We sometimes claim that everyone in Iceland is a writer. Sure, it’s hyperbole, and as such slightly out of character for a literary tradition long characterized by understatement and restraint. Still, approximately one thousand books are published here each year for a population of about 290,000, one book per 290 persons—no doubt one of many weird per-capita world records we hold.

Into the twentieth century, the generations worked, prayed, and went about their daily lives in buildings made from mud, turf, a few blocks of stone, and the odd stick of wood. Today, little remains of this long history; its tangible elements have melted back into the landscape from which they emerged. Little, that is, except books. Since the medieval times, Icelanders have written far more books than can reasonably be expected from a small peasant population at the edge of the arable world.