Always Home, Always Homesick: A Journey of Heart and Memory
Hannah Kent has long been a name I associate with raw, evocative storytelling, particularly through her haunting novel Burial Rites. So, when I heard about her memoir Always Home, Always Homesick, I was instantly intrigued. This isn’t just another author’s journey, but a heartfelt exploration of identity, belonging, and the very essence of home, intertwined with a narrative that spans continents and cultures.
From the very first pages, Kent captures the reader’s spirit with her enthusiasm for Iceland, which she first visited at just 17 through a Rotary exchange program. This experience profoundly shaped her, a sentiment I found instantly relatable as I reflected on my own formative travels. Her keen observations—like that unforgettable description of eating whale blubber for the first time, likening it to “biting into a lipstick. Made of fish.” (Page 74)—allowed me to chuckle and nod, recognizing the unique but often humorous challenges of adapting to a new culture.
The memoir is divided into two halves: the earlier years of Kent’s life spent in Iceland, and her later explorations into Agnes Magnúsdóttir’s tragic story which fueled Burial Rites. The first part immerses us in the experience of learning a new language and forming deep connections with her host families. Kent’s writing here is introspective and rich, painting a vivid picture of Iceland’s rugged beauty, and I found myself completely engrossed.
As she transitions into her later pursuits—her PhD, her research about Agnes—she skillfully interweaves her past with her present. Kent describes the eerie, almost spiritual connections she made through her writings, such as when she mentions her family’s intriguing lineage of dreams and intuitions. Her words, “I come from a line of women who sometimes do dream things that are other and strange and not quite dreams at all…” (Page 2), resonated deeply with me. It speaks to the mystical bond we sometimes forge with places and people, even those from history.
What struck me about Kent’s narrative style was her ability to meld personal anecdotes with broader cultural commentary. Her reflections on Iceland’s linguistic purism, where names must be vetted for cultural integrity, sparked my admiration for a society dedicated to preserving its roots. It’s a nuanced point that sheds light on how themes of heritage and identity play a crucial role in the fabric of community.
The second half of Always Home, Always Homesick left me in awe of Kent’s meticulous research into Agnes’ life, revealing how the past informs our present. The sense of homesickness that permeates her story—both for Australia and Iceland—feels palpable and beautifully articulated. The notion of being “home” yet “homesick” speaks to many of us who have navigated the complex feelings that accompany deeply different atmospheres and cultures.
Always Home, Always Homesick isn’t just for fans of Burial Rites, but for anyone who has grappled with identity, belonging, and the transformative power of travel. It’s a thought-provoking memoir that beautifully highlights how our stories are intertwined with the places we come from and where our journeys lead us. As I closed the book, I was left with a warm, reflective insight that echoed within me long after: home is not merely a place on a map but a feeling that resides in our hearts.
For anyone searching for a read that marries depth with personal storytelling and a love for language, Hannah Kent’s memoir is a treasure waiting to be discovered.
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