The Corrections

by Jonathan Franzen

Mrs. Söderblad tilted her head, smiling dreamily. “Do you know,” she said, perhaps to Enid or to Mrs. Roth, “that until one hundred years ago Norway was a colony of Sweden?” The Norwegians erupted like a batted hive. “Colony!? Colony??” “Oh, oh,” Inga Nygren hissed, “I think there is a history here that our American friends deserve to—” “This is a story of strategic alliances!” Per declared.

She tried a complimentary glass of Spögg, a Swedish liqueur currently enjoying a $15 million marketing campaign. Spögg tasted like vodka, sugar, and horseradish, which in fact were its ingredients. As their fellow guests reacted to Spögg with looks of surprise and reproach, Enid and Sylvia fell to giggling. “Special treat,” Sylvia said. “Complimentary Spögg. Try some!” “Yum!” Enid said in stitches, snorting for air. “Spögg!”

“And when the event, the big change in your life, is simply an insight—isn’t that a strange thing? That absolutely nothing changes except that you see things differently and you’re less fearful and less anxious and generally stronger as a result: isn’t it amazing that a completely invisible thing in your head can feel realer than anything you’ve experienced before?