean.
It wasn’t just that the computer teacher had legs that were two different lengths, she was also a lesbian, someone said. She wore her keys on a rainbow lanyard around her neck. One day, she came to school in a dress and wearing lipstick. What a tranny, howled the boys. She was going to a funeral and had accidentally tucked her dress into her nylons when she came hobbling out of the washroom. Two weeks later, they got the news that someone had put a bomb in the toilet on the 9th grade wing. Who was supposed to have been assassinated while during that most holy of moments? The computer teacher? Eivör Magnea in 8B? Or maybe the Dwarf with the Ear? That was a time that many people would’ve liked to flee.
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The Dwarf lost her virginity to a classmate who was a year younger than her. That was a big age gap, but that was okay, especially when the girl was older.
But still, I’m not like, some pedophile, she said.
Of course, I know! he answered.
He was the national karate champion in his weight class and had a deep dimple on his right cheek. It’s not a dimple, he said. He got that when he was punched during a big tournament. There was an unhappy rumor going around that his step-father had shoved him into a window ledge in a rage. Which is why she didn’t make any romantic declarations about his dimple. She didn’t tell him that she wanted to watch his dimple fill with water and become a deep pond she could drown in.
I’ve heard you’re a total brainiac, he said.
So?
I’ve heard you speak six languages.
So?
Girls are usually bad at math because they don’t get abstract thinking.
SO?
They’re usually better at rote memorization, languages, Icelandic. I’ve heard your dad is in the Hells Angels. Is your dad a Pole? I just ask ‘cuz your name. And what’s the deal with your ear?
My dad’s from Dalvík and he drives a delivery truck, thank you very much, she said, holding a hand over her ear even though it was silent as the grave.
That was the prelude to her pregnancy.
A few weeks later, she got excruciating cramps in the shower. Just sudden period pain, she thought, blood gushing down her thighs. Then she felt something fall out of her. A bloody clump slipped around the bathtub. She wasn’t very far along, the fetus wasn’t in any kind of human form, but she could tell that wasn’t normal bleeding. Blood and slime swirled around the drain. She grabbed some tissue and clumsily fished the clump out of the tub and flushed it down the toilet. She stuck a chopstick down the drain (all sorts of things could be found in that bathroom cabinet, just as her family often kept the nail clippers on the kitchen table), just to make absolutely sure it wasn’t clogged and that her younger siblings wouldn’t find something awful the next time they took a shower. She poured in half a bottle of drain cleaner, too. Her limbs were burdened with a weight many generations old. The feeling was true and unswerving: She couldn’t be bothered with this.
Her ear started ringing like never before.
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