Things only get worse when Erlend, aggrieved at Kristin's long-simmering feelings of regret, separates from her and goes to live on his own. Both Erlend and Ramborg, Kristin's sister and Ramborg's now-husband, perceive that Simon is still desperately in love with Kristin, and so the novel opens with Kristin's alienation from one of the few friends who remained steadfast through Erlend's downfall. Though Erlend has given Kristin these sons, their marriage has led directly to a life on the margins of Norwegian society. To modern American readers, Kristin Lavransdatter might seem tedious: isn't it time for everyone to just get over it? But God doesn't 'get over' things, and while the various priests who pop up in Kristin's life from time to time chastise her for her faithlessness in holding onto her sin quite so strongly, Undset seems to understand that our gravest misdeeds do have the power to reshape our lives in ways that do not vanish. The Cross depicts a woman still living under the weight of her original sin: her dalliance with Erlend in disobedience of her father, who had arranged for her to marry the gentle, reliable Simon Andresson. The Cross is the story of Kristin's middle age, struggling to raise her sons in obscurity and ignominy alongside the still-unreliable Erlend. When that novel ends, the disgraced Erlend must move into Kristin's family estate, Jorundgaard, having sacrificed Husaby to the crown. The Wreath tells the story of Kristin's youth and engagement to the impetuous Erlend Nikulausson The Mistress of Husaby-called in more modern translations, simply, Housewife-the story of her troubled marriage and Erlend's eventual fall from political grace. But by the end of it, I was convinced that this is the best book of the three. Who is Gunnulf? What is an Arngjerd? It didn't help that Kristin Lavransdatter, in the second book, bore seven sons, several of which are given other characters' names. I did not remember at all who these people were. I began the third book in Sigrid Undset's novels about medieval Norway, The Cross-my Christmas tradition for the past few years-utterly confused.

To the world she had given herself up in her youth, and the more she struggled and fluttered in the world's snare, the more straitly she found herself bound and prisoned by the world.

She had laid open her shielded, tender girlhood's life to ravaging, fleshly love-in dread, in dread she had lived ever since, a bondswoman from the first hour of her motherhood. It minded and minded her of somewhat-of a time endlessly long since-even then she had known that she could not bear the lot she had chosen for herself. The changeless roar of the falls went quivering through her overwrought body and soul.

The Cross by Sigrid Undset