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Pieces and Molds. On Microhistory and Lost Time. Incidence 5. Co-authorship with Carlo Ginzburg and Davíð Ólafsson. Editors Ólafur Rastrick og Valdimar Tr. Hafstein. 

Sigurður Gylfi Magnússon, "The Singularization of History" (Einvæðing sögunnar).

Microhistory - as a field of study - has been in the making for the past twenty years in most of Europe and North America, but it took shape somewhat earlier in Italy around the journal Quaderni Storici, in the hands of historians such as Carlo Ginzburg, Giovanni Levi, Edoardo Grendi, and Gianna Pomata. While this essay touches on the views and works of these scholars, its main focus is on the rise in interest in microhistory across the globe in the last decade and on the topics of recent microhistorical research. The essay pays particular attention to one element common to the theoretical orientations of all microhistorians, viz. the connections between micro and macro.

Microhistorians of all persuasions emphasize the importance of placing small units of research within larger contexts. Until recently, the author adhered to this principle in his investigations. In this article, however, he seeks to refute this principle and show its inherent contradictoriness. The article explores the implications of this move for the epistemological grounding of microhistory.

After discussing the defining characteristics of microhistory, the author examines two currents within the Italian school, one closely tied to conventional social history, the other more in line with the new cultural history. The distinctions between these two approaches are presented, and the case is that they are connected with the work of several American scholars, none of whom is a microhistorian, but all of whom are proponents of grand historical narratives. This article takes a resolute stance against grand narratives such as modernization theory on the grounds that they are constructions which, when invoked, almost inevitably mold historical research in their own image. Thus, research so informed comes to revolve about something unrelated to knowledge of the past.

As an alternative to accepting the guidance of grand narratives, the author advances an approach that he proposes to call the "singularization" of history. Taking this approach involves scrutinizing the details and nuances of the events and objects of research and looking for meaning within them, rather than in larger contexts.

The author encourages historians to cut the umbilical cord that ties them to grand historical narratives, but he is aware that this is not an easy task, as the grand narratives inform the conventional codes of scientific research. In order to circumvent these narratives, the author suggests a procedure he calls "historicalization" whereby a work is 1) estimated on its own merit; 2) compared to other works in the same field of inquiry; and 3) placed in a larger context of general ideas about the development of societies, constructed by grand narratives. Historicalization is thus a methodology for the singularization of history, designed to promote its credibility in general scholarship, within which it must necessarily function and vie for influence.
 
The article severely critiques the conventional theoretical framework of microhistorical research and attempts to redefine the aims and parameters of microhistory in order for it to achieve its full potential. The "singularization" of history shows the way.
   

Education, Love and Grief. A Micro-Historical Analyses of the 19th and the 20th Century Peasant Society in Iceland. Studia Historica 13 (Menntun, ást og sorg. Einsögurannsókn á íslensku sveitasamfélagi 19. og 20. aldar), pp. 339.

This book is an experiment. The attempt is being made to write about a certain time period exclusively from the perspective of individuals and to try to shed some light on issues which have not been part of the traditional historical inquiry. At issue here is the fact that the Icelandic cultural heritage includes considerable quantity of personal documents in the form of autobiographies, diaries, and letters from the eighteenth, nineteenth, and the twentieth centuries, documents which have not, heretofore, been used for the purposes of historical scholarship. But it is not enough to identify the importance of these sources: the great challenge is to figure out how they can best be put to use in the analysis of these time periods. The book elaborates on how micro-historical methodology can direct this kind of research; but, more importantly, it explores the possibilities which micro-history gives us as historians for dealing with topics with which we have not dealt before. In this sense, the book is an experiment which will, hopefully, be continued in the future.

The book is divided into three main parts, all of them further divided into a number of chapters. The first part - the introductory section - deals with the meaning of micro-history and its theoretical strengths. It is argued that micro-history is an important tool for historians to use, especially those who are trying to constructively use personal sources in historical research. This book does not follow the "Italian school" of micro-history which aims towards recreating historical sources which were originally made for a totally different purpose, and which concerns itself primarily with people who lived on the periphery who left behind no sources about their own lives. The sources which tell their story have always been created by the people in power, who, of course, left their own marks upon them. For that reason the recreation of these sources becomes a necessity.

This process of recreation becomes unnecessary if nineteenth century Iceland is the subject matter since a great number of ordinary people - people who did not live on the periphery - left behind personal documents of a different nature. The challenge for Icelandic historians, therefore, is to come up with a conceptual framework which captures the multi-dimensional nature of these sources and works towards a systematic analysis of different historical phenomena. This book is a first step in the direction of a full exploration of these kinds of sources and the possibilities which they give for historical analysis.

The main focus is on two brothers and on the diaries which they kept independently for decades: one for two and half decades, and the other for four decades. These two diaries are extremely large in scope and difficult to analyze. In addition to the diaries, part of their correspondence has survived: most importantly, love letters between the older brother and his future wife. All of these personal documents, together with additional documents which come from people who lived during the same time period and had a similar social status, give an unusually rich opportunity to explore unknown territory in Icelandic culture: namely, the connection between education and emotions.

The second part of the book is the contextual dimension of the analysis. In this part of the book the personal saga of the brothers is put into appropriate context by tracing the contemporary public debates about education. These debates are used as a background for the analysis of the diaries and the letters. This is a crucial part of the whole argument. The history of education has been an institutional history for the most part, focusing on certain issues: e.g. the level of literacy, the growth of the school system, and the increase in the student population. In recent years, a few European and American historians have started to ask questions about the interconnection between education and the family economy: How did the parents view education in the nineteenth century? Did they automatically accept it as a positive step towards a more prosperous life for their children? What were their goals? This research has taken us much further towards a fuller understanding of the development of the educational system. The fundamental theoretical assumption underlying research of this kind is that people do have a lot of say about their own daily affairs. They do not merely receive orders from above and follow them. They have their own plans and goals which greatly affect the development of formal institutions like the school system.

In this section, an attempt is made to take this theoretical development one step further: to the individual and his or her own feelings, desires, and expectations concerning life in general and education in particular. In other words, an attempt is made to put the discussion about education where it has the most meaning: in people¹s own personal lives.

The second chapter in this section traces the development in Iceland of legislation concerning formal education. Icelandic historians have generally concluded that these new laws, especially those at the beginning of the twentieth century, pushed Icelandic society towards more modernization. There is no question that these laws were important, but at the same time it could be argued that these steps were both small and inconsistent. This becomes apparent when one tries to approach the historical development of education from the standpoint of those who were supposed to enjoy these institutions. In fact, a large part of the population was left without little or no formal education, and few youngsters had any opportunity for further education after the age of fourteen. This was really the case well into the twentieth century, at least until the new school laws were passed in the thirties. It needs to be emphasized that historians have approached this development almost exclusively from the institutional point of view, and as a result, it has been described as one triumph after another.

There is no doubt that laws and regulations can greatly affect the general public. But there are other things which also affect their decision making. One of these is the general discussion which takes place in the society, for example in newspapers and journals. Since Icelandic peasant society was completely literate, people of all classes followed the general discussions about topics like education. Journal and newspapers articles were often read aloud at the winter-eve gatherings and then discussed further by the whole family, young and old alike. In this part of the book I used over 50 newspapers and journals, published in the latter part of the nineteenth century and in the first part of the twentieth century, to follow the major arguments about education and to show how those who expressed their opinions wanted to see the educational system develop.

Needless to say, the general discussions are rather complicated and shift direction from one time to another. Overall, one can argue that the debate was split between those who wanted to build up the educational system swiftly to meet the demand which they argued came from the general public and those who urged caution and believed that the educational system should continue to be built on home education. The former argued, in part, that schools were needed so that the people could function in a modern society and participate within the newly established nation state. The latter group, which was both larger and dominated the discussions, pointed out that it would be too expensive to build schools all over the country and that the government needed to prove considerable responsibility, to show that the Icelanders were worthy of their new constitutional freedom. The latter group connected their argument to the changes which were taking place in Icelandic rural society, in particular the massive emigration to America and the migration to urban areas within Iceland. They argued that it was the general population¹s desire for more education which had led to this development and, in order to prevent this, it was necessary to tighten the grip on children and servants. The master of the household was, therefore, challenged to control his flock: more discipline in the society would solve this serious problem.

These first two chapters in this part of the book, the one concerning laws and regulations, and the other which concerning the contemporary debates, deal with the formal side of the development of education in the country. It is important to show how the formal side of the educational system developed because it illustrates the conditions under which the general public functioned. Adolescents, for example, often attempted to seek more education, but were usually prevented from doing so, one way or another. But before they made an attempt to get more education they had first to make up their minds as to whether it would be worth the effort to do so. They had, after all, been reading and listening to warnings about the dangers which could follow the desire for more education. One would think that a logical conclusion for most of them would be to stay in their home communes and work as servants, gradually moving up into the class of independent farmers.

One dilemma in all this was the fact that both groups, those who wanted more public education and those who argued for continued home education, built on the same foundations: a desire to shoulder the responsibilities which came with the new independent freedom. This argument was originally made by some of the most prominent romantic poets in the country, including Jónas Hallgrímsson, who encouraged the general public to progress and they used their ancestors from the Saga age as models which were worth following. For children and adolescents, this message was certainly understandable and, more importantly; they understood it their own way. And this is exactly what is explored in the third and the last chapter of the second part of the book.

In this chapter, an attempt is made to show just how deep ran the two brothers yearning for education and how extensive was the knowledge which they managed to acquire despite great difficulties. Although they took great part in the daily routine at their family farm they used every moment they could find to read, write, calculate, and speculate about their surroundings. They collected books in greater quantity than one would expect from sons of a poor farmer, and they took time off from their work for one winter to study at the pastors house. All this was expensive and their gain was neither obvious nor certain. One wonders, at least, why on earth they took all this trouble to get more education when it was both expensive and difficult. That is the subject dealt with in the last part of the book.

If there was no, or at least no obvious, economic gain to be made from their longed for education and almost all other circumstances worked against them, then the answer must be found within themselves. The question is then how can their psyches be explored: their dreams and their world views? How can we connect their desire for education with their emotional states? The route which has been taken in this book is to focus on two very distinct emotions: the one which follows death, and the other which usually goes with courtship. Grief and love are not picked randomly from amongst the many different emotions. They are the emotions which are most noticeable in both the diaries and the letters. These are emotions which call forth strong reactions, and the brothers, for good reason, expressed them in their own particular ways.

I have argued in another study that children often had a hard time coping with a reality which consisted of a lot of work, isolation from the rest of the family for a large part of the day, and the often untimely death of relatives and friends. To be able to deal with all that hardship they turned to literature and, especially, the Icelandic Sagas where they found some relief and moral guidance. This interaction between work and education (which I cannot really do justice to here in this brief exposition) is responsible for the fact that people in nineteenth century Icelandic peasant society were universally literate, a situation which was somewhat unusual in comparison with other peasant societies in Europe at that time. One of the things which they learned from the Icelandic Sagas was to meet their destiny with calm and resignation. When they stood face to face with death of a close relative, like a mother or father for example, it is noteworthy how soon they managed to recover from the ordeal and keep on with their daily duties.

These two brothers, whose diaries and letters have been examined in this book, had a constant exposure to death from an early age. Five of their brothers had, for example, died when they were young and their mother died when they were still in their teens. It is striking to notice, therefore, how reserved they are in their dealings with death on numerous occasions. They explain in their diaries what has happened, but withdraw all other emotions from that description. In most instances, it is as neutral as it can possibly be.

It is argued in this book that they got their emotional outlet through their writing and their desire for education. Their world was precarious but by keeping a steady diary they felt that they had some control over their lives. It was for that reason that they "documented life" as it was called. They were, in fact, willing to do whatever it took to fulfill their need for education, simply because it was a need and not a recreation. It was their statement about their own existence: what it meant and how it was fought. Their expression - or more precisely, their lack of expression - of grief is indeed extremely striking. But the fact that they withdrew their emotions from the actual event does not mean that they did not have strong and passionate feelings. In fact, their feelings were so strong that they needed to search for an outlet which they found in education. In the light of this argument, it becomes interesting to see how they dealt with other feelings such as love.

Although love is a more difficult topic to examine since the sources are more concentrated and not as numerous as those about death, one can still see that it is in line with the way that the two brothers expressed grief. In nineteenth century Iceland, parents still attempted to control their children¹s relationships with the opposite sex. Arranged marriages were certainly part of the cultural scene in the late nineteenth century, especially for those who were part of the upper class. The lower classes had to use other methods of restraint. Sometimes people were successful but sometimes they were not. If young people, like the two brothers who are part of this study, had any desire to advance themselves in society they had to give both discipline and conditions to their love. The conditions upon which their love rested (especially the love of Níels Jónsson and Guðrún Bjarnadóttir) were linked with education and the desire to reach out for more schooling or any other form of learning.

This is actually a vital part of the argument of this book. Life in general was shaped by the various material strains which people faced. The people who lived under these circumstances had of course strong emotions which they often had good reason to express but, at the same time, their situation required that they control them. In fact, a full and direct expression of emotions was unthinkable. Letting the emotions run free could prove fatal for that particular individual and his or her family. Life had to go on, no matter what. But instead of becoming introverted and deprived of all pleasure in life, people in the nineteenth century turned to education which gave them a form and a focus for their emotions. This becomes clear when one considers the great interest which the general public had in poetry, a literary form which was extremely structured and dealt with all imaginable human emotions. Both brothers collected poetry, especially the younger one, and obviously used it for the expression of their feelings when it was necessary for them to control their joy or sorrow.

This inner control which is so noticeable in the life of the two brothers was very much guided by their interest in progress. It is argued in this book, in fact, that because of constant exposure to the often untimely death of close relatives and friends, people were always prepared to deal with the situation. Grief theories, especially those which deal with anticipatory grief, maintain that individuals who have considerable time to prepare for loss base their dealings with death on hope, in particular on the hope that the dying person will eventually recover. In this book the hypothesis is put forth that this hope, which is usually directed towards an individual, can also be applied on a much larger scale, especially when grief is a constant phenomenon in a person´s life. The theory of anticipatory grief is then adapted to the society in gereral, with one outlet of that grief being progress: hope is turned towards the advancement of society as a way of making life more bearable and more liveable. Reaching forward becomes a way for people to overcome grief. And this is exactly what the two brothers, Halldór and Níels Jónsson, did. To take steps forward was part of the brothers identity and an unavoidable need in their search for a better life. It is this context which gives the public debates and the governmental measures concerning education real meaning.

This story is in one sense a tragedy, but at the same time it is a triumph. The tragedy becomes apparent when one realizes that all of the people who are part of this book had big dreams, dreams which they really pursued and worked for systematically, with encouragement from romantic poets and liberal politicians of the time. But their desires were never met. Conservative voices dominated the direction of education, with the result that only the few and the wealthy had the opportunity to get more education. The two brothers, despite all their efforts, ended up doing what their father had done, tilling a soil which was inhospitable and which did not compensate for a promising future. The tragedy is for this reason on a much larger scale; it was, in fact, a social tragedy, because the society did not allow individuals like these two brothers to live up to their full potential.

At the same time their story is a triumph, especially if we view it from a more personal perspective. They managed to do more than anyone could really expect of poor farmers in the latter part of the nineteenth century. They became pillars of their community and well respected by rich and poor alike. They managed to overcome one hurdle after another and keep their dreams alive. The younger brother pointed out in a letter to his older brother that he thought that they could have done more with their lives, but then he adds: "Why even thinking about that, it is quite uncertain that we would have in fact felt any better."

This book touches on the foundations of Icelandic culture, its possibilities for growth and development at a time of great social change, as mirrored in the lives of these two brothers and the people connected to them. This is a micro-history and one of the first studies in Iceland which uses the conceptual framework which that methodology offers. It is hoped that this is just the first step of many in that direction.

Modes of Living in Reykjavík 1930-1940 (Reykjavík, 1985)

A translation of two chapters from the book: Introduction and Conclutions.

1. Introduction

The decades prior to 1930 were years of transition in Icelandic national life. Practical affairs underwent a virtual revolution wherein, within a few short years, the nation¹s centre of gravity shifted from the rural districts to the seacoasts.

The details of this transition are too complex to be recounted here. In brief, production in Iceland underwent fundamental changes and increased tremendously around and after the turn of the century. In the place of subsistence farming came increasingly specialised production of goods and articles for both domestic and foreign markets.

Between 1910 and 1920, the range of goods offered for export narrowed steadily, so that fish products ultimately constituted more than 80% of total exports. The exports while fish products shows a corresponding decrease, so that in the years 1931-1935 they had shrunk to a mere 9.6% of total exports while fish products had grown to 89.3%.[1] In a sense, these figures sum up the changes which Iceland experienced in the early decades of the 20th century.

Although fish products were occupying more and more of the export market, they were sorely lacking in diversity. In the year 1920, for example, salt fish constituted about 70% of the fish products exported.[2] The disadvantages of such a lack of diversity should be obvious. Even small weaknesses in market conditions or in the annual catch could have baneful effects on the economic life of the nation.

A look at population figures for the 1930´s give us another slant on these developments. It suffices to compare the figures for 1940 with those for 1930.

A distinct movement from the countryside to more densely populated areas is reflected. It is of interest, incidentally, that the annual population increase in this period was only about 1.10% which is somewhat less than in the preceding decade or in the decades that followed.[4] The birth rate declined during the 1930´s but the causes of this are uncertain. The difficult conditions and social instability of the depression years suggest themselves as explanations. [5]

Of further interest are the changes which took place in the composition of the labour market in the years prior to 1930. The developments described in the paragraphs above were accompanied by a shift toward employment in the areas of manufacturing, industry, commerce, transport and communications, and in various types of non-physical labour. In 1860, only 6.3% of the total population was employed in these areas, while 70 years later, in 1930, over a third of the total population was so employed. These figures testify to the magnitude of the changes affecting Iceland in this period. [6]

When the Great Depression hit the Western World in 1929, the winds turned quickly against the Icelandic economy, and it was not long before it threatened to founder. Exports were first seriously affected in 1930-1931 when their process were forced down as much as 50% below their 1929 prices. Increases in foreign duty together with demands for trade parity effectively closed foreign markets for Icelandic export products. [7]

Sharp cutbacks in production naturally ensued, and many Icelandic firms were plunged into grave difficulties. The nation entered a dark period of unemployment and ever-sharpening class conflict.

In politics, extremism began to prevail. Two issues, especially, became foci for dissension: the organisation of voting districts on the one hand, and emergency measures for dealing with the economic crisis on the other. Progress was slowly made toward meeting the demand for more fairly-organises voting districts. Meanwhile, several parties favouring central planning found an increased following and formed a government in 1934 promising a "New Deal" in the economy, with substantially increased government participation a prescription for dealing with the crisis which had grown very popular among the nations of the West.

Great changes were introduced. Industry was bolstered up, both by lowering the duties levied on raw materials and machinery and by restricting the import of consumer goods and other foreign industrial products. These restrictions must have been quite effective. Large sums of money were poured into industry, but it is arguable that such advantages as accrued were dearly bought.

Agriculture received its share in 1935 with the passage -- over vehement opposition -- of legislation concerning the sale of farm products. An emergency loan fund had already been established in order to prevent farmers from losing their farms.

In the fishing industry, attempts were made to find more efficient fishing techniques, to exploit hitherto under-used fish varieties, and to take up new methods of processing. Directing these attempts was the Fisheries Commission. The Icelandic Fish Producers Union (S.Í.F.) was set up in 1932 with the aims of co-ordinating the efforts of the fish exporters and establishing new markets in their common interest. The Herring Fisheries Commission, whose function were similar to those of S.Í.F., was founded in 1934.

None of these measures, however, nor others which have been omitted from discussion here, were the Crisis Years. But how did the residents of Reykjavik really fare? How did they manage in supporting themselves and their families? Were living conditions really as desperate for ordinary folk as it would appear from what has been written about this period? What was life like in a Reykjavik household in the 1930´s? What sorts of homes could people make for themselves? How did they spend a typical day? Also: Is it possible to see in retrospect, by looking at such factors, how the problems of the economy might more successfully have been met? Were some of the decisions made in trying to meet the crisis fundamentally mistaken? Was the crisis, at least in part, home made?

In trying to answer these questions, two very different approaches are taken in this essay. The body of the work consists in two large chapters, chapters 2 and 3. In the first of these, quantitative factors bearing upon the standard of living are examined. These include the process of essential goods and services, wages, housing costs, and indicators of the overall condition of the economy. In chapter 3 a less traditional approach is employed. A look is taken into the homes, lives, and employment¹s of five individual families. We describe their houses and furnishings, follow family members through a typical day, and inquire about their leisure time. In this more personal way, we try to see what life was really like for people living in the Reykjavik of the 1930´s. In a brief final chapter, chapter 4, we reflect upon the extent to which the pictures emerging from the two different approaches are consistent.

Quantitative information concerning those factors which most affected the Icelandic standard of living in the 1930´s is very imperfect. It was not until large-scale governmental intervention in the economy came into fashion that economic data began to be compiled systematically, and this was not until the middle-to-late 1930´s.8 Especially imperfect are the figures on housing and employment. Rather than describing here the various sources used for the purposes of chapter 2, the reader is directed to the list of references.

The households examined in chapter 3 are: (1) the family of Ragnar Jónsson, unskilled and unemployed laborer, who did not enjoyed the luxury of home ownership, and had the most difficult time making ends meet in the 1930´s; (2) the family of Aðalsteinn Guðmundsson, unskilled laborer, and his wife Vilborg Jónsdóttir, which resided at Hofsvallagata 15; (3) the family of Guðmundur Gíslason, shipwright, and his wife Margrét Gísladóttir, which resided at Vesturgata 30; (4) the family of Helgi Magnússon merchant, and his wife Oddrún Sigurðardóttir, which resided at Bankastræti 7; and (5) the family of Ólafur Þorsteinsson, physician, and his wife Kristín Guðmundsdóttir, which resided at Skólabrú 2. Thus, the families represent four different occupational classes: unskilled workers, craftsmen, merchants, and professions, and two main sectors of the economy; the production sector and the service sector. In three cases, the families occupy the same dwellings now as in the 1930´s and were chosen partly for that reason (It helped greatly in reconstructing a picture of the home as it was during the Depression Years). An exception had to be made in choosing the merchant family, as it appears that there is no merchant family in Reykjavik fulfilling this condition, and the case of Ragnar Jónsson who moved from one place to another the whole decade.

The research for chapter 3 rests almost entirely upon oral reports. Obviously, the recollection of the events and situations of fifty years ago is no easy matter, especially as we are here concerned with matters of a kind which are normally considered unimportant, and thus quickly forgotten. Thus, this research depends very heavily upon the trustworthiness of the individuals consulted, and they were consequently selected with this fact very much in mind.

After the reports were collected, they were reviewed by other individuals from the same family in order to confirm them as far as possible. The recollections were then put into the form of written drafts, and were reviewed by the reporting individuals themselves before being accepted as final. Rewriting was done as necessary.

House plans and photographs owned by the families were used as supporting materials. On the basis of these and the reports, plans of each dwelling as it was in the 1930´s, including the main fixtures and furnishings, have been reconstructed and are included in the relevant sections of chapter 3. There was, unfortunately, no opportunity to take precise measurements of the dwellings or household articles, except in the home of Guðmundur Gíslason, shipwright (section 3.2).

Generally speaking, the research was carried out in the same way for all four families; but it will be seen that each case maintains its own air. For example, certain names and expressions that family members used have been preserved in the text, in order to recapture the spirit of the household.

Notes:

8. It was not until the early 1940´s that the Icelandic Parliament set up three separate commissions to study the question how trade and business were to be organised, ion the most far-reaching sense of that term. The most significant of the studies undertaken was that of the Commission on Economic Organisation dealing with the productivity of various sectors of the economy.

4. Conclusion

In describing the 1930´s, scholars have generally painted a very black picture of the conditions of life. Unemployment, housing shortages, and economic difficulties are the subjects most talked about, and this in itself is right and natural. But it is often overlooked that many people managed to avoid serious hardship.

The families we have looked at here were among those who managed fairly well. None of them suffered grievous want. The family of Ragnar Jónsson was in a league of its own. Unemployment and poor housing was their destiny, but with hard work and desire to take on life, they managed to survive. The two families representing the production sector - those living at Hofsvallagata 15 and at Vesturgata 30 - achieved this by exercising great thrift and restraint in money matters. The two families living at Bankastræti 7 and at Skólabrú 2 were much better off financially. The differences are most easily seen in the municipal taxes paid by each family for the years 1931 - 1940:

The economic resources available to each family naturally had much to say about its style of life. As one might expect, this differed considerably from household to household.

The families living at Bankastræti 7 and at Skólabrú 2 enjoyed elegant, richly furnished homes. They had the means to outfit ostentatious living - rooms which served as the households face to the outer world. These rooms were centrally located and everything was done to see to it that they presented a splendid appearance. In such homes, it was sensible to locate the bedrooms on a different floor, for this made it easier to separate off the rooms in daily use from those which were chiefly for show.

Both of these families owned out - of - town summer houses to which family members could retire from the hustle and bustle of daily life.

Travel abroad was rather frequent, chiefly for recreational and educational purposes, despite the fact that such journeys were both expensive and difficult in those times of currency restrictions and inconvenient transportation.

It is clear that these two families lived rather grandly, and were able to avail themselves of most of the advantages that the 1930´s had to offer, at least by Icelandic standards.

Quite another story must be told of the families who lived at Hofsvallagata 15, Vesturgata 30, and the family of Ragnar Jónsson. Neither dwelling, of the two mentioned first, much exceeded 50 m2 in floor area, and the tightness of the quarters inevitably left its impression upon family life.

Household articles in these homes were generally simple and unadorned, and only that which was absolutely necessary was given a place in the house. Living - rooms doubled as bedrooms, there was no other choice, and each room had many occupants. Everyone¹s comfort was limited, especially in Vesturgata 30 which in common with many Reykjavík houses of the time had neither a water closet, nor a bathroom, nor a laundry room.

Briefly considered, it may appear that the wealthier families had little in common with the poorer ones. But a closer look reveals important common elements as well. All of the families were characterised, more or less equally, by energy, industry, and thrift. All of them had long working-days. But all were likewise able to find time for leisure activities and enjoyment, each after its own fashion. In these respects, the families living at Hofsvallagata 15 and Vesturgata 30 differed little from the other two.

All five of the families were given to reading to an extent which is quite remarkable; and all were whole - heatedly fond of Icelandic literature. The number of guests visiting these households is also worthy of remark. It was quite common for relatives and friends from out of town to stay with these families for several nights on end.

In short, the investigations of chapter 3 reveal many aspects in which the style and quality of live was similar for all four families, despite their differing economic circumstances.

On the other hand, these investigations do not provide much support for any very general conclusions; for our sample is much too small, and the picture that emerges is suspiciously positive. This picture does, however, provide what is likely to be a realistic view of the lives of a certain large group of people in the Reykjavik of the 1930´s: people who mostly owned their own homes and had steady employment. Home ownership, as we have seen, was not restricted to the rich. For this group, the picture derived from chapter 3 is quite consistent with that which emerged from our considerations in chapter 2.

The question remains whether the conditions of those who were afflicted with unemployment - that large group of people whose names do not appear on the tax rolls because of their extremely low incomes - might have been improved. The government chose the path of restricting imports, and increasing purchasing power by setting up new business concerns and fixing currency exchange rates. This policy arguably lengthened the crisis and did not improve the employment situation. For, by fixing the exchange rates, exports were reduced, which in turn reduced the national income and made the crisis even more overwhelming. The new businesses did not come close to recouping the losses sustained by the export concerns. In consequence, unemployment was rampant through the end of the decade. It is true, however, that sustaining the purchasing power of the króna worked to insure that the welfare of those who had steady employment was not undermined.

Devaluation of the króna would have produced a temporary cut in the buying-power of wages, but the positive effects on the export sector would in all likelihood have rectified this. Further, a foundation would thereby have been laid for increased employment, and thus a better standard of living for the ordinary person.

Notes:

• 1. Útsvarsskrá Reykjavíkur. Bæjarskrá. Reykjavík 1931, 1932, 1933, 1934, 1935, 1936, 1937, 1938.
  • Skrá yfir skatta og útsvör. Reykjavík 1939, 1940. In the 1940 tax register, pp. 398-399, the municipal tax rates on net income for 1939 are reported. Using these, the yearly income of each of the four families may be estimated:
  • Aðalsteinn Guðmundsson (wife + 2 children) 3,700 kr.
  • Guðmundur Gíslason (+ wife) 4,800 kr.
  • Helgi Magnússon (wife + 1 child) 12,000 kr.
  • Ólafur Þorsteinsson (wife + 1 child) 17,800 kr.
  • (Children 17 years and older were not counted as dependants). This estimate is fairly rough. There are reasons to suppose, for example, that Helgi´s income was actually much higher.

    

Away! Faraway! - And to Another Continent. Personal Sources of Icelandic Immigrants to Canada.
(Reykjavík, 2001)

Anthology from diaries of eight Icelandic emigrants to North America in the 19th century (Anthology from Icelandic Popular Culture 5)

Historical Background

The majority of the Icelandic population was literate during the 19th century. Those who moved to the USA and Canada during the second half of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th century took with them the skills of reading and writing. More importantly, these people often wrote down their thoughts and ideas before they decided to move to a new country. They recorded their experiences during their passage to the New World and documented their daily struggles on a new continent. Their thoughts were expressed in private diaries or journals, in letters to family and friends back home, and in autobiographies. These sources have mostly stayed in private hands and therefore out of reach for historians. Because of this and trends in the use of historical methods, these first hand sources have not got the scholarly attention which they definitely deserve.

The Autobiographical Advantage

The advantages of using personal sources, when one is researching people's everyday life, are enormous. No other historical documents are likely to give the historian the opportunity to look into the mentality of the people who took part in the great migration. In diaries we witness desires, frustrations, surprises and the general world view of those who made the dramatic decision to move to the New World. These perspectives are extremely important to understand in depth the struggle which people had to go through on their way to "the promised land".

The book

"Icelanders On the Move" is an attempt to show how eight individuals, and their families from this small island in the North Atlantic Oceean in the 19th century, decided to pack their bags and move to a foreign continent. It also demonstrates how they took on the challenge of the trip itself, to America, and finally, how they experienced their first year in the New World. The diarists represent a wide spectrum of the social strata in Iceland, from workers and poor peasants to goldsmiths and wealthy farmers. They come from a large collection of extremely colourful diaries which have ended up in manuscript departments in Iceland and are in the group of the very best of that collection. Each individual diarist will be introduced before the excerpts are shown and the authors will write an extensive introductory chapter to the book where they will shed light on one of the most important historical transitions in the eleven hundred year history of Iceland: - the great migration to North America.

The Authors

Dr. Sigurður Gylfi Magnússon received his Ph.D. from Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh, USA, in 1993, and has since then been a lecturer at the University of Iceland and a member of the Reykjavik Academia, an interdisciplinary research group located in Reykjavik. He is the founder of a book series called "Anthology from Icelandic Popular Culture" and he has recently published a monograph called "Education, Love, and Grief: A Micro-Historical Analysis of the 19th and the 20th Century Peasant Society in Iceland." (Studia historica 13 (1997)), another called "The Sound of Divine Revelation. A Diary, Autobiography, Letters and Poems of Magnus Hj. Magnusson." (Anthology from Icelandic Popular Culture 2 (1998)). He has led a group of scholars who have used and developed microhistorical approach in historical research in Iceland.

Davíð Ólafsson, MA in history from the Univesity of Iceland, is the country's leading expert on diaries as a historical source, and has written extensively on the subject. His groundbreaking research on the scope of the Icelandic diary-writing in the 18th, 19th and 20th centuries has in fact opened up a new way of dealing with historical questions concerning this time period. He is currently a member of the Reykjavík Academia and is working on research on literacy and popular culture.

 

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