The perceived transgressions of Leni Riefenstahl have been forgiven, to a certain extent. And today she’s seen as a huge figure in the development of non-fiction films. So, despite an apparent flirtation with fascism – and Hitler – Knut Hamsun probably deserves to be understood as one of the better fiction writers of the last hundred and fifty years or so. Writing towards the end of the nineteenth century, Hamsun’s work possesses elements of a changing time – one from the vast expanses of untamed wilderness to the industrialized metropolis. That metamorphosis would be touched upon in some way amidst a few of his novels, but perhaps nowhere else more adroitly than in Pan, his 1894 novella.

Coming after a stronger work – Mysteries – by a few years, readers might expect something akin to that previous effort. And while the pacing of Hamsun’s writing remains intact, that’s one of the only commonalities that Pan possesses in relationship to the rest of the writer’s earliest work. Hamsun, though, would go on to receive the Nobel Prize in literature, and it can be assumed that the departure witnessed over the span of some of his early works represents the direction that would soon garner that accolade.

Pan, though, is set in the wilderness with a military man, Thomas Glahn, living, hunting and subsisting in a hut with scant provisions and alongside his dog, Aesop. Glahn’s lot in life doesn’t seem to concern him all too much as the character seems to relish his simplistic life style. By contrast, Glahn’s love interest in the novel, Edvarda, is of an erudite upbringing and has been privy to the fine cultural trappings that city folks deem indispensible in life –of course this is a mirror onto what was beginning to happen all over Europe as bucolic life was in the process of being absorbed into various metropolitan areas.

It becomes immediately clear that not only are the two drawn together simply from some base, carnal place, but that realistically, it shouldn’t work out. There’re a number of instances where the two display something more than happiness, but whenever Glahn finds himself in the company of the refined folks that Edvarda associates with, nothing positive results. As the problematic relationship between the two continues, it becomes clear that Edvarda has no intention of remaining with a single man – unless that man has a proper station in life.

As the various relationships that Edvarda carries on are put on display, the novel apes some sort of bland soap opera feel. Eventually, as one may have guessed, it all falls apart. As Glahn is preparing to leave his hut behind, though, Edvarda asks for his dog as a remembrance. Glahn does willingly offer up the animal to the troubled girl – but first he shoots Aesop in the head.

That act of violence is probably one of the few memorable things that occurs in the narrative. The boring back and forth between the story’s protagonist and his femme fatale gets tired real fast. Even with Hamsun’s writing being so easily digestible here, there’s probably something else that this guy wrote that matters more than Pan.