We've had a little break, but I'm happy that this Saturday evening we have another First, Last, Everything. And this time it's author and viking extraordinaire Bjorn Larssen.

Bjørn Larssen was made in Poland. He is mostly located in Amsterdam, the Netherlands, except for his heart which he lost in Iceland. Born in 1977, he self-published his first graphic novel at the age of seven in a limited edition of one. Since then his short stories and essays were published in Rita Baum Art Magazine, Writer Unboxed, Inaczej Magazine, Edurada.pl, Homiki.pl, and Holandia Expat Magazine. He is a member of Alliance of Independent Authors and Writer Unboxed.

Bjørn has a degree in mathematics, worked as a graphic designer, a model,  and a blacksmith. He used to speak eight languages (currently down to two and a half). His hobbies include sitting by open fires, dressing like an extra from Vikings, installing operating systems, and dreaming about living in a log cabin in the north of Iceland, even though he hates being cold. He has only met an elf once. So far. His debut novel Storytellers, set in Iceland in 1920, is out now.

I taught myself to read at the age of 4. I had three or four kids' books and tormented my poor mother with demands to read them over and over and over again. "You must have memorised them by now," she huffed one night and refused to cooperate. She was a horrible parent, obviously, but she was also right. I picked the books and discovered how letters translated to words. After I spent some time re-reading them multiple times a day, I had to admit that mum had a point when even I became bored of them. So I started going through my grandparents' library.

I did not understand the difference between kids' books and those for adults. I read everything. Once I was done with a book I'd place it back on the shelf and move on to the next one. I don't actually recall what I was reading – probably crime and sci-fi, based on my grandparents' taste. I know that I wasn't aware of how sci-fi worked and imagined all of that to be true – at once. Finally my mother found out what I've been doing and started buying me books actually meant for kids. She struck gold with The Chronicles of Narnia. Which I also took as to be a documentary.

For many months I kept opening our wardrobe, then the smaller closets, then kitchen cupboards, hoping to find my way to Narnia. I had only read the first book, not knowing there were any more, so once I was presented with the second I was possibly the happiest kid in the world. And there were seven of them! It took decades before I found out that Aslan was supposed to be "an alternative version of Jesus", as C. S. Lewis phrased it himself, and that the books had Christian undertones. As far as I was concerned, the Pevensies were just unjustly lucky kids that had amazing lives, whilst I had to live in what was apparently the "real" world. Filled with broken furniture without access to anywhere interesting at all. Real world: 1/10, would not buy again. Narnia Chronicles: 10/10, would read again.

I'm cheating here a bit, because I'm not finished yet, but my pick is Annie Whitehead's To Be A Queen. The book is set in the ninth century, which happens to be a period I am researching for my own second novel... except I'm looking at it from the opposite direction. I find myself hoping that the English will win. It's all very strange, exciting, and apparently based on reality. Not one wardrobe present. 

A part of Whitehead's book is an examination of the relationship between Æthelflæd and her husband, Æthelred (don't you dare tell me that the Old Norse names are difficult to memorise, she's also an aunt to an Æthelstan). Those are my favourite parts, humanising the rulers, who for once do something else than going to battles, leading the battles, then returning from battles. It's not a fast-paced-action-thriller-murder-mystery-with-Vikings, it's a delight to be savoured rather than swallowed. Looking forward to finding out whether the ending is going to be what I want it to be and I don't care about the fact that history has written that ending over a thousand years ago.

I was way too young when I first met the beautiful mind of Julio Cortázar. I must have been ten or so, going through the entire Southern-American section of our local library in alphabetical order (this is not a joke) when I bumped into Hopscotch. I read it three times before returning to the library and casually asking – for a friend – what would happen if someone were to lose a book. The librarian made it very clear that she would not be pleased at all and I had to say goodbye to my new weird friends, then scavenge the second-hand book stores until I found a copy.

Hopscotch was magical realism before anybody came up with the phrase "magical realism". It's a book that has extra chapters you don't have to read, ones that present a side quest... story, I meant story. It has an ending, after which you can continue reading. A bit like "choose your adventure", except you're choosing your own novel instead. One of its extra chapters was later expanded into another book, 62: A Model Kit, because of course it would be. Those two books have shown me that my idea of a "novel", something that starts with page one and ends with the words "THE END" was not the only way to approach writing.

I re-read Hopscotch and 62: A Model Kit on yearly basis and keep finding new layers I had to grow into understanding. Experimental novels often tend to be unbearable, experiments for the sake of being an ~*artisté*~ and ~*visionáiré*~. Hopscotch, no matter which chapters you choose to read and whether you decide to end when told "this is the end" or read further, has dramatically upped my writing and reading standards. When I grow up I want to be Julio Cortázar. Except not dead.

Thanks for dropping by, Bjorn and giving us your selections. Hopscotch is a new one for me and sounds most interesting!

Remember, if you want to take part I’ll post your entry. Just drop me a line on Twitter or via email to dave@dpwoolliscroft.com and I’ll send you some simple instructions.