Stories set where the light runs thin — men who fall slowly, in landscapes that don't forgive quickly.
Rob writes from behind the name — a choice, not a shyness. This isn't the day job. It's what happens on a walk, in the shower, on a long drive, with a cup of tea going cold somewhere nearby — something overheard or half-seen that won't let go until it becomes a story.
The landscapes are real, even where the plots aren't. Rob moved to this part of Norway as an adult, and the fells, fjords and copper roofs of Trøndelag and its neighbours found their way into nearly everything written since. As King Harald once said: home is where the heart is.
The men in Rob's books rarely say the important thing out loud. They say it by staying — through whatever life puts in front of them. Restraint isn't an absence in these stories; it's the whole method. The quiet accumulation, not the grand declaration.
Every book carries a little of what Rob hopes love could look like — not lived, exactly, but not entirely invented either. The name stays private. The feelings behind it are real.
— R. B. G.
Six stories, one shared coastline.
Sixty-seven days, ten countries, one friendship neither of them will survive unchanged. Olav Strand keeps the world at a comfortable distance; Viktor Aas has spent years quietly dismantling it. Their round-the-world trip is supposed to be about the places — until, mile by mile, it becomes about each other instead.
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Olav finally has what the whole trip taught him to want — a life with Viktor, shared and ordinary and real. Then Viktor starts pulling away, and won't say why. Exposure is a novel about trust, grief, and the discovery that the hardest part of love isn't the falling. It's the staying.
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In progress
A frozen back road, a car off the edge of the world, and Anders Johansen — the search-and-rescue volunteer who pulls Håkon from the wreck and doesn't leave. What follows is a slow year of recovery in the copper-roofed town of Røros, and a question that sits between them like a winter road: is this love, or is this rescue?
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Norway, 1942. Occupied Brennvik keeps its silence — until a young German soldier at the docks starts noticing what no one else does, and Einar Kvenvik starts noticing him back. Told across three years of occupation in alternating voices, Northern Light is a slow-burn love story built the way the Arctic builds anything: patiently, and against everything that says it shouldn't exist.
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Two best friends. One closed border. When the pandemic seals the Sweden–Norway crossing in 2020, Simmon and Ásllat are forty kilometres apart — and a world away from saying what they've never said. Told in alternating voices, Brotherhood asks what survives distance, and what it takes to finally cross the ground between two people.
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