As I've said many times on this site, I dislike translations on principle - but I am trying to do something about my miserable German, and when I saw...moreAs I've said many times on this site, I dislike translations on principle - but I am trying to do something about my miserable German, and when I saw this book at Foyles last week it immediately seemed like a good idea. I know the Swedish original well, and I figured that it should be easy to read and would improve my sketchy vocabulary. That worked out even better than I had hoped, and I already feel measurably more confident.
What surprised me, though, was that for once I experienced the translation as utterly convincing. Not has been casting scorn on my claims here, and asking the obvious questions: given that my German is terrible, how can I know this is brilliant? But I just know. Even though I'm no good at the language, I have heard it spoken a great deal, and I understand how it's pronounced. I can hear it in my head when I'm reading, and it sounds exactly like the Swedish original. Everything is there. The rhythm of the narrative, with its ironic alternation of comedy and tragedy; the charming dialogues between the unforgettable characters; even the made-up names. It's a little miracle. The English translation is quite different. I can understand every word, rather than having to guess a quarter of them, but the soul of the book has disappeared. It isn't Tove Jansson any more.
If you know German, and haven't read it already, get yourself a copy. It's just one of the best children's books ever written. (less)
I really wanted to believe that this book was meant ironically, that the narrator was the construction of a clever novelist who enjoyed playing with t...moreI really wanted to believe that this book was meant ironically, that the narrator was the construction of a clever novelist who enjoyed playing with the reader's feelings, but having looked around a bit it's rather difficult to maintain that view. Sad to tell, I think it's no more and no less than it claims to be. Anna Benson, a 27 year old former Swedish table-tennis champion without a gram of literary talent, takes an extremely private story and turns it into an autobiographical novel in a way that makes Erica Jong appear, in comparison, a saint-like paragon of impeccable judgment and good taste.
Without apparently once stopping to ask herself whether she might be doing something tacky or inadvisable, Anna tells us how she falls in love with a woman, "C", who is twice her age and suffering from breast cancer. C, who comes across as a sympathetic character, initially rebuffs Anna's advances, but is worn down by Anna's charm and total inability to accept no for an answer. Anna then spends a large part of the novel complaining about C's "coldness" and the fact that she is not prepared to "give" as much as Anna does. We get to hear all the details of what they do together in bed during the course of a nine month long affair. The general tone is as though a blog has been turned into a sketchily connected narrative after minimal editing by a person who has never read anything more challenging than a relationship article in Marie Claire.
C believes that her cancer is in remission, but then discovers to her horror that it has metastasized to her brain. She is told she has at most months to live. The multiple tumors and the chemotherapy affect her personality, among other things removing her libido. She tells Anna that she no longer feels she is in love with her, but wishes to remains friends. Anna takes this as a personal affront and complains to the reader that she has been "dumped by a dying woman". C's last wish is that Anna should keep the story secret, so that her two sons do not have to deal with the additional trauma of discovering that their newly deceased mother was bisexual and had a taste for much younger women. She responds by publishing this book more or less immediately afterwards and giving interviews about it on Swedish TV.
Totally unauthorised translation of Paul's review. It's all Ian's fault (see comment #16).
ESTRAGON : Strunt i det här. Vi drar.
VLADIMIR : Det går inte...moreTotally unauthorised translation of Paul's review. It's all Ian's fault (see comment #16).
ESTRAGON : Strunt i det här. Vi drar.
VLADIMIR : Det går inte.
ESTRAGON : Varför då?
VLADIMIR : Vi väntar på topplistorna, eller?
ESTRAGON : Å. Dom.
VLADIMIR : Jo, dom! Utan topplistorna vet vi inte vem som är topp och vem som är... öh... botten. Världen är ett enda kaos. Vilken resension är bäst? Vilken slängde sig som en glad lax uppför resensionsforserna för att fortplanta sig i solen?
ESTRAGON : Fan vad du är poetisk ikväll. Har du ont i magen?
VLADIMIR : Vi måste ha listorna.
ESTRAGON : Men listorna är kass.
VLADIMIR : (Ett djupt suck. Slutar med att försöka ta av sig stöveln.) Jo, listorna är kass.
ESTRAGON : Det är ett tecken.
VLADIMIR : Det är ett tecken. Men måste vi vänta?
ESTRAGON : Vänta på vaddå?
VLADIMIR : Vänta tills listorna blir fixade. Vi måste.
ESTRAGON : Jag kunde dra, du kunde stanna. Jag tror jag lämnade en grej i ugnen.
VLADIMIR : Du kommer tillbaka. Såna som vi, vi måste vänta.
ESTRAGON : Tills listorna blir fixade.
VLADIMIR : Jo. Men vi vet ju att de aldrig kommer att bli fixade.
ESTRAGON : Jo. Men vi får vänta i alla fall.
VLADIMIR : Vi borde fråga Rivka till råds.
RIVKA (dyker upp ur ett moln) : Listorna blir fixade. Men inte än.
ESTRAGON : Vad var det jag sa? Ett hopplöst fall.
VLADIMIR : Nej, inte hopplöst. Men det finns inget hopp. (less)
In response to innumerable queries from MJ and other people, this cheap, tacky PDF edition is now available to people who want to post sarcastic revie...moreIn response to innumerable queries from MJ and other people, this cheap, tacky PDF edition is now available to people who want to post sarcastic reviews without substantially affecting their bank balance.
Well, come on, tell me what this movie's about! It must be about something. And you're the central character, or so we're assured. But how can the cen...moreWell, come on, tell me what this movie's about! It must be about something. And you're the central character, or so we're assured. But how can the central character not say anything? How are we supposed to know what you're like?
Don't just look at me with those big eyes. Give me a hint. You mean that words are an inadequate way to communicate what we think and feel? That if we stopped talking for a minute and really listened, then we'd be able to hear the things that mattered? That most of the time we talk mainly for effect, or to fill the silence, or because we're afraid of thinking about the important things?
No, that's not it. I wondered for a moment, when you smiled... but I guess your smile meant something else. Maybe you mean that not talking says more than talking. That when we don't talk to people, we say more than when we do. That I should think about the people I'm not talking to, and the ones who aren't talking to me?
You could at least nod or shake your head. Help me see if I'm on the right track. But you don't. Why not? Damn it, this is pretty annoying. I've watched your movie five times now, and I still haven't figured it out. I'm pretty smart. It's your fault. You shouldn't be so obscure. Just explain it in normal terms. That would be a whole lot simpler.
Okay, if you're going to be like that then I won't watch you any more. See if I care. I am now officially telling the world that I will not watch Persona again. Maybe that'll get a reaction. Oh, and the opening sequence. It sucks. Bigtime.
Damn it, you smiled. I didn't mean it. I will watch you again. Maybe I'll get it sixth time round.
"...would make a great present for somebody who's never heard of GoodReads before, like maybe a caveman...morePraise for What Pooh Might Have Said To Dante:
"...would make a great present for somebody who's never heard of GoodReads before, like maybe a caveman recently unfrozen from an ancient glacier" - BirdBrian
"Having observed both Counsel extremely closely, I am compelled to find that the market value of Mr Rayner's efforts is precisely Nil" - Ian G
"... something rather amateurish that looked like it had been done in somebody's back room" - notgettingenough
"Manny doesn't like Harry Potter and sometimes I get mad at him and threaten to throw him into the ocean" - Mariel
"... a waste of time... you can read all that stuff for free online" - Paul B
"The future is an endless oneupmanship to see who can write the wittiest, most popular 200-word capsule review on fuck-all. This is Manny’s fault." - MJ
"... call it Rue Vomitorium" - David C
"... good if you read it in the original failboatese" - Vote Whore
"... almost... funny" - Traveller
"Will you enjoy this? In a word, no, unless you are a masochist" - Sean D
"Never in my life I seen a more desperate attempt to get votes" - Alfonso
"... advertising..." - Esteban
"If I'd been drinking I think it could have made me seasick" - Tabitha
"The thing about Manny... he almost never throws feces at random strangers." - Kat
"... explicit ... the author has failed ..." - Scribble
"... rattling a virtual tip jar at every opportunity ..." - Jason P
"Manny, you sure are fascinated with Stephenie Meyer" - Rowena M
"GoodReads in-jokes ... off-putting ..." - Cecily
"... enough..." - Alan B __________________________________
Over the last couple of years, several kind people have asked whether I'd considered publishing a collection of my best reviews. I always replied that I appreciated the suggestion, but it didn't seem like a sensible thing to do. But, a few weeks ago, I started wondering whether I shouldn't give it a shot after all. If Goodreads unexpectedly folded up - these things happen - it would be so annoying to lose my writing. Self-publishing has become cheap and easy. And I've got a fair amount of experience with type-setting. How much work could it be to implement a few scripts to turn HTML into LaTeX and then upload a PDF file to Lulu?
Well, it's never quite as straightforward as you think, but here is the result. For the benefit of other people who may feel tempted to do the same thing, let me give you the key lessons I've learned from this little adventure:
1. Sign up an editor and some readers. No author can be objective about their own work; they need keen external eyes to tell them both what's good and what's bad about it. It was fortunate for me that notgettingenough, who has long-term experience with publishing, took an early interest in the project and was willing to act as editor. She ruthlessly corrected several of my dumber ideas, forced me to think about issues I'd happily have ignored, and made sure that the book was produced to professional standards. My advisory committee - BirdBrian, Mariel and Ian - read through the manuscript and gave me encouragement and helpful suggestions. They convinced me that it was worth continuing and taking the time required to make it look good. Thank you, guys! You have all been so thoughtful and patient, and I greatly appreciate it!
2. Think carefully about which reviews to include. Not groaned over my initial selection, which probably took an hour to do and had no structure whatsoever. She encouraged me to group the reviews by style and type of book, after which I saw that some things were grossly overrepresented. Even if bashing Twilight is the Goodreads national sport, I didn't need this many examples of the genre. And much as I love writing about Flaubert, Proust, Wittgenstein and Kasparov, it's likely that the average reader will not share my enthusiasms to the same degree.
3. Acquire at least a smattering of knowledge regarding copyright. As I now understand it, most quoted text that might appear in a Goodreads review should be covered by the rules on Fair Use. I found the following passage from this page helpful:
Section 107 contains a list of the various purposes for which the reproduction of a particular work may be considered fair, such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. Section 107 also sets out four factors to be considered in determining whether or not a particular use is fair:
- The purpose and character of the use, including whether such use is of commercial nature or is for nonprofit educational purposes
- The nature of the copyrighted work
- The amount and substantiality of the portion used in relation to the copyrighted work as a whole
- The effect of the use upon the potential market for, or value of, the copyrighted work
The distinction between fair use and infringement may be unclear and not easily defined. There is no specific number of words, lines, or notes that may safely be taken without permission. Acknowledging the source of the copyrighted material does not substitute for obtaining permission.
The 1961 Report of the Register of Copyrights on the General Revision of the U.S. Copyright Law cites examples of activities that courts have regarded as fair use: "quotation of excerpts in a review or criticism for purposes of illustration or comment; quotation of short passages in a scholarly or technical work, for illustration or clarification of the author's observations; use in a parody of some of the content of the work parodied..."
Unfortunately, I learned the hard way that copyrighted images are generally not easy to include: the problem is that you'll be using the whole image, rather than just an illustrative part of it. Martha, my talented cover artist, had put together the following very attractive cover:
But, alas, the Estate of E.H. Shepherd thought this was an "inappropriate" use of Pooh Bear's image and politely but firmly refused to grant me permission. I didn't even get that far with Penguin (Jemima Puddle-Duck) or Gallimard (the Little Prince), who still haven't given me any clear answers. Not, in her capacity as excutive editor, made the sensible but painful decision to go for a simpler solution.
So there have been a few rough moments, but all in all I found this an interesting and rewarding experience. And now, I hardly need add, I'm curious to see if anyone is going to buy it! It's available from this Lulu page.(less)
[The following passage was discovered in 2007 in an early draft of Anthony Powell's novel At Lady Molly's. It was presented at a joint meeting of the...more[The following passage was discovered in 2007 in an early draft of Anthony Powell's novel At Lady Molly's. It was presented at a joint meeting of the Anthony Powell and Sigfrid Siwertz societies held earlier this month in Stockholm, where it was the occasion for considerable debate.]
I suddenly realised that the person talking with Sir Magnus was General Conyers, whom I had not seen in over a year. I scanned his face anxiously - at that age, senility can set in with terrible suddenness - but he seemed almost preternaturally unchanged. A moment later, he had moved over to join me.
"You look well, sir," I hazarded.
"Keeping busy," said the General. "That's the important thing. Had I started reading Swedish when we last met?"
"You have learned Swedish?" I asked, unable to conceal my surprise.
He waved a hand dismissively. "I've always had a facility for languages, and Swedish is one of the easier ones. My accent is dreadful, of course, but all I want to do is read. Well worth the effort. Are you familiar with the Swedish authors?"
I said diffidently that I had read a little Strindberg. The General nodded.
"Can't say I like him," he said, "but he does express that particular view of life with unusual clarity. I vastly prefer Selma Lagerlöf. Do you know her?"
I was forced to admit that my acquaintance was limited to recognising her name. The General looked at me disapprovingly.
"Wonderful writer," he said, shaking his head. "Can't understand why she isn't better known. Beautiful lyrical style, deep religious feeling without an ounce of sentimentality. If anyone succeeds in converting me at this late date, she's the woman to do it. I found myself weakening more than once."
As usual, I felt I had been lapped before the race had properly got under way. The General continued unchecked.
"My latest find," he said, "is Sigfrid Siwertz. Interesting chap. I just finished Selambs. You probably haven't heard of it?"
I indicated that he had guessed correctly.
"You might remember my interest in Freud," he said. "I rather think Herr Siwertz is a fellow admirer. The novel is a kind of categorisation of the different types of egoistic narcissism. He traces it back to its roots, and shows how it develops in different forms. Not afraid either to show how it's linked to sex and death. Some parts are rather shocking. Don't think he'd have got it published here. France would be another matter, of course."
I instinctively looked around, but no one seemed to be listening to our conversation.
"He follows the lives of five siblings," continued the General, "from childhood to old age. Good idea, but flawed execution, I'm afraid. Too compressed, too hurried. And as for the style, hopelessly old-fashioned. Makes a strange contrast with the material."
He looked at me suddenly.
"Young chap like you," he said. "Just starting off your literary career. Evidently talented."
I tried to protest, but he waved away my objections.
"No point in false modesty, Nicholas. Now, you could do justice to Herr Siwertz's idea. A dozen volumes, develop the theme at a proper pace. And in a more modern idiom. Maybe along the lines of Virginia Woolf."
"To be honest," I said, "I don't like her very much."
The General gave me another disapproving look.
"The woman can write, you know," he said.
"I'm aware of that," I replied. "I just don't personally enjoy her writing. Different tastes."
The General laughed. "Well, if you insist, then maybe more like that young Frenchman who so tragically left us recently - what's his name - Proust. I hope you enjoyed Côté de Guermantes at least?"
"I've read the whole series," I said. For once, I seemed to be ahead. "I think it's a remarkable piece of work."
The General nodded enthusiastically. "I must get the later books," he agreed. "But, going back to your novel. Are we agreed then? Twelve volumes, theme from Siwertz, style from Proust?"
The old tone of command was still there; I had evidently been hand-picked for a daring raid into enemy territory, and wondered what my chances of survival were. It seemed too late to decline. I comforted myself with the thought that his casualty figures had always been low, despite his unorthodox tactics.
"I shall do my best, sir," I said awkwardly.
The General laughed, and clapped me on the back. His physical vigour was extraordinary. "I shall expect regular reports," he said. "And now, if you will excuse me, I must get back to Sir Magnus. A small but urgent thing I need to tell him."
He disappeared into the crowd, and I stood, wondering what exactly had just happened. Widmerpool came up to me.
"I saw you talking with Conyers," he said. "He seems to have some connection to Donners. He didn't say what it was, by any chance?"
"We didn't discuss anything important," I replied. "Just books." (less)
In late 1984, we were living in an apartment in Uppsala, Sweden. Our neighbor in the adjoining house was B, the charming director of the local theater...moreIn late 1984, we were living in an apartment in Uppsala, Sweden. Our neighbor in the adjoining house was B, the charming director of the local theater. He shared his apartment with his boyfriend M, a sulky, good looking young actor, and he also had a girlfriend who would sometimes stay over. Their bedroom was separated from ours by a thin wall; you could hear enough to get a fair idea of what was happening after they'd retired for the night. They all seemed to be having a remarkably good time.
B was an energetic and enterprising person. Not content with putting on bread-and-butter plays at Uppsalas Stadsteater - I remember seeing a rather nice production of Pygmalion - he wanted to try his hand at something edgier. He had a longstanding fascination with Gunnar Ekelöf, a mid-20th century Swedish surrealist author; in particular, he wanted to stage Diwan, Ekelöf's epic poem about a Byzantine prince who is tortured, castrated and blinded, but none the less manages to find a mystic inner peace. I imagine the theater considered the idea too speculative. Nothing deterred, B decided he would do it at home, with the help of his little ménage.
In the early 80s, there was a short-lived series called Mammut ("Mammoth"), which came out about twice a year and collected together work from indepen...moreIn the early 80s, there was a short-lived series called Mammut ("Mammoth"), which came out about twice a year and collected together work from independent Swedish cartoonists. It looks like it sank without trace, and I can find very little about it on the Web - not even an ISBN for the first number, pictured here.
It's a shame, because the contributors were usually pretty good. My favorite, which I believe came out in #2, was a story about a young woman who works as an art teacher in a secondary school. You suspect that she's an idealised version of the author. She spends her day dealing with snotty 13-year-olds who just want to make her life as miserable as possible.
This morning, she's looking at one snotty brat's miserable drawing and he's being his usual asshole self.
"Have you ever fucked anyone, miss?" he asks, using the exaggeratedly polite third-person form of address. You can see the other kid next to him grinning, wondering what the reaction is going to be. Unexpectedly, teacher snaps.
"OF COURSE I HAVE!!!" she yells, putting her face about ten centimeters from his. "HAVE YOU????"
It's abundantly clear from his expression that the answer is "No".
This excellent Swedish graphic novel contains one of my favorite bad puns. The artist's girlfriend has just discovered his latest painting, which look...moreThis excellent Swedish graphic novel contains one of my favorite bad puns. The artist's girlfriend has just discovered his latest painting, which looks remarkably like this:
Artist: [sheepish expression] Öh... hon sa att hon hette Maja.
Girlfriend: [jealous, angry] Prata inte en massa goja!
Unfortunately it's hard to render into English, but, with Google Translate, Google Image Search and a little thought, I'm sure you can figure it out. (less)
"Okay, listen up guys, who wrote this: 'Her body was moving in great surging billows under him. For one fearful moment they listened to each other's gasping breathing and she whispered in his ear: 'Yes.' The darkness in front of his eyes was lit by myriads of tiny twinkling, singing stars. In cruel rapture mingled with pain and fear he let it happen.'"
"Nabokov," suggested Thomas. "Miller," said Trine. "It's got to be an Englishman," said Alva. "D.H. Lawrence." Axel smiled and shook his head as wilder and wilder suggestions rained down on him from all sides.
"Agnar Mykle," he said. If he had been wearing a hat, he would have raised it: Axel had only one literary hero in Norway, Agnar Mykle. "From a translation of Lasso rundt fru Luna. A scandalously bad one, I should add. The stupid fuckers have cut at least ten sentences just in this little passage. It's a joke."
I give in: I just have to read Mykle's controversial masterpiece. Though so far the best I've found is a Swedish-language edition from 1958. _____________________________________
Update: after some more searching, I find that Lasso Rundt Fru Luna has recently been reprinted and is available in hardback. The good news is that the text has been taken directly from Mykle's original manuscript, restoring many passages that were cut in the 1954 edition. The bad news is that it costs 399 Norwegian kronor plus another 200 for postage to a non-Norwegian address, making an eye-watering total of about 110 US dollars. In contrast, the used Swedish-language translation I found is only about $20, everything included. Swedish and Norwegian are very closely related languages, and a translation will be unusually faithful to the original. But, damn it, it's still a translation.
What should I do? I just can't decide. My heart is telling me to buy the restored Norwegian version, but my wallet thinks otherwise.
Lotta, whom you may already have met in Barnen på Bråkmakargatan, has a foul temper and a total unwillingness to do as she's told. But she's an extre...moreLotta, whom you may already have met in Barnen på Bråkmakargatan, has a foul temper and a total unwillingness to do as she's told. But she's an extremely resourceful five year old, and she's used to sorting out little family crises; just as well, since her father is utterly disorganized and often forgets essential items. Last Christmas, he arrived too late to get the last tree, but Lotta found one that, literally, fell off the back of a truck. Now it's Easter, and Lotta is not surprised at all when she overhears him telling Mom that there are no eggs for their Easter Egg hunt.
Lotta goes down to the candy store on the corner, and her luck is in again. Though the owner, nice Mr. Vassilis, isn't feeling so lucky. In fact, he's almost in tears. He's closing down his store and moving back to Greece. Lotta asks why.
"Damn Saturday candy," mutters Mr. Vassilis bitterly. (The tradition in Sweden is that kids only get candy on Saturday). "What's wrong with this country? How can a candy store survive if kids only get candy once a week?"
Lotta feels sorry for Mr. Vassilis, but she also guesses that there might be something in it for her. She asks about his Christmas assortment. Amazingly enough, Mr. Vassilis has already got his collection of chocolate angels and Santa Clauses. "You might as well have them," he says. "No way I'll sell them now." He gives Lotta the whole box.
Lotta has such a terrific secret! She drags the box home without anyone noticing her and goes out in the garden, where she strategically distributes the candy. Then she sneaks in. The bad news is now generally known, and everyone is blaming each other for not buying eggs in time.
"Why not check the garden anyway?" asks Lotta innocently. In the end, they go out to humor her.
WTF?? No one can figure out what's happened. There is candy, but from the wrong time of year! They beg Lotta for an explanation.
"I can do almost anything!" says Lotta proudly.
My kids loved this story when they were Lotta's age. (less)
A quick Google search doesn't produce any proof, but it's hard to believe that this classic Swedish coming-of-age story didn't partly inspire Bergman'...moreA quick Google search doesn't produce any proof, but it's hard to believe that this classic Swedish coming-of-age story didn't partly inspire Bergman's Sommaren med Monica, generally acclaimed as one of the most brilliant films of his early period. There's no girl, but many other elements are the same. The three boys steal a yacht and sail out to spend the summer cruising the Stockholm archipelago; after a while, food stocks run low and things begin to fall apart.
If you're a fan of the movie, you may well want to check this one out. While I like Bergman's version better, Siwertz has his own take on the idea and there are some extremely good scenes. Just as with the Bergman, it simultaneously manages to be idyllic and very disquieting. _____________________________________
Well, we've now seen the 1987 movie version, and I'm afraid it's rather disappointing. Most of the key scenes are there; the story's soul, however, has disappeared. The result is a cute teen adventure rather than a glimpse of the abyss lying behind the world's sunny facade.
Oddly enough, Sommaren med Monica is more like the book than the movie which is supposed to represent it. I'm reminded of Brazil and 1984. (less)
What is this book about? I can see why most of the reviewers are having trouble. It's got laugh-out-loud slapstick, heartbreakin...more You know it ain't easy
What is this book about? I can see why most of the reviewers are having trouble. It's got laugh-out-loud slapstick, heartbreaking tragedy, unforgettable characters, ridiculous stereotypes, breathtaking lyricism, flat ultrarealist prose... you see the problem. But one thing's clear. There's a whole lot about the Beatles.
So let me introduce to you
Kim Karlsen is 11 when Love me do comes out. He and his three friends are immediate converts, and identify with John, Paul, George and Ringo. (He's Paul). They see the world through Beatles-shaped glasses. The novel traces their varying fortunes from 1965 to 1972.
Norwegian wood
Like Jan Kjærstad, who's clearly paying homage to Christensen at times, the book is both quintessentially Norwegian and completely universal. Kim is Everyman - to be exact, Everyfuckedupteen - but he also happens to be an Everyman who lives in a specific part of Oslo and assumes you have an intimate knowledge of its geography, history and social structure. You know it makes sense. I mean, look at Dante, right?
Living is easy with eyes closed
Did I say fucked up? I had forgotten quite how fucked up people were in the 60s. So unbelievably blind to what was going on around them, to the most obvious and elementary facts of life. But, at the same time, occasionally so in touch with the most profound things.
Carrying pictures of Chairman Mao
The left-wing politics. Comrades, I warn you that this part is toe-curlingly embarrassing, but he just delivers it with a straight face. You actually can't tell whether he's being ironic or not. An impressive piece of historical reconstruction.
Man, you've been a naughty girl
Love makes you stupid. Kim's in love with both Nina and Cecilie and he can't decide between them. I guess that makes him twice as stupid as most people? Or maybe he's just more upfront about it.
Very strange
There's magical realism too.
All the lonely people
Life is hard. Terrible things happen all the time, when we least expect them. The book is full of helpless, lost people: Dragen, Fred, Uncle Hubert, Jørgen, Kim himself. If you like Hamsun, Christensen is surely his greatest and most faithful disciple.
These are words that go together well
He has a wonderful feeling for the poetry of everyday language. It's like the Beatles (duh) or Huck Finn.
Yeah, yeah, yeah
I know, I say this too often, but the book is untranslatable. Looking at the other reviews, nearly all the Norwegians love it and nearly all the foreigners wonder what the fuss is about. Turning it around, would you expect Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds to be any good in Norwegian? But if you have even a passing acquaintance with the language (my own Norwegian isn't great), consider putting it on your list. (less)
Does every hypernaturalistic author have a dream-fantasy inside them that they're longing to let out? I found out earlier this year that that was the...moreDoes every hypernaturalistic author have a dream-fantasy inside them that they're longing to let out? I found out earlier this year that that was the case with Flaubert. His reputation, of course, rests on the so-real-you-can-touch-it Madame Bovary. L'Education Sentimentale is similar in construction, and even Salammbô, his historical blockbuster, is meticulously researched and as close to the facts as possible; I was interested to see that Marguerite Yourcenar cites it as one of the inspirations behind Memoires d'Hadrien. But the book he most wanted to write, which he revised several times and only published shortly before his death, was La Tentation de Saint Antoine, a hallucinatory prose-poem in which nearly all the action occurs inside Anthony's dreams.
Well, that was surprising enough, and now I find Gunilla Bergström has gone and done the same thing. All the previous titles in the Alfons Åberg series ("Alfie Atkins" in English) are brilliant little slices of everyday life for Swedish children. What makes them great are her feeling for language and her ability to bring out the drama inherent in apparently trivial actions like going to bed or getting ready for school in the morning. But Alfons och Styrkesäcken is a complete departure. Just as with Saint Antoine, most of the book is an extended symbolist dream-sequence. Alfons imagines that he is the god of a whole civilisation of little elves. He's equipped with his styrkesäck ("sack of strength"), which contains a flower spray, a cinnamon roll and a rose. All of these objects turn out to have mystical properties. The flower-spray never runs dry, and allows him to put out a huge fire. The cinnamon roll is an inexhaustible source of food à la feeding of the five thousand, and the rose lets him transport his people into a state of religious bliss. When Alfons wakes, he tells his dream to Dad. "It was real!" Alfons insists. "I was there!" Dad's sceptical. But, on the floor, there's a rose petal no one can explain, and Dad suddenly has a vision of his beloved Fru Åberg.
Well. You probably have to be a long-term Alfons fan to understand how shocking that is. One of the basic conventions, scrupulously observed until this book, has been that Alfons's mother is never mentioned. You have no idea what's happened to her, and my own kids speculated about her any number of times. And now, suddenly dropped into the storyline in connection with a supernatural occurrence! I'm still getting over it.
Are there any more cases like this? I'm really curious to know if it's a general pattern or just a weird coincidence...
Tösses Konditori, Karlavägen 77, Stockholm Monday, noon We need to talk
The handwriting was female. He didn't know why he'd turned up. Maybe it was because he'd tried everything else.
"You're R.E. Vuer?"
The voice had come from behind him. He spun round, his hand instinctively reaching inside his jacket. The woman looked at him gravely.
"Don't shoot me. At least, not until you've drunk your coffee."
She put two full cups on the table, then took off her coat and sat down. He had to admit she was quite attractive.
"Well?" he asked.
She took a sip of coffee. "You've been tracking Patterson for some time now, haven't you?" she said. It wasn't a question.
"Maybe," he answered.
"He's here," she said. She reached into her bag, and pulled out a shiny paperback. "Look at this."
The title was Postcard Killers. There were two authors: James Patterson, Liza Marklund.
"Who...?" he said confusedly, shaking his head. Suddenly, the jet-lag was catching up with him.
"One of our most popular authors," the woman replied. "She writes... wrote... intelligent feminist thrillers. I read the whole Annika Bengtzon series, all eight of them. Great books."
"And now..." She swallowed, visibly fighting back tears. "Her reputation... ruined in one day. No one will ever take her seriously again. She's finished."
She looked straight at him. He couldn't help noticing how blue her eyes were.
"Mr. Vuer," she said, "I've got to stop that... djävla skithög... before he does it again. Will you help me?"
He put his hand on top of hers.
"There's nothing I'd like to do better," he growled. "And call me R.E."
Chapter 2
They walked down Strandvägen.
"Is this your first time in Stockholm?" she asked politely.
"Uh-huh," he grunted.
"Well," she said. "That's the Royal Palace over there. But you'd probably rather know where Lisbeth Salander lives, right?"
He ran his hands through his tangled hair and gave her a crooked smile. Herregud, he really was quite good-looking under that dishevelled exterior! He just needed someone to look after him...
She made an effort to pull herself together. "It's up there," she said, pointing. "Nice location, don't you think?"
He stopped suddenly.
"We're wasting time," he said. "We need to get through four murders and five annoying plot twists, visit Los Angeles, Copenhagen and Oslo, get some back story, fall in love, and have some tasteful but explicit sex before we stop Patterson in a bloody showdown seconds before he gets away. And we need to do it all in the next page and a half. It's impossible. Might as well give up now."
She moved closer, and suddenly he was holding her, their bodies molding together. "I know how he persuaded her to do it," she whispered, as she nibbled his right earlobe. "And I've already bought the plane tickets. Still think it's impossible?"
He pulled back for a moment, then kissed her again. "Hey," he said softly. "I think I like working with you."
[The rest of this review has been suppressed in the interests of good taste and general public decency]
Afterword from the second author
When world-famous Goodreads reviewer Manny Rayner contacted me and asked if I would like to help him write this article, I was so pleased and flattered! Oh yes, I said, without a second thought. Maybe this will make me famous too!
Another book in the series that starts with Tant Grön, Tant Brun och Tant Gredelin. Tant Brun, the brown-clad maiden aunt, is going to have a birthda...moreAnother book in the series that starts with Tant Grön, Tant Brun och Tant Gredelin. Tant Brun, the brown-clad maiden aunt, is going to have a birthday. The other aunts decide they'll make some clever improvements to her clothes, while Farbror Blå composes a little playlet in her honour and drills the two children until they get their lines right. I get the impression that he's got some kind of crush on her, but, although his verses are a trifle suggestive, he does manage to stay the right side of decent. As if you were in any doubt about that.
Several comic misunderstandings occur when the dress is kidnapped and taken off to be improved, but it all ends happily. It's definitely one of the wittiest episodes, and amusing for adults as well as children. (less)
Aaargh! I loved several of the novels in this series, and I had such high hopes for this one when I was about a quarter of the way through. But rarely...moreAaargh! I loved several of the novels in this series, and I had such high hopes for this one when I was about a quarter of the way through. But rarely have I seen something fall apart at the end in quite such a spectacular fashion as En Plats I Solen. Whatever happened to her?
All the same, there were some wonderfully bitchy conversations. My favourite bit was when Annika's new boss at the newspaper is telling her she needs to sex up her next article.
"Okay," he says, "we want an interview with some attractive young woman who's prepared to say that she bitterly regrets getting dragged into the parties-and-coke scene. If she's got breast implants, all the better."
"How important are the breast implants?" asks Annika.
"What?" says her boss, momentarily off-balance.
"How important are they? I mean, should I prioritise them over the degree of remorse?"
He angrily tells her to use her judgement. A couple of days later, Annika is talking with the local contact in Spain.
"I need a hot former cokehead who can do an interview," she says. "Preferably someone with fake tits."
"How important are the fake tits?" asks the contact.
"Put them at the top of the list," says Annika, deadpan. (less)
In volume #2 of Liza Marklund's wildly popular series of feminist thrillers, Annika gets involved with a married man. Needless to say, his wife is a c...more In volume #2 of Liza Marklund's wildly popular series of feminist thrillers, Annika gets involved with a married man. Needless to say, his wife is a cold-hearted, frigid bitch, and she's doing both of them a favour by taking Thomas away from her.
Well, if the message were always consistent it would get boring. The nice thing about these books is that Annika is anything but a goody-goody feminist icon. She's a fragile, vulnerable person who's trying to do her best in an extremely confusing world, and is honest about her often contradictory reactions to it. That's why her millions of fans (including me) all love her so much.
This is a classic Swedish children's book in rhyming couplets with an unusual feature: the rhyming word in the second line of the couplet is (nearly)...moreThis is a classic Swedish children's book in rhyming couplets with an unusual feature: the rhyming word in the second line of the couplet is (nearly) always omitted, so the child has to guess it himself. It's odd that it hasn't been done more often since then. Let me try and give you the effect in translation:
I'll bet you'll be surprised when you learn that They lived inside an old, abandoned ...
The missing word, in case it isn't obvious from the cover, is "hat". It's cute.
And the artwork, as always in Elsa Beskow's books, is charming. But... I'm sorry. I'm really doing my best to read it in its historical context, and I don't want to come over all PC, but it's so sexist, ageist and everything-else-ist that I just can't appreciate it properly. Let me tell you the story, and you can judge for yourselves. We have a single mother tomte (sort of gnome/leprechaun very popular in Swedish mythology) and her three kids, who live in the aforementioned hat on an island. On the shore we have a male tomte who lives in a tree-stump.
One day, the mother rows over to the shore. The kids decide they'll make themselves useful and wash all the clothes. Unfortunately, the fire they start ends up burning their house down, so when Mom gets home there's just smouldering ashes and three terrified children. Things don't look too good! But the male tomte says hey, why don't we get married? You can come and live in my tree-stump, and I'll make sure I beat some sense into those bratty kids of yours. She accepts, and they live happily ever after.
I re-read this fine book recently. I'd quite forgotten how Pettson originally acquired Findus! It starts off when he's having coffee with his neighbou...moreI re-read this fine book recently. I'd quite forgotten how Pettson originally acquired Findus! It starts off when he's having coffee with his neighbour and complains that he's feeling lonely.
"You need a wife!" says the neighbour, a sprightly old lady.
"Nah," says Pettson. "I'm used to living on my own. I wouldn't know what to do with a woman." (He actually says en hel tant, which is much funnier, but I can't think how to translate that). "A cat would be nice though."
A couple of days later, the neighbour comes back with a box marked "FINDUS GRÖNA ÄRTER". There's a kitten inside. Findus is the leading Swedish frozen-food company, and gröna ärter is peas, so this is basically "BIRDS EYE PEAS". But Pettson, who as you can see in Pannkakstårtan is very logical, decides that it must be the kitten's name...(less)
You'll be hearing more about this hitherto unknown Swedish thriller: Yellow Bird, who made the three Millenium movies (Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, et...moreYou'll be hearing more about this hitherto unknown Swedish thriller: Yellow Bird, who made the three Millenium movies (Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, etc), are apparently going to film it. Remember you read it here first.
But back to the book. It's harder than I expected to review Nobels Testamente, #6 in the Annika Bengtzon series, because it's really three books in one. The surface story is a fairly conventional thriller set in the world of Swedish biotech research. The chairwoman of the Nobel Prize committee has been spectacularly murdered while she's dancing at the Nobel Dinner; Annika, as usual, just happens to be a couple of metres away, and becomes involved in the case. This part of the story is fun, but I had a hard time suspending disbelief. I have worked at several research institutes and visited many more, and to say that Marklund is exaggerating doesn't begin to cover it. But if you're not another researcher, you may be happy to buy her version of the research world.
The second thread is about Alfred Nobel's life. I didn't know that much about Nobel, and found it very interesting. Some bits of it seemed so unlikely that I was sure she had to be making them up: in fact, I quickly found out that it was all true. I don't want to give any of this away, since it's important to the plot, but I assure you that you'll be startled as well. There's considerably more to this guy than inventing dynamite and establishing the Nobel Prize.
So... the thriller and the history were OK, but, as usual in the Annika Bengtzon books, the thing that really grabs you is her descriptions of everyday life, in particular the heartbreak of being a working mother. The only author I can think of who is better at voicing women's frustration and anger is Fay Weldon, and Marklund runs her close. Let me tell you the sequence I liked best.
Annika's come into some money, and has just moved from Kungsholmen, a friendly but moderately downmarket part of Stockholm, to Djursholm, an expensive suburb. She feels out of place and the kids are having problems at their playgroup. It becomes clear that Kalle, her six year old, is being bullied by the bigger kids in his class. Her marriage is also in trouble. She knows that Thomas was seeing someone else, but he doesn't know that she's found out. Neither of them will admit what's going on and they're barely talking to each other. Thomas starts working longer and longer days, concentrating on his new career at the Justice Department. He feels he's headed for great things.
Everything explodes the day that Thomas is due to make his key presentation to the Minister and his associates. He's been preparing it for over a year, and is in agony of anticipation when the phone rings. It's the playgroup. Kalle has fallen from the climbing-frame and hit his head. They think it's a concussion. How soon can Thomas get there?
Thomas tells them to call Annika, who's supposed to be free that day, but her mobile is switched off. The woman at the playgroup is starting to sound seriously angry. He doesn't know what to do. In the end, he runs through his presentation as quickly as he can, then hightails it back to Djursholm. To make things even more complicated, he's invited his boss and some other important people to dinner that evening.
Annika, who's been out sleuthing, suddenly remembers her mobile is off. She turns it on again, and gets eight increasingly frantic messages. She's overcome with shame and guilt. For a moment, it crosses her mind that this is insane, surely she ought to be able to leave her mobile switched off for four hours without the sky falling? But, in fact, that exactly how things are if you're a working mother in the early 21st century. She left her mobile off, and the sky is about to fall. She makes it home, and finds a tearful Kalle and a stony-faced Thomas. Annika's heart is bursting. The only good bit of news is that the hospital ran a PET scan, and Kalle definitely doesn't have a cerebral hemorrhage. They'd thought for a few minutes that maybe he did.
She spends the rest of the afternoon fussing over Kalle and feeling terrible. Dinner, which has originally been intended as an elaborate gourmet experience, is drastically curtailed. Thomas is unimpressed with her food. Towards the end of the evening, there's an unpleasant scene with their neighbor, who's been consistently harassing them since they moved in. Thomas feels Annika has let him down there too.
Next afternoon, when she goes to pick up Kalle from school, she has a word with his teacher. She assumes that Lotta has had a serious talk with the bullies' parents? The teacher looks uncomfortable. They took the line that boys will be boys, she says. It was difficult to get them to understand that this was not a trivial incident.
Without quite knowing how she got there, Annika is truly desperate. Things are difficult at work. Her busband doesn't love her any more. The kids at school could have fatally injured her son, and might try it again. She feels she has nothing to lose. The following morning, she takes Kalle to school again. She can see the two boys who regularly pick on him playing in the sandbox. She goes over to the bigger one and put her face really close to his.
"Benjamin," she says quietly, "you're never, ever to hurt Kalle again. If you do, I'm going to come to your house when you're asleep, and I'm going to kill you."
She knows it's completely wrong, that an adult should not say such a terrible thing to a small child, that there will certainly be consequences, but she does it anyway. And there are terrible consequences, more terrible in fact even than Annika has been expecting. _____________________________________________
For everyone else who's in post-Millennium withdrawal, help is approaching. The better Liza Marklunds are an acceptable substitute, and according to several Swedish sources they will start filming this one at the beginning of 2011. Annika is being played by Malin Crépin:
A moment's search on GIS will turn up several rather hotter pictures, if that's what you're after. _____________________________________________
It's been released! The Swedish premiere was yesterday. You can see a trailer here. (less)
At least half the people I know who have done a PhD hated the experience, and regard it in retrospect as one of the most horrible episodes in their li...more At least half the people I know who have done a PhD hated the experience, and regard it in retrospect as one of the most horrible episodes in their life. It's very easy to commit, and then realise too late that you've undertaken to spend several of your best years writing something that no one, including you, will ever want to read. So if you're trying to decide whether to begin a PhD, think long and hard before taking this step. Only go ahead if you are ABSOLUTELY SURE that you want to do it.
But, before I scare everyone off, let me say that this book is a shining example of how to get it right. Carina Burman wrote a PhD on an obscure 18th century Swedish writer called Johan Henric Kellgren. Most people would have produced some dreary piece of rubbish that would send the average reader to sleep before they'd reached page 4. But not Carina! She discovered that Kellgren had had a fascinating life - so fascinating, in fact, that she felt compelled to rewrite her dissertation as a sexy, fast-moving historical novel. It got published a year or two later, was read by plenty of people (including me), and launched her on a successful dual career as an academic/novelist.
It really is a shame that none of her books, at least as far as I'm aware, have been translated into English. The three I've read were all excellent. (less)
Guy in late eighteenth century Venice meets a mysterious man who claims to be the 50-times-great-grandchild of Jesus Christ and Mary Magdalene.
Well,...moreGuy in late eighteenth century Venice meets a mysterious man who claims to be the 50-times-great-grandchild of Jesus Christ and Mary Magdalene.
Well, at the time it was a great idea. But someone else picked the winning number in this particular lottery.
If Pettson, P, is to make a pancake pie, then P must buy flour.
If P is to buy flour, then P must cycle to town.
If P is to use a cycle C, then C's tire...moreIf Pettson, P, is to make a pancake pie, then P must buy flour.
If P is to buy flour, then P must cycle to town.
If P is to use a cycle C, then C's tires must be intact.
If P is to make C's tires intact, then P must obtain a cycle repair kit R.
If P is to obtain R, then P must have the key to the toolshed K.
If K is in the well W, then P must have a fishing rod F.
If F is on the roof, then P must have a ladder L.
If L is in the bull B's field, then P must scare away B.
If P's neighbor N had known all of the above, then N wouldn't necessarily have thought P had lost his wits when he saw him playing Jussi Björling records for B on P's wind-up phonograph.
That's logic. What do they teach them in schools these days?(less)
A charming Swedish children's book about depression. Pettson is an eccentric farmer who lives alone with his manic cat Findus - there is a whole serie...moreA charming Swedish children's book about depression. Pettson is an eccentric farmer who lives alone with his manic cat Findus - there is a whole series, and one can safely assume that this won't be the first time the reader has met them. Usually Pettson is no worse than grumpy and a little out of it, but now he's suddenly got no energy at all. He sits listless and dejected, with a symbolic rain cloud hovering over his head. (The artwork tends to be on the magical realist side). Findus does his best to cheer him up with his usual mad antics, but all that happens is that Pettson yells at him. This shocks both the man and the cat. Pettson apologises, but then just reverts to his apathetic state.
But Findus isn't beaten yet. He knows exactly what Pettson needs, and starts a clever campaign to persuade him that he should take his boat and go fishing on the lake. Fishing, Pettson! Fishing is funnnn!!! My favourite picture is the one where the cat is sitting in the washing-up bowl and pretending it's the boat, as he play-acts fishing on the living room floor and catches imaginary pike out of the rug.
After a while, he coaxes a grudging smile out of the farmer. Aha! It's starting to work! And, sure enough, Pettson laboriously hauls himself out of his chair and gets his fishing rod. They set off through the late October forest with Findus in Pettson's backpack and go down to the water.
As they sit in the boat, Findus notes to his satisfaction that Pettson is now almost back to his usual self. He doesn't need to do anything else - the sunlight and fresh air will take care of it for him. And, indeed, when they set off home with two freshly-caught perch, everything is okay again.
You will gather that SAD is a big problem in Sweden, and kids need to learn about it early on. (less)
I simply don't understand why some terrible children's books become famous, while others, which are quite brilliant, are virtually unknown. This was o...moreI simply don't understand why some terrible children's books become famous, while others, which are quite brilliant, are virtually unknown. This was one of our kids' favourites when they were very small, and it is terrific. Most children's books that attempt to instil wisdom and moral principles are nauseating, but Stora Bilderboken delivers.
The page I like best is about uncontrollable emotions, and, I am honestly not exaggerating, is just one of the best and most insightful pieces of writing I have ever seen on this subject. The title is Ibland ("Sometimes"), and it is a series of single sentences, each with an accompanying picture. Typical examples, I translate, are the following:
Sometimes you just want to annoy people and be bad.
Sometimes you feel shy and don't dare talk to anyone.
Sometimes you have scary dreams.
Sometimes it feels nice to cry.
At the end, there's a couplet often quoted in our household:
Ibland gråter killar, ibland slåss en tjej Så är det för alla, för dig och för mig
Sometimes boys cry, and sometimes girls fight It's like that for everyone, for me and you as well.(less)
WARNING: THIS REVIEW CONTAINS A MAJOR SPOILER ABOUT THE PLOT OF SPRÄNGAREN/THE BOMBER, AN EARLIER BOOK IN THE SAME SERIES.
It often happens that the au...moreWARNING: THIS REVIEW CONTAINS A MAJOR SPOILER ABOUT THE PLOT OF SPRÄNGAREN/THE BOMBER, AN EARLIER BOOK IN THE SAME SERIES.
It often happens that the author who scoops the jackpot isn't the one who came up with the original idea. Douglas Adams was as surprised as anyone when Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy became a household name; he was just following in the footsteps of Robert Sheckley, but somehow Sheckley never hit the big time. Also in SF, Neuromancer is rather like Logan's Run stylistically, but Gibson is regarded as the founder of cyberpunk while Nolan is half-forgotten. And, moving to highbrow novels, I was amazed to discover last month that many of the themes generally ascribed to Proust were already present in Huysmans's A Rebours, which Proust certainly read. Life isn't always fair.
Right now, Stieg Larsson's The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo and its sequels are still topping the worldwide bestseller lists. As most people probably know, the original title means "Men Who Hate Women", and that could easily have been the generic title for Liza Marklund's series, in which Livstid is number seven. Marklund has done quite well - several of the books have been hits in Scandinavia - but the megasuccess Larsson achieved has eluded her. If you like Larsson, though, it's by no means impossible that you'll also enjoy Marklund's feminist thrillers.
She established the formula in the first one, Sprängaren ("The Bomber"), and, as formulas go, it's not bad. Annika Bengtzon is a journalist at a Swedish newspaper. The Olympic Games are going to be held in Stockholm and an explosion has wrecked the new stadium, also killing the woman who was in charge of building it. The police soon determine that she has been murdered in a particularly horrible way. Annika ends up covering the story, and gets more and more involved in it. Simultaneously, she is having trouble at her job. She's just been promoted to a position of some responsibility, and the people on her team refuse to acknowledge her authority. They make it clear that they don't like her, and want her out: the fact that she's a woman is a large part of it. Annika becomes increasingly desperate, and doesn't know whether her own superiors will help her. She feels she's close to breaking down altogether.
In the end, both threads are resolved simultaneously. The newspaper's editor-in-chief finally comes down on Annika's side, and tells the troublemakers that their choice is between accepting her and getting fired. At the same time, she cracks the mystery. The murderer was the victim's subordinate; she has been systematically bullied until she snapped and killed her boss. The ending is very effective. The murderer has taken Annika hostage, but the police arrive at the last minute and rescue her. Annika doesn't hate the woman who came within a few minutes of killing her too. She suddenly understands that it could just as easily have been her: there, but for the grace of God, goes Annika Bengtzon. She attends the trial, and shows in every way she can that she is on her side.
In Livstid, it was clear from an early stage how things were going to work out. Annika's husband has just abandoned her for another woman, leaving Annika alone and heartbroken with their two small children. The very same night, someone firebombs her house. She barely manages to get out alive with the kids. Meanwhile, on the other side of town, police lieutenant Nina Hoffman somehow ends up being the first person at the scene when her best friend's neighbor makes an emergency call at 3 am. Nina arrives and finds Julia lying on the bathroom floor in a state of shock; her husband has been shot dead, and their son is nowhere to be found. She mutters something about "the other woman", and passes out. Since it's a Liza Marklund novel, you know there are only two possibilities: either Julia is innocent, or the guy had it coming. But Marklund moves the cards around skillfully enough that I wasn't sure which one it was until I was nearly at the end.
Okay... it's feminism-by-numbers, but it's good feminism-by-numbers. Marklund's strength is her ability to give a voice to women's pain and frustration, and she does a fine job here. By chapter 2 I was already an outraged woman. Julia's been taken to the hospital in a catatonic state. "What's wrong with the murdering bitch?" asks Nina's appalling, sexist partner. "PMS?" I almost forgot for a moment that I have never actually suffered from PMS. It's a great read even if you don't happen to be female. (less)
I've been working on our speech-enabled children's Internet game Minion Dominion for the last few months, and it's really helped me regain contact wit...moreI've been working on our speech-enabled children's Internet game Minion Dominion for the last few months, and it's really helped me regain contact with my inner six year old. (Some people I know claim I have never lost contact with him... I'm not quite sure what they mean by that). Anyway, it has among other things reminded me how much small children like bathroom humour. "Poop" is currently the 24th most popular command, and "pee" isn't far behind.
Det var det fräckaste! is a good example of the kind of thing kids this age find excruciatingly funny. The plot is simple. A mole looks up out of his burrow one morning, and someone craps on his head. He's pretty annoyed, and goes around asking a bunch of different animals if they're the guilty party. They all say they had nothing to do with it, and show him their own turds as evidence.
But, finally... well, I wouldn't want to drop any spoilers! If you have a six year old kid, it's far from impossible that they will appreciate this fine book. (less)
I adore Swedish children's books, but every rule has its exception. In my case, the exception's name is Bamse. This insufferably popular bear could al...more
I adore Swedish children's books, but every rule has its exception. In my case, the exception's name is Bamse. This insufferably popular bear could almost have been created as a parody of Swedish left-wing PC thinking. A vague cross between Superman, Winnie the Pooh and John Lennon, he's not just the strongest bear in the world, but also the kindest. He believes in the essential goodness of human nature to a teeth-gritting extent, and managed to reform Vargen (the bad boy of the series) simply by being nice him until he saw the light and abandoned his evil ways. The one character who's beyond reform is Krösus Sork ("Croesus Vole"), a grasping, super-rich capitalist rodent who's invariably outwitted by Bamse and left gnashing his teeth at the end. Bamse is married, with four children; the youngest, I kid you not, suffers from a mild mental handicap, but he loves them all equally.
When Swedish Prime Minister Carl Bildt met Bill Clinton in 1993, he gave him the Bamse necktie pictured above as a present, "to remind the US that because they were the world's strongest country, they also needed to be the kindest". The idea, Bildt claimed, had been suggested by his four year old daughter. Clinton, cool as ever, said he loved it, and was proud to be the only person in the US who had one; several people in the Swedish diplomatic corps apparently sighed with relief. I'd like to make a public apology to all my American friends for this regrettable incident. Honestly, Swedes aren't usually like that. (less)
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