Scratching the surface

Fans of mystery novelist Eliza Reid get a look behind the curtain in her new memoir about serving as forsetafrú (“wife of the president,” translated as “first lady”) in Iceland. But although written with candour, with many endearing anecdotes, readers hoping for a deeper look will be disappointed.

Reid, who grew up on a hobby farm near Ottawa and later travelled extensively, is the author of both non-fiction (Secrets of the Sprakkar: Iceland’s Extraordinary Women and How They Are Changing the World) and fiction. Her debut novel, Death on the Island, a gripping, claustrophobic murder mystery that leans into the isolation of Iceland’s turbulent weather, was an international bestseller.

She wrote both books while parenting four children along with her husband Guðni Th. Jóhannesson, who was elected president of Iceland in 2016 and served until 2024.

Reid also co-founded the long-running Iceland Writers Retreat in 2014.

So it’s a bit surprising that while acknowledging feeling “imposter syndrome,” her memoir barely mentions these accomplishments.

Secrets of the Sprakkar is a collection of essays on remarkable Icelandic women, from Hallgerdur of Njall’s Saga to former president Vigdís Finnbogadóttir, and how gender attitudes have affected the country’s culture and history. Reid included her own encounters with womanhood in Iceland, recounting her experience as a mother.

However, The First Lady Next Door seems to be at a loss when the focus is on Reid herself.

She respects her children’s privacy and does not delve into details of their family life — aside from a few anecdotes, such as her five-year-old daughter’s disillusionment at meeting Queen Margrethe II of Denmark, who doesn’t match the Disney image of a monarch (“I thought you said there’d be a queen,” she whispers to Reid).

This unfortunately leaves large sections of the memoir to dwell on the ephemeral nature of her informal, unpaid role, and whether she had an impact on causes important to her.

As an immigrant herself, it’s natural Reid would want to play a part in that growing (and changing) part of Iceland’s national character. “When I moved to the country in 2003, 4.3 per cent of the population were first- or second-generation immigrants. When Gudni became president in 2016, this figure had grown to 10.3 per cent, and by 2024, the figure was 20.1 per cent.” But there is little discussion of this in the book, aside from her oft-stymied attempts to host a welcoming reception for recent immigrants at the presidential residence.

At times the book seems more concerned with how Reid felt about scoring diplomatic wins, such at getting an official meeting with her U.S. counterpart in 2022, then-first lady Jill Biden. These successes were more important on a personal level (“I was thrilled and, I confess a little bit chuffed that I was responsible for this accomplishment,” she writes) than for any political change.

Perhaps the unspoken truth of the memoir is that just as women’s accomplishments in the political sphere are often obscured or undercut by internal biases in protocol and media coverage, Reid’s considerable work and success as a writer are downplayed in her own account of her life. Which is a shame.

Fans of her writing will enjoy her signature charisma here, but for substance will likely be more keen to read her next novel.

David Jón Fuller is a Winnipeg writer and editor, and lived for two years in Iceland. His debut novel, Venue 13, was recently published by Ravenstone, an imprint of Turnstone Press.