Ia Genberg's The Details

 

The Details / Ia Genberg
trans. from the Swedish by Kira Josefsson
NY: Harper Via, 2023, c2022.
137 p.

I was able to read this via my local library, as it was an International Booker shortlisted title -- award nominees and winners are always likelier to show up in libraries! I'm really glad this one did, though, as I liked it a lot. 

This is a short and quiet novel: our narrator begins it when she is sick and looks into some of her books -- there is an inscription from a former girlfriend. This starts a chain of memory, from Johanna (the girlfriend) to Niki, Alejandro and finally Birgitte. The recollections tell us about these people, but perhaps they tell us even more about our narrator. What is revealed when talking about relationships? This is the question. I copied out a quote from this book that seems to sum it up: 

‘That's all there is to the self, or the so-called 'self': traces of the people we rub up against’ 

Nothing much really happens plotwise - all the action is in the past. And yet this series of recollections has power to move us. The book is loosely organized into four sections, looking at one relationship at a time, and all through these sections, she uses books as markers of memory, as ways to recall moments in the relationships. Opening a book reminds her of when and with who it was read, and the circumstances around the same time. I find this is a palpable effect in my own bookshelves, and I was impressed with the ways that Genberg creates such a reflective book that incorporates so many elements into such compressed prose. 

Johanna was her first serious lover, whose leaving was a shock -- Niki a strange girl with mercurial moods, who disappeared and doesn't leave traces -- Alejandro a short lived relationship that affected her deeply nonetheless -- and then right back to the core with Birgitte, her mother. I found them all fascinating but the final section with her parents was a strong finish. In just brief sketches she draws them both so clearly. Her mother was anxious and flitted around the edges of their home life, while her father was a social man, a talker -- she notes that he would talk with a group of men for ages, and I enjoyed one of his comments a lot: 

His favorite position was opposing the popular argument that communism was a good idea in theory and for this reason had real value ("This bridge looks good but unfortunately it collapses as soon as someone tries to drive across.").

But this section is quite serious, as we discover the trauma that damaged her mother and shaped her childhood. It's the details that really count. 

I loved this read. It captures character sketches so well, illuminates the protagonist while doing so, and the writing and the literary references were just what I like in a book. As I saw someone describe this on Goodreads, it's the perfect "no plot just vibes" read. If that's also your thing, you'll enjoy this too. 

An Elderly Lady Must Not Be Crossed

An Elderly Lady Must Not Be Crossed / Helene Tursten
trans. from the Swedish by Marlaine Delargy
New York, NY : Soho Crime, c2021
255 p.

This is volume two of short stories featuring Maud, an octogenarian serial killer. It's funnier than it sounds. I read vol. 1, An Elderly Lady Is Up To No Good, last year, and really enjoyed it so when I saw that this one was being published, it was a must read. It's just a shade less compelling than the first volume -- still very entertaining. And the book itself is quite a delight, really small and with that embroidery cover. It also includes cookie recipes at the end, though with a caveat that you shouldn't really use them as Maud did...

The book is set up as 6 interlinked stories; it carries on from the previous book, with Maud still under suspicion in the most recent murder of a man in her own flat. Tursten's police investigator from her straight detective novels shows up to question Maud in the opening pages, which is amusing for Tursten readers. However, Maud is feeling the heat so decides it's high time to take that luxury trip to South Africa she's been dreaming of, after all she is nearly 90, what is she waiting for? 

As she travels to South Africa, she drifts off a few times, and remembers incidents from her past - our stories. And when she gets to South Africa we have the longest story. Maud is on a tour and isn't fully engaging for her. She spends a lot of time observing the other travellers, and when there's an incident at one stop they're all under suspicion. Once they arrive back in Johannesburg Maud feels more lively. But she also intervenes in a crime in progress, and must once again cover her tracks. 

The ending is a bit iffy, to me, but overall a fun and engaging read about a woman who uses all the expectations of age to confound the law, and solves her many problems in a permanent way. 

It's a bit of a seasonal read as well, since the story featuring Maud's killer cookies is set around the holidays. Recommended. 

The Memory Theater

 

The Memory Theater / Karin Tidbeck
NY: Pantheon, c2021.
240 p.

I just finished the newest novel by Karin Tidbeck, The Memory Theater. And I loved it! It's so dreamy and magical and dark and satisfying. 

Long time readers might remember that Tidbeck's earlier novel, Amatka, was one of my top picks in 2018. It's much more dystopian speculative fiction than this one but equally imaginative and absorbing. I'm using Amatka as my pick for my online Literary Sewing Circle right now, as a matter of fact, so if you are another reader and stitcher, check out the LSC and read along. 

This book is quite different from Amatka in some ways --but it has many of the same themes and concerns; identity, making of the world, and so on. 

For Tidbeck readers, you'll recognize some elements from her short story collection, Jagannath. One of the stories there shows up in the first part of this book. It's quite delightful for the reader of both to recognize it. 

The novel begins in a place called The Gardens, a magical place outside of time, where faerie aristocrats live the same day over and over again, in parties and games. The corruption is evident however, in their cruelty to their servants - children they've stolen away from the world. They scar and torture them, and worse. One of these Ladies discovers Time, and so is cast out into the world to make her own way. 

In a conventional story, Augusta would see the error of her ways and come to embrace the time-bound beauty of the world. In this one, no such luck. Augusta is a terrifying psychopath and never changes. Her one aim is to find her way back to the Gardens, and she will do literally anything to get there. 

Thistle is one of the child servants, and along with his friend Dora (a child of one of the Masters) escapes from the Gardens with the help of a mysterious traveller named Ghorbi. They escape to the crossroads of the world (slightly reminiscent, to me, of the Wood Between the Worlds in the Narnia books, though here it is a desert) and find the Memory Theater, a troupe of actors who play out moments of life in all worlds to keep them from disappearing. 

Dora and Thistle are in pursuit of Augusta, not because they really want to find her for herself, but because she's the only one who knows Thistle's real name -- when he gets that he'll be free. The quest is enlarged with all of these other characters and the deep friendship between Dora and Thistle themselves. It's dreamy, vague and magical, and I found it so absorbing and powerful. Tidbeck is my kind of writer though -- I like books in which I'm not given every bit of a story in exhausting detail, rather, an atmosphere is created that holds the story and engages the imagination. 

In some strange atmospheric way, this story reminded me of Susanna Clarke's Piranesi, quite strongly in the first half. And elements of Alice in Wonderland, Narnia, Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, faerie lore and folk tale, and even Station Eleven resonate with this story. I love a book that seems to be talking to other books even as it is its own strange being.

I was enthralled by this story and read it very quickly. It's one that will stand up to some rereading.

An Elderly Lady is Up to No Good

An Elderly Lady is Up to No Good / Helene Tursten
trans. from the Swedish by Marlaine Delargy
NY: Soho Crime, 2019, c2018
173 p.

I picked this one up for some light relief last week. It's a collection of short stories by Swedish crime writer Helene Tursten, featuring a little old lady who isn't quite what she seems. 

Maud likes a quiet life, without too much bother. She still lives in the apartment she grew up in, which thanks to a little quirk in the lease after her father died, is rent free for life. Each of the stories is centred on Maud encountering a problem of some kind, and solving it in a permanent manner. 

There are 5 short stories included:

• An elderly lady has accommodation problems
• An elderly lady on her travels
• An elderly lady seeks peace at Christmas time
• The antique dealer's death
• An elderly lady is faced with a difficult dilemma

I really enjoyed the first three; the last two were different angles on one situation, and I didn't think that both were necessary - just the last one with the same formula in the title would have been fine. 

Maud sticks to herself, even though she travels a lot. She likes to keep her life problem free, but still exhibits a bit of sentiment at times. In the first story, a new tenant in her building has her eye on Maud's large apartment, so Maud quickly takes care of that. In the second and third stories, she sees others encountering problematic issues -- both around marriages -- and so carefully manages to solve those too, on behalf of the injured parties.

The final story/stories were a bit gorier than the first ones, still not terrible but a bit ickier. I really enjoyed Maud's character, though -- she puts on a confused weak demeanour when it serves her, taking advantage of stereotypes. She's stubborn and doesn't abide fools. She is intelligent, thoughtful, and great at making rapid decisions in the face of difficult issues. The wry, dark humour in these stories made this a very entertaining read. I really enjoyed the break from more serious reading.

Camera

Camera / Eva-Marie Liffner
trans. from the Swedish by Anna Paterson
London: Vintage, 2004.
199 p.

This was a chance find at a thrift shop last month, and I just had to buy it! I've never heard of this author before, but the story sounded fascinating. 

Johanna is a Swedish photographer who has lived and worked around the world. Her Uncle Jacob, whom she was close to, was also a photographer, but has died at an advanced age, leaving her his flat in Sweden and all his belongings. 

She finds a mysterious box of photos tucked away in his effects, and it spurs her to investigate where they came from and what they mean. This requires travelling to London, England, as that is where Jacob worked for many years, starting in 1905. 

The book moves back and forth between Jacob's story & Johanna's, but the tone doesn't change at all; the narrative voice is constant no matter the era or character. It can be briefly confusing at the beginning until you get used to the quick switches and can tell whose story is underway. 

But the idea is that both their stories and lives are so enmeshed -- they are both photographers, they are both gay but keep it mostly to themselves (especially Jacob for obvious reasons, it's 1905), and they seem to have the same phlegmatic, solitary natures. 

As Johanna pushes further into the history of these photos, a sordid tale reveals itself. Jacob was apprenticed to Hubert Burrows, who photographed sessions of the Theosophist Society. One of its members is the Rev. Charles Leadbeater, who is trying to capture photographs of the human soul...by photographing young boys as they are dying. And by photographing young children for other darker purposes as well. 

Inspired by a true story of Victorian/Edwardian photography and early child pornography rings, Liffner takes the bones of an historical story and creates a narrative which brings up ethics, culpability, patriarchy and power, and evokes a smoky turn of the century London. I found the historical sections a little more interesting, as that is where most of the action happens. 

While the characters remain a bit of a cipher (the story is not about digging into their psyches) the story is taut and has a feel of reportage, with the inclusion of newspaper articles, excerpts from Johanna's reading, archives and history. While those elements are just sprinkled in, it gives the flavour of Johanna's investigation into her uncle's past. There is also a brief epilogue in which the author notes which parts of the story have a basis in fact. 

It's a quiet book despite the shocking truths that are uncovered. It's evenly paced, with each chapter broken into brief sections, and the idea of what we can truly know permeates the story. As Johanna says in the end,

It is true, though, that you can never learn, or even remember, everything. 

Elisabeth's Daughter

Elisabeth's Daughter / Marianne Fredriksson
trans. from the Swedish by Anna Paterson
London: Orion, c2002.
217 p.

Katarina is a modern young woman; the last thing she wants is to be tied down. But when she begins an affair with an attractive (and married) American, she finds herself unexpectedly pregnant, and more unexpectedly, wishing to keep the baby. Her boyfriend, however, does not agree, and violently attacks her, accusing her of trying to trap him, then disappears back to America.

This story explores the idea that violence and abuse are intergenerational, that what a mother experiences, a daughter can too. Or that abusive patterns are passed down in families, to both the perpetrator and victim.

It only partially works.

Frederiksson is a writer whose own views come through very strongly in her writing; the characters are not allowed to open up into strange and complex people, rather they represent what she is trying to say. And here it felt to me like she knew what the conclusion should be so the story was held to those lines.

One of the reasons this didn't really work for me was that, other than the violence Katarina suffers in the opening, there isn't any drama -- she has a supportive family, lots of money, time to recover and work through things with her mother -- they forgive the violent boyfriend easily, her baby isn't harmed, and Katarina's relationship with her mother is resolved neatly. Her brother is also a pastor, so there is lots of scope for Fredriksson's Christian belief to shine through, on forgiveness, on the meaning of life, etc. It's a quiet and insulated story despite the theme.

I didn't agree with some of Fredriksson's statements or conclusions, but more than that, felt that there wasn't any room for a differing perspective in this story. It just rolled along in its track until the vaguely satisfying end. There were a few interesting elements here, and the Swedish setting is strong. But overall this story felt flat to me.

The Summer Book

The Summer Book / Tove Jansson; 

trans. from the Swedish by Thomas Teal

NY: NYRB, 2008, c1972.

170 p.

This exquisite book has been read by so many people I feel like it doesn't need any introduction! I've been reading quite a lot of Tove Jansson over the past year, including the entire Moomin series, and her memoir, The Sculptor's Daughter. 

I feel like this book has so many of her recurring themes in it, and the feel of childhood and old age being very similar. And the discovery of nature, isolation, quirkiness, being cranky as part of life -- all that appears again here.

This is a beautiful book. Told in 22 chapters, each one a glimpse into the lives of Sophia, 6, and her grandmother, it feels like a spotlight is pointed at various moments of  their summer on this island where the family has been going for years. Only her father is there with them.

From trying to keep a cat to finding a new friend, from walking around the island to taking the boat out on the sea in a storm, from isolation to curiosity about a new neighbour, Sophia and her grandmother do it all together.

But I love how the grandmother is realistically old; she gets tired and needs to nap, she can't walk quickly, and she isn't always patient and loving. Sometimes she needs some time to herself to just be quiet and read.

The relationship between the two is wonderful. It's touching, funny, wise, and so engaging. I couldn't stop reading this book. I loved the grandmother so much; and I also loved Sophia who is a curious, lively, brave little girl who explores the island and its flora and fauna with gusto - but she also has a contemplative and imaginative side. She gets angry and loud when she's tired or hungry, or just justifiably mad at something. She doesn't hide any part of herself or feel self-conscious about her life.

It's really a sharply beautiful book that I'll keep and reread. It distills Jansson's unique sensibility into perfect form. 

Jagannath

Jagannath / Karin Tidbeck; trans. from the Swedish by Karin Tidbeck

NY: Vintage, 2018, c2011.

161 p.

I read Tidbeck's speculative novel Amatka last year and have been trying to encourage people to read it ever since. It was so discombobulating, so good! So I was happy to find her story collection Jagannath to read this month.

Besides the beautiful cover, there is a lot that is magical about this collection. The stories range from quirky fables to creepy gothic fantasy to mysterious realism to science fictiony stories of machines and worlds ending. 

It's a wild mix. But they all have the unsettling feel that she does so well. In these thirteen stories she moves from horror to enchantment to dark fantasy and to quirky charm. In the story "Who Is Arvid Pekon?" she channels Kafka and his bureaucratic mixups in the best possible way -- in a call centre where the operators pretend to be the people that callers want to talk to, Arvid gets a strange customer... 

And in the title story, a futuristic world in which a human colony lives inside a giant insect, we learn that the host is dying. It's grossly physical and yet moving and imaginative. 

Then there are gentler stories like "Herr Cederberg" which reminds me of small French animated films -- I could almost see it -- the quiet quirkiness of his experience would work well as a short film.

And stories which depend on myth, legend, and the enchantments of folklore: "Britta's Holiday Village" is one; a writer retreats to her aunt's holiday camp while it's uninhabited, but discovers something unusual about her family.

Another was "Reindeer Mountain", a longer story, and probably my favourite in the book. Two sisters return with their mother to their family home in the mountains, where legends of the Vittra (a fairy like race) abound. The younger sister, a solid, realistic girl, nevertheless dreams of the Vittra, and would gladly go with them into their fairy halls. Her older sister, mentally unstable but tall, thin and beautiful, doesn't care. You can guess how this might end. Was it really fairies? Or is that just the story the family tells themselves afterward? This was so rich with family lore, with magic, with sibling dynamics, with women's lives. I loved this one. 

This book has only increased my appreciation of Karin Tidbeck. Some of the stories were written in English, and some in Swedish which were then translated into English by Tidbeck herself. So I feel this fits wonderfully into my women in translation reading, and I can only hope to find another work by her translated soon. 

The Other Woman

The Other Woman / Therese Bohman; trans. from
the Swedish by Marlaine Delargy
NY: Other Press, 2015, c2014.
201 p.

This book has been on my shelves for a couple of years; I finally read it this month, and I am so glad I did. I think I'd kind of been putting it off because I wasn't sure I'd like a novel from the side of the "other woman" in a affair. 

But this is so very much more than simply an apologia for affairs. We meet our narrator as she heads to work; she's currently a hospital cafeteria server. It's a menial job for sure, but she's working at what she can in her small town of Norrkoping, while dreaming of becoming a writer, of going to Stockholm to college. 

She's clearly intelligent, sarcastic, clever -- but there's some level of stagnation going on, she can't push herself to change. She criticizes everyone, including her friends, for their acceptance of everyday life; she reads Notes From the Underground and sees herself in it, she likes men and masculine writing, and dismisses feminism since she likes to dress up and attract men & can't see how that's compatible. 

She sounds very believably young. 

And into this dull life comes an attractive doctor. She meets his eye while serving him lunch, and he comes around more often, and offers her rides home on rainy nights. And inevitably, they start an affair. She doesn't mind that he's married, until she does. And the affair is steeped in issues of power, class, work, self-identity, and pretty much every single part of her life. 

Meanwhile she meets a young woman, Alex, at a party. Alex begins to become a big part of her life; she even thinks that Alex might be in love with her. But when she discovers who Alex is and why she's worked to become friends with her, it changes everything.

I wasn't sure where this was going. About halfway through I was annoyed with the characters and feeling like this was going down a well-trodden path, I was slightly bored by how I thought it was all going to end. But I was wrong.

It turns a corner, and suddenly the power differential shifts, and our narrator suddenly grabs on to some sense of self. She makes a choice, she's shaken out of her paralysis. And the ending is hopeful, positive and satisfying. It didn't come about in an obvious way, rather a pretty shocking one, but it changes her. And the gloom and night settings of most of the early book are washed away in the hope of summer and transformation. 

I really enjoyed this book, the writing is clear and the translation is smooth. The character starts out as a bit insufferable but grows throughout. It reads very quickly and you just don't want to put it down until you know what she's going to do. I felt immersed in her world while reading and was glad to see her future looking better than her present. That's always a good sign, when you close the book happy for the characters! 

My overall impression is that this read was really satisfying, both in the emotional arc of the story, and in the intellectual engagement with the main character's self-examination and her studies. 

The Final Moomin Tales

c1965; trans. by Thomas Warburton

And now we come to the book in this series that I found most unsettling. In this one, Moominpappa is going through a midlife crisis, and decides to move the whole family to an island he's seen on a map. He wants to take over the lighthouse on this island and live at the edge of the sea.

The core of this book is loneliness and anomie. It was almost frightening in the sense of isolation between characters and the comfortable settings of the previous books. It's like a long dark night of the soul for the Moomin universe. At least that's the sense I get from it.

Thankfully, Little My is in this one, quite happily exploring the strange island and living in the moment, fully herself as usual. Tough, cynical, practical, ironic, Little My is always fully herself. She exists; she does not have an existential crisis of any kind.

Each of the Moomins is trying to find a reason for living, a purpose of some kind. Moominpappa is restless and unhappy, Moominmamma tries to make everyone comfortable as best she can, and subdues her own longing to go home, back to her comfortable house and garden - until she discovers an unusual artistic talent. Moomintroll, meanwhile, makes himself a snuggery in a patch of scrub forest on this odd island where even the trees move away from unknown things in fear. And he encounters sea horses on the night beach, as well as the reappearance of The Groke, who has followed them there. It's an unsettling read, and one that I found many-layered, with multiple readings possible. It's complex and disturbing, and yet on another level, it's a kind of Swiss Family Robinson story that child readers might enjoy -- Jansson is always an astonishment. 

c1970; trans. by Thomas Warburton

This final entry into the Moomin series does not feature the Moomins at all; or at least, it features only their absence and influence, and their home in Moominvalley.

It follows various characters who arrive in Moominvalley expecting to find the Moomin family, and particularly the welcome of Moominmamma -- but nobody is there (because they are still all on the island in the sea). Is the comfortable Moomin world gone forever?

Snufkin, Fillyjonk, Mymble, Toft, Grandpa-Grumble & the Hemulen all gather in the Moomins house and try to make it their own, while waiting for the Moomins to show up -- from where or when they aren't sure.

They have to form their own social understandings - who is sleeping where, who is responsible for what in this unintentional community, how long they'll stay, and so forth. Each of them has their own reasons for coming to Moominvalley, and Jansson reveals each character through their behaviour. It's an interesting look at the various other occupants of Moominland, and an interesting structure: a Moomin book in which the Moomins never show up. Until there is a hint of a return in the spring....

Throughout a long dark winter, however, the six lonely characters must find a way to help one another without the cheer of the Moomins (perhaps reflective of a depressed, post-war Jansson). Thrown on their own devices they come to a sense of community and help one another grow and develop, to the point that if and when the Moomins return they can meet them on an equal level, not as supplicants for emotional support. 

It's another sophisticated story, full of different levels to explore. There are quiet mystical moments, parties, petty arguments, and a bit of introspection going on. Everything is off kilter in these last two books, but in the final pages of this one there seems to be a hope that normality and cheer will return. 

What a series! Finnish weirdness at its best, thoughtful, surreal, funny, dark... so much to explore. The skill with which Jansson both wrote and illustrated this whole series means it's something that can be read repeatedly, with new insights from the familiar characters each time. Highly recommended for adult readers; you'll have to judge for yourself if these books are something your children would like to read. 

Moomin Short Stories

c1962; trans by Thomas Warburton

This collection of nine short stories is a lovely entry into this series.

It features a range of characters, all experiencing the kind of longings that Jansson draws so well. From Moominpappa going off with the Hattifatteners in The Secret of the Hattifatteners, to Snufkin being interrupted in his Spring-time song making by a little forest Creep who just wants a name of his own in The Spring Tune, to an anxious Fillyjonk who survives imaginary disasters daily in The Fillyjonk who Believed in Disasters, characters are looking for meaning. And they are often forced, in a way, to look after one another even if they hadn't planned on it in the first place. 

There is a lot of melancholy and a search for meaning in much of this book. But there is also dry wit, and humour -- there is Little My  dominating everyone in A Tale of Horror, and the Moomins experiencing (and trying to comprehend) their first Christmas when they unexpectedly awaken from their hibernation in The Fir Tree. The contrast between what the characters know and what the reader knows in these stories results in much amusement. 

The last story, The Invisible Child, was a straightforward story of a little girl who becomes invisible due to neglect and is restored to fully visible by the kindness and attention of the Moomins after she's dropped off at their house by Too Ticky. Once she's fully a visible and lively child again, she gives Little My a run for her sarcastic money. I really enjoyed this one for its satisfactory completeness, no loose ends or aching sadness here. And of course I do love anything with Little My in it! 

There are a couple of other stories in the book, also worth reading, with many of the same themes. One features Moomintroll himself, another a neighbouring Hemulen. Nearly everyone gets a look in here.

All in all, this is a quite philosophical look at many states of being, through the lens of Moominvalley characters. These are complex and thoughtful stories that appeal on many levels, so that children and adults can both read and engage with them in their own ways. Jansson is rather a genius in this way, and this collection is striking. 

Next up, the conclusion to my Moomin adventures. 

Moomins in the Middle

These two Moomin stories right in the middle were the best ones, in my opinion, and the two that I most enjoyed and am most likely to reread often.

c1954; trans. Thomas Warburton

Perhaps this is because they both feel a bit lighter, and have a wider cast of characters. They feel funny and charming, and they both feature my favourite character in all of Moominvalley, Little My. 

In Moominsummer Madness, there is another pesky flood. The Moomins end up finding a temporary home in what turns out to be a floating theatre. There are mistaken assumptions, new friends, humour, and the best ever image of Little My floating down the river in Moominmamma's sewing basket. 

Alongside the Moomin family we follow the adventures of Snufkin, Little My, the Hattifatteners, the Fillyjonk, Hemulens, Mymble and more. We really get to see a wide variety of the characters Jansson created, and learn more of Snufkin's hatred of park keepers and his unexpected talent for babysitting. 

This one is so surreal and charming and such fun. It was the first Moomin book I read, as I own it in hardcover, and then reread as I was trying to follow the series order. I really enjoy this volume. 

c1957; trans. by Thomas Warburton

Moominland Midwinter is almost the exact opposite, both seasonally and structurally. It focuses on Moomintroll and Little My, the only two members of the family awake during the winter season -- Moomins hibernate, you see. Little My is her usual pugnacious self and throws herself into winter sports. Moomin wakes unexpectedly and experiences a cold and quiet time of year without his usual friends and relations (aside from Little My of course). There's the Groke, and the poor squirrel who encounters it; there's Too Ticky who is spending the winter in the Moomin's boathouse, and the creature who's living in her closet. And the Hemulen who skis over to Moominvalley and tries to organize jolly winter sports because that's what Hemulens do -- they are very extroverted and participatory. 

Poor Moomintroll must find his place in this strange winter land, and wonders if he should wake up Moominmamma or just go back to sleep himself. It's a new look at Moominvalley, and a very enchanting one at that. 

These two together make a satisfying and complementary read. I'd definitely recommend reading them together, and visiting Moominvalley in all seasons. 

*******************************************

In Moominsummer Madness, it's Snufkin who finds Little My in the river, and he tucks her into the brim of his large hat to travel along with him. From that vantage point, Little My makes her usual sarcastic and straightforward comments. It's one of their exchanges that inspired a wall quilt I made featuring Little My. You can tell I'm a fan. 

More of the Moomins

c1948; trans. by Elizabeth Portch

This third book in the Moomin series, Finn Family Moomintroll, was the first one translated which sparked the Moomin madness that resulted in their level of popularity outside of Finland.

It's also cheerier and lighter, funnier and full of more characters than the first two. The cover shows many of the new characters who became recurring elements of the Moomin stories. 

In this one, Moomintroll & Sniff find a top hat in the hills and take it home. Unknown to them, it's the Hobgoblin's magical hat, and has mysterious properties that will change whatever is inside of it. 

Hijinks ensue. Until of course the sensible Moominmamma comes up with a solution that suits them all. 

I really loved this one. The mellow nature of the Moomin household comes through; they welcome everyone who shows up, in a matter of fact way. Even little Thingumy & Bob, who steal Moominmamma's handbag for a brief spell. The wonderful Snufkin appears here, and the story has so many calm, teachable moments among the episodic effects of the Hobgoblin's hat. It's a delight, and one I'd definitely share with young readers who like weirdness of this sort. 

c1950; trans. by Thomas Warburton

Book 4, The Memoirs of Moominpappa (also known as Moominpappa's Memoirs and The Exploits of Moominpappa) details the years before Moominpappa met Moominmamma. He tells his life story to his family and friends in chapters about his childhood and his youthful adventures with Joxter and The Muddler (who just happen to be Snufkin and Sniff's absent fathers).

I found this one slightly less effective as it's a lot of telling, and recollection by Moominpappa, amongst the daily adventures of the younger crowd. In the previous book, things were continually happening. In this one, there is a lot of listening going on. 

It's still amusing, and it gives a stronger background to all of the characters that play a role in these stories. The Moomin world is fleshed out a little more, and we find out about some unexpected connections. 

This one has more adult appeal than kid appeal in some ways -- a little more philosophical, a bit more idea driven. It's also charming in the best surreal Jansson way. 

Discovering the Moomins

c1945; trans. by David McDuff

I've only discovered the Moomins as an adult; very recently in fact, when I read the entire series in ebook format at the end of last year. Tove Jansson was Finnish but wrote in Swedish, and these have all been translated, more than once. 

I've been utterly enchanted with them, and think I would have loved them as a child. Just my thing; weird, unpredictable, funny, melancholy, with nature, songs and friendships high in the mix. 

The Moomintrolls are a family of trolls who look vaguely hippo-ish: Moominmama, Moominpapa & little Moomintroll, whose family is the centre of a larger circle of characters in this odd little world. 

The Moomins & the Great Flood is the first book in the series; I found it a bit different from all that follow, in some key ways. First, it's very short in comparison, only 52 pages. Next, and more vitally, it's much more fantastic and dream-like than the following stories. It's a little fairy tale on its own; the Moomins' home is flooded in a great spring flood, with Moominpapa away with the Hattifatteners, a group of silent nomadic creatures. Moominmama and Moomintroll flee into a forest to escape and come across flower fairies, shadowy creatures, and dangerous serpents; they reach a safe house where an old man has a garden full of sweets but realize the false nature of this temporary security and keep moving. They sail across the sea in an armchair and finally find Moominpapa up a tree where he's escaped the flood, and together they settle into their new house in Moominvalley where they will live for much of the rest of the series.

You can tell from this that it's a plot-filled short novel, with dream like logic and magical coincidences. It's slightly creepy in the best way, and is quite unsettling. It was also the last of the 9 Moomin books to be translated into English and is apparently considered to be more of a 'prequel' than the start of the series. It was weird and wonderful in a very Finnish way. 

c1946; trans. by Elizabeth Portch

As to the next book, it starts the series proper. Many of the recurring characters are introduced in Comet in Moominland. And still in this one, the world is unpredictable and unsafe -- young Moomin and his friend Sniff travel at great length to an observatory in the mountains to get the truth of an ominous prediction about the arrival of a comet that is going to land right in Moominvalley and destroy everything. It's a Frodo & Sam kind of journey with perils and encounters with new creatures along the way. In the end, the comet does not destroy Moominvalley (though it does in the comic book version of this tale) and the family is restored, along with their friends, to safety. 

The tone of the book is dark, with the looming destruction of their comfortable world in the forefront. The characters' roles seem reversed, with the children going on a journey to find out what is happening and the parents at home seemingly not taking things as seriously. 

I've read that both of these books were written in wartime and reflect the uncertainties and terror of the war years, along with Jansson's own resultant depression. I only found this out after reading the whole series, but it really makes sense, as these two are definitely the most unsettling of the series (although I'd make an argument that the eighth book in the series was more terrifying to me as an example of an existential crisis). Reading them as an adult is perhaps more of an intellectual experience, with the implications of political and social thought in its context standing out for the reader. As a child, I think I'd have been more likely to simply engage with the characters and the fantastical events for themselves, and fully enter this imaginary world. 

But I really, really liked this whole set of books -- some particular titles more than others but as a whole they are quite wonderful. I only wish I'd discovered them sooner. 

The Unit

The Unit / Ninni Holmqvist; translated from the Swedish by Marlaine Delargy
New York: Other Press, c2008.
268 p.

I've finally got around to reading this dystopian novel that has been on my reading list for years now. Both #WITMonth & my trend toward dystopian reading this year have finally pushed me to pick it up.

It's a dark vision of a quite plausible future. Sweden has decided that women over fifty and men over sixty who are childless and not working in a protected (caring) job of some kind are dispensable. At this age, they are to be moved in to a Unit. They are provided with an apartment, fine meals, entertainment and activities -- overall a pretty good setup. 

The catch, and of course there is one, is that they are living guinea pigs from this point on, to be used in medical trials and for organ donation, until their Final Donation. 

Dorrit Weger is checked in to the Unit one spring day, and after a period of adjustment starts to find the routine quite standard. Even kind of reassuring in some ways. Luckily for her she starts off in some straightforward exercise-based studies that have no side effects, so things seem okay. 

But then the tests she's involved in get more invasive, and at the same time, for the first time in her life she falls in love. It's this, the falling in love, the realization that the two of them could have met in passing in their earlier lives and thus stayed out in the world as a productive couple - but too late now - all this is too much. Dorrit begins to realize that life is precious and living this way in the Unit becomes unbearable. 

It's a slow burn, this story. Seeing Dorrit realize that the cotton batting world of the Unit hides the vitality of real life; that love is a strong incentive to keep living. That ageism and a procreation based valuation of human life is wrong despite its societal acceptance in her world (though there are resisters). Her decision in the final pages is unpredictable and unexpected, and not exactly what I was hoping for, but so realistic and well told. 

This book is a solid read, I really couldn't put it down until I found out what was going to happen to Dorrit, but also to all the other middle aged and wonderful women that Holmqvist creates in this book. It was amazing to see all these different people in the book - sadly most of the 'dispensable' people in this society seem to be artists and creatives, without children or socially valued jobs. There is a lot underneath the surface in this novel, and a lot to talk about in Holmqvist's vision of a future that only values certain people. It was a moving, emotional story that I can't believe I took this long to read.