I just finished reading Dreamers (Sværmere; 1904) by Knut Hamsun, translated by W. W. Worster. In this short work, Hamsun tells the story of a handful of characters living in a small fishing village. With spare description he constructs a bright, crisp world that, despite the novel’s brevity, feels somehow real.

I enjoyed the prose and setting and, even though the reader isn’t really allowed inside the characters’ heads, they felt like distinct entities with particular idiosyncrasies. I found myself feeling unsure of what to think of the main character by the end. The author’s touch felt light and fleeting but tinged with something sympathetic for the characters and their lives.

But some go dreaming all their lives; go fluttering mothwise all their lives, and never can make an end.