UNDER THE NORTH STAR - II

Author: Väinö Linna
Year: 1988 (1960)
Publisher: Wahlström & Widstrand
Language: Swedish (Translator N-B Storbom)

If the initial tome of Väinö Linna’s famous trilogy “Under the North Star” (see my review from March 2024) lays bare the rift in the social fabric of pre- First World War Finland, the second instalment “Upp Trälar” (published in English, and indeed the original Finnish simply as Part Two of the trilogy) sees Finland completely torn apart. The cataclysmic upheaval of the world war that brought an end to the oppression of the Muscovites, also hurled an already weary nation into a brief but bitter civil war between the forces of a marching Socialism and an entrenched Bourgeoisie.

In “Upp trälar”, Väinö Linna ventures forth into a grim era in Finland’s history, wasting no concern to embellish or veil the unspeakable evil wrought by one countryman upon another. What once was a resigned acceptance of fate, gradually sprouts into fear and suspicion, blossoming into fervent resistance and protest. We follow the genesis of the labour movement and how the first workers’ strikes compel the landowning classes to yield their first concessions. We are there when they later attempt to claw back some of their privileges in the midst of the turmoil following the Russian Czar’s effort to reassert dominion over an increasingly unruly Finland. We observe the violent reaction from the downtrodden, their blazing spirit under the scarlet banners of Socialism. We witness how Finns, increasingly wary of one another, engage in an arms race and ultimately a brutal and relentless war. And we mourn alongside the lone voices of reason their futile bids to prevent the looming calamity.

The atrocities perpetrated by all sides in the conflict defy all concepts of humanity, as the blind rage of vengeance knows no bounds other than its own indiscriminate barbarianism. People who have seen no other world than that populated by one another are pitted against each other, unleashing a hatred beyond comprehension. The outcome can only be death, suffering, and unspeakable despair.

Such events are, of course, not inherent to Finnish history or culture but form a humiliating leitmotif throughout the ages of human development. Whether religious wars, the Inquisition, the Rein of Terror, the October Revolution, the Massacres at Volhynia, Endlösung der Judenfrage, the Balkan War… the list goes on. And this is accounting for merely one of the six populated continents of the world. When given the chance, man reveals himself all too eager to provide evidence that what differentiates him from the beast is not his intellect or culture, but rather his unmatched capacity for hatred, barbarism, and his insatiable hunger for destruction, power, and blood.

As I argued in the review of the first part of this trilogy, the typical Swedish reader will scarcely be able to fathom the magnitude of such trials as Swedish socialists, faced with diametrically different challenges than their Finnish counterparts, had the luxury of riding the tide of a rapidly rising democratic movement allowing them to steer their course toward reform rather than revolution. By immersing ourselves in the Finnish experience we are unceremoniously confronted with the prospect of what could have been, a revelation that should give us pause in our insular sense of entitlement.

Although the tone in “Upp trälar” is endlessly darker than that in the first book, Linna’s literary genius remains beyond reproach. With his masterful touch, he treats each of his characters and every event with the utmost respect, offering neither accusation nor defence beyond that what their own deeds already dictate. While history teaches us that the socialists were defeated by a joint intervention of Finnish and international military forces, on an individual plain there were no victors. Here Linna, in his inimitable way, delivers each and every one of them to us for forgiveness or condemnation according to the inclination of each individual reader’s own conscience.

Indeed, if the first part of the trilogy resounded of hard labour punctuated by sparse but genuine laughter, the second book echoes of nothing but gnashing teeth and inconsolable screams into the darkness of an indifferent universe.

PURGATORIO

Author: Dante Alighieri
Year: 1966 (1321)
Publisher: Rabén & Sjögren
Language: Swedish (Translator Aline Pipping)

In the opening of the second part of Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy, “Skärselden” (“Purgatorio”), we find the narrator ejected from the lowest circles of Inferno onto the foothills of the mountain that is Purgatory. In Dante’s cosmology, the mountain of Purgatory rises as a counterpoint to Lucifer’s plunge into earth’s core, thus thrusting matter in front of him forward to create a mountain, roughly as tall as earth’s radius in the opposing end. Dante’s steadfast companion, Virgil, is still by his side. Unlike Inferno, the old man as a heathen and without hope of salvation has no prior knowledge of Purgatory but his wisdom will remain a beacon of advice and comfort to Dante during his continued exploration of the afterlife.  

Emerging from their long stay in the darkness of Hell, both men are blinded by the radiant sun. Although sounds of weeping and sorrow are heard around them here, too, the anguish is of a different kind. No longer the piercing screams of agony nor desperate cries of despair. The tears flowing in Purgatory are tears of insight and remorse. Contrary to the eternal damnation of Inferno, Purgatory offers the promise of redemption. Each soul, in its own time, will be admitted through the gates of Paradise. The role of the crucibles of Purgatory is to purge the sins from the souls in order to purify them before they enter the eternal joys in God’s presence. Though the sins of the souls saved in Purgatory rival those of the damned in Inferno, these sinners have acknowledged them and chosen the path to salvation by accepting the Lord as their saviour.

This truth is explicitly detailed in Canto 5 where Dante is first introduced to the negligent. Neither rejection nor defiance stain these souls. Rather, in their lifetime they succumbed to the trivial weakness of sloth and the distracting allure of simple pleasures which neutralised their capacity to embrace the highest love. Here, Dante moves on to encounter those who met their end suddenly, unprepared to meet their maker, such as victims of assassination or accidents. Yet, if only in the fleeting instant of their moment of death, the faintest whisper of submission to God’s will touched their hearts, they have been spared. For as Jesus replied to his disciples when they asked who can be saved

With men this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.*

Only through God, not our own actions, can our souls obtain salvation.

The divine beauty of humility is further elaborated on in Canto 11 picturing the souls steeped in the sin of pride and self-absorption. Those who used to look down upon their peers and cast disdainful gazed from their lofty heights, are here forced to carry the heavy burdens of their transgressions on their backs, making them bend down toward the earth, capable of seeing nothing but their own feet and the ground on which they trample, never to look down on anybody else again. Amidst this powerful reckoning, Dante and Virgil encounter Oderisi di Gubbio, the gifted painter, and Dante overflows with praise for his work. The painter gently dismisses him in a testimony of subdued humility.

“Brother!” said he, “with tints that gayer smile,
Bolognian Franco’s pencil lines the leaves.
His all the honour now; mine borrow’d light.”**

Praising your rivals and rejoicing in the success of others is just one of many kinds of love that God wants us to learn. If we cannot do it in life, we may get a second chance in Purgatory.

Similarly to Inferno, which descends through cycles of escalating sin drawing nearer Satan’s sulphurous lair, so too does the mountain of Purgatory reaching for the skies divided into circles of sinners edging ever closer to the promise of permanent redemption. Contrary to common belief, the gates of St Peter do not provide access to Paradise in Dante’s understanding, but to Purgatory. As God is omnipresent, his being is central to all that exists, including sin. All sin is the result of man’s perverted abuse of love, which is God. All who enter Purgatory are guaranteed salvation, but not without the purifying trials of time. The first circles after entering through the gates, are the circles of sins derived from misguided love. Here we find those who love themselves (superbia), those who love what others possess (invidia), and the ones encumbered by inverted love, i.e. hatred (ira). Beyond lies the domain of sinners who did not love enough; the carefree (acedia), while in the final three circles we find those whose lives were ensnared in excessive love; the greedy (avaritia), the gluttonous (gula), and the lustful (luxuria). Together they correspond to the seven deadly sins.

An intriguing cultural tidbit can be found in Canto 6 where Dante enumerates some dynasties that ruled the major city-states on the Italian peninsula. Among them he mentions the Montecchi, Cappelletti, Monaldi, and Filippeschi. Curiously, the first two were rivalling families in the annals of Verona’s tumultuous past, their story immortalised by a certain English playwright three centuries later.

“Skärselden” is sometimes mentioned as the least interesting part of The Divine Comedy but after reading and contemplating, there is good reason to reevaluate this statement. Far from the bombastic visual effects of the Inferno, the melancholic tone of “Skärselden” carries profound truths about the nature of sin and above all, the geography of redemption. If Inferno and Paradise are destinations, Purgatory is a journey. In the words of the Swedish poet Karin Boye

The day of plenty may not the greatest be,
greater still is the day of thirst, you see.
For sure, a meaning to our journey we can find,
yet the road itself is what is worth the grind.***

 

*  Matthew 19:25 KJV
**“The Vision of Purgatory”, Project Gutenberg 2004 translation: Henry Francis Cary
*** My own translation

PAUPER NOBILITY

Author: Agnes von Krusenstjerna
Year: 2010 (1935)
Publisher: Albert Bonniers förlag
Language: Swedish

In the maze of societal expectations, few endeavours are as effortlessly executed as keeping up appearances when one’s coffers harmonise with one’s station and lifestyle. But what drama looms when the reality of one’s means and the exigencies of one’s ideals diverge?

The hallmark of the old European nobility is that they do not labour for sustenance. Historically, their existence has been one of living off the fertile yields of their land, tended dutifully by others. Any work they deigned to undertake was veiled beneath the guise of service, be it to their community, their sovereign, or the nation at large. They could serve at the royal court, in government, diplomacy, or the military. Although they were often rewarded for this, there mere suggestion that their efforts might be tied to pecuniary rewards was to defile the sanctity of their noble lineage.

 In Europe, a seismic shift began to stir at the dawn of the Age of Enlightenment where noble titles were increasingly bestowed by monarchs upon favoured servants as an honour without an accompanying fiefdom or endowment. Thus, a new subclass of landless nobility was born. The momentum gathered further pace as the tide of revolutions swept across the continent, and even more so by the rapid formation of a capitalist class sprouting from the bourgeoisie during the industrialisation. By the end of the 19^th century a significant number of impoverished aristocrats had emerged; a nobility that had no other asset to their name… than their name. And yet, despite their destitution, they were held to the same standards as their affluent peers in terms of lifestyle and material standards. Noblesse oblige, after all.

In the Swedish language, this class is commonly attributed the sobriquet “Fattigadel” (“Pauper Nobility”) which is also the title of the first book of Agnes von Krusenstjerna’s tetralogy known under the same name. Through the lens of her own upbringing as the daughter of a military nobleman, Krusenstjerna offers an intimate chronicle of societal upheaval and familial strife against the backdrop of a world in flux.

“Fattigadel” opens with a short scene featuring Viveka von Lagercrona as an elderly lady receiving a visitor in what seems to be a sanatorium or hospital. After this scene, Krusenstjerna guides the reader through the life of Viveka as the youngest child of four and the only daughter in a financially distressed noble family around the turn of the century. As her father, who, like the author’s own father, is a military officer, keeps changing commands around Sweden, the family is compelled to follow and young Viveka and her brothers are gradually shaped by their parents' responses to the vicissitudes of their class, and by the judgment of others.

Having read the poignant reports penned by the likes of Vilhelm Moberg and Väinö Linna chronicling the hardships of the landless proletariat of the same epoch, one finds oneself grappling with an intuitive difficulty to immediately sympathise with the upper class Lagercrona children and their seemingly imagined misery. Befitting the commander of the regiment, a stately mansion with servants are provided to Viveka’s father and his family. Here, amidst the plush comforts of their domain, Viveka and her siblings can spend their time frolicking carefree, oblivious of the toil that that besets children of labourers and crofters. Their living conditions could not be any more different. However you look at it, the nobility was struggling to keep up with their class, while the workers were struggling to break free from theirs.

A fleeting moment wherein the lives of the privileged Lagercronas converge with the humble existence of their elderly household servant is when one of Viveka’s brothers finds out that the old woman keeps two canaries in a cage at her home. In a life defined by hard work and poverty, the canaries embody what little happiness the old woman has in life. Lady von Lagercrona, eager to win the affection of her son by presenting him with an exotic Christmas gift, takes little notice of this and demands that the woman sell her the canaries at a ridiculously low price. Unable to refuse the desire of the assertive noblewoman, the woman succumbs, is bereft of her only source of solace and left with a handful of change while the von Lagercronas can add another curiosity to their household for the superficial entertainment of their spoilt son. Krusenstjerna never returns to the fate of the elderly woman after the scene of the transaction. She remains an inconsequential witness to the capricious whims of those enveloped in privilege.

Even so, I am compelled to refrain from downplaying Viveka’s internal strife and her experience of inadequacy. It is well documented that negative stress appears when the gap between the expectations and the individual’s ability to meet with them becomes insurmountable and this is precisely what Viveka and her siblings are faced with. From an early age, they are confronted with the scorn of their more affluent peers and the ceaseless efforts to mask their poverty and want, not to mention handling their hysterical and overbearing mother. Anxiety and depression would be expected effects of such an upbringing. Suffering has not hierarchy and I hesitate to compare woes on an individual level as someone else’s misfortune rarely serves to take the edge off of one’s own.

In these poignant reflections, I find myself incapable of escaping the confrontation with the echoes of my own childhood. Though disparate in nature and historical context, the challenges faced by the von Lagercrona family resonate eerily with my own lived experiences of growing up in an atmosphere lined with the bitterness of bygone family greatness.

Irrespective of its contents, the literary value of “Fattigadel” remains undisputed as the book is objectively very well written. The characters, particularly the children, are meticulously crafted and easily distinguishable, and they behave predicably according to their individual personality. My only hesitation is with regard to the disposition of the novel which begins as a story that develops chapter for chapter in linear progression, only to change characteristics in the last quarter of the book to more resembling a series of independent snapshots or anecdotes from the life of the von Lagercronas, as if representing pages torn from a diary. Maybe the author’s own.  

I have three more parts to read of this series but I have a feeling that I may have reason to return to this issue in more depth further down the road.

UNDER THE NORTH STAR - I

Author: Väinö Linna
Year: 1988 (1959)
Publisher: Wahlström & Widstrand
Language: Swedish (Translator N-B Storbom)

In the quiet moments of reflection, one can still hear the echoes of the struggles of generations of the past reverberating through the annals of time. Theirs was a world cloaked in the shadow of hardship, where each dawn brought forth a new challenge to overcome and each dusk offered but a fleeting respite from the burdens they bore. Through the veil of adversity they found solace in the simplicity of their bonds, forged neither in gold nor in silver, but in shared despair and sacrifice.

No one has described these times better than the Swedish writer Vilhelm Moberg (see e.g. my review from October 2022), but there are a few who stand shoulder to shoulder with him. The Russian Maxim Gorky is one. The Finn Väinö Linna is another.

The first book in Väinö Linna's epic trilogy "Under the North Star," is “Högt bland Saarijärvis moar” (published in English under the same title as the whole trilogy*). It unfolds with a poignant scene as the stalwart farmhand Jussi receives permission from the local pastor to reclaim a desolate plot of marshland belonging to the parish and forge a new life upon it. Jussi’s journey is one of unparalleled hardship, matched only by his unyielding resolve as we follow him, his kin, and his community, through the tumultuous years of the beginning of the 20^th century.

I have long advocated the necessity for Swedes to immerse themselves in the rich universe of Finnish 20^th century literature, particularly the proletarian and post-war narratives. Such immersion not only grants us insight into the trials of our predecessors but also contextualises their struggles within the broader spectrum of our shared Nordic heritage. A Swedish reader of "Högt bland Saarijärvis moar" will no doubt recognise the echoes of the bygone plight of the Nordic peasants a century ago and the hard labour, oppressive landowners, disease, and the unrelenting scorn of the privileged elite.

But besides that, there were two dynamics in the reality of a Finnish farmhand, that would seem strange to a Swedish crofter from the same period: the tug-of-war between languages and the resistance against an foreign sovereign. Despite the dominance of Russian overlords, the Finnish upper echelons clung to the Swedish language as a symbol of status and education. In this era of societal upheaval, marking the advances of Socialism, Liberalism, Temperance, and the emancipation of women, the promotion of Finnish language, known as Suometarianism, emerged as a beacon of cultural identity. In Linna’s view, this was an upper-class project as the under-class did not really care if their abusers spoke Swedish, Russian or Finnish with one another.

Linna skilfully portrays this linguistic struggle through the whimsical exchanges of the pastor's la-di-da wife, whose insistence on Finnish discourse incites both hilarity and introspection. Although both she and her husband hail from the urban elite, and consequently speak Swedish better than Finnish, she insists on forcing the monolingually Swedish Baron to speak Finnish whenever conversing with them, and gives her and the pastor’s children classic Finnish names. In Chapter 5, her attempts to whip up indignation among the altogether indifferent labourers against the so-called February Manifest issued by Tsar Nicolai II which would transfer power from the reasonably autonomous Finland to Russia, result in several humorous encounters.

As a writer, Väinö Linna shows true mastery and his love for his homeland and its history shines through every character and every scene.  I furthermore find myself compelled to pay tribute to the translator whose Herculean task of rendering Linna’s carefully crafted working-class Finnish vernacular into Swedish deserves the highest commendation. Linna lets his characters converse in a provincial Finnish which is reproduced in a non-standardised semi-phonetic writing designed to convey the flavour of the language of the uneducated. The translator was himself a Swedish-speaking Finn and must have had to reach deep into the swedophone provinces of Finland and thereafter ruralise the language to obtain the right effect. His laborious efforts ensure that the essence of Finnishness remains intact, bridging cultures and allowing literature to transcend linguistic boundaries.

It is no wonder that “Högt bland Saarijärvis moar” has become a classic in Finnish literature. It is a testament to the indomitable spirit of those who toiled the earth and forged a nation through hardship and sacrifice. Their sweat may have long evaporated and tears dried, yet the echoes of their labour and the resonance of their laughter still reverberate through the majestic pine forests of Finland.

 

*The Finnish original assigns no individual titles to each part of the trilogy which is simply called Here, Under the North Star parts 1, 2, and 3, but the Swedish publisher named each part after the opening words of different famous poems.

THE GODS AWAKEN

Author: Sylvain Neuvel
Year: 2017
Publisher: Brombergs Bokförlag
Language: Swedish (Translator Peter Samuelsson)

In part two of The Themis Files by Sylvain Neuvel, titled “Gudarna vaknar” (“The Gods Awaken”) readers are plunged back into the enigmatic world of Themis, the colossal machine whose origins and purpose continue to mystify.  After an initial showdown in the end of the first part “Sleeping Giants” (see my review of January 2024), the creators of Themis re-appear, but this time in significantly larger numbers thrusting the young doctor and her team once again into the forefront of a battle to save humanity. As she grapples with unravelling the mysteries of Themis and thwarting the looming threat, she also has to confront her own internal struggle and issues of identity as well as the emotional turmoil of her team members, compounded by the relentless pressure of international politics.

No doubt, the pace picks up in the second book compared to the first as is perhaps indicated in the author’s choice of titles. Undeniably, gods awakening should bring about a greater potential for action than giants sleeping. Still, several of the weaknesses from the first book remain.

Two books into the series, I feel qualified to say that even though, one may get used to the choice of narration by protocol transcripts, the format’s limitations continue to overshadow the story itself.

This is particular pronounced in character development. Although there seems to be a clear idea in the writer’s head about the characters’ evolution, the choice of narration technique severely limits the arena on which they offer a connection with the reader. As a result, we get endless conversations disguised as interrogations and internal monologues posing for diary entries. None of this gains any level of credibility.

Technical inadequacy aside, Neuvel touches on a couple thought-provoking philosophical concepts, examining humanity's existential place in the universe and the complexities of personal identity. The reason that the giant robots were placed on Earth in the first place is explored in this book, and it is connected to the return of the giants and their choice of actions on our planet ultimately raising the question of how a technically superior lifeform might perceive mankind and how they might position themselves in relation to us. A second interesting topic addresses the meaning of time and space, as well as the function of memory and experience as building blocks of our personal identity as the main protagonist struggles to come to terms with the consequences of the events in the previous book.

In my post about the first book in the series, I left the door open for some of the most flagrant inconsistencies to be there by design rather than omission, and that I was prepared for them to get their explanation as the story unfolds. This caution proved partially justified as some of the questions I raised, were indeed answered in this book. Not in the brilliant way I had hoped, but still enough to remove them from the list of unexplained plot holes.

While the novel's heightened pace and occasional departures from traditional American young adult conventions may appeal to its target audience, adult readers may find certain elements, such as exaggerated heroics and bravado, bordering on the cringeworthy. Nevertheless, "Gudarna vaknar" offers an engaging continuation of the series, blending action-packed sequences with philosophical inquiry.

I find it prudent to abandon all expectations for the third and final book other than bracing for the possibility of an utterly anti-climactic ending.

INFERNO

Author: Dante Alighieri
Year: 1965 (1321)
Publisher: Rabén & Sjögren
Language: Swedish (Translator Aline Pipping)

MIDWAY upon the journey of our life
I found myself within a forest dark,
For the straightforward pathway had been lost.*

These are the first lines of “Inferno”; the first book in Dante Alighieri’s legendary epic The Divine Comedy. What follows is an account of the horrors of hell, but also its structure, its purpose, and the sometimes surprising shadows or souls that it contains.

In this journey through the underworld, Dante guides his readers through a vividly imagined afterlife, where souls undergo trials and tribulations commensurate with their earthly misdeeds. The journey is structured as a descent through nine concentric circles of Hell, each representing a different category of sin, with the final circle housing Satan himself. Throughout Inferno, Dante employs rich symbolism to convey his allegorical vision of Hell. The various punishments inflicted on sinners, both contemporary and historic, both real and mythological, are not only literal but also symbolic representations of the spiritual consequences of their actions.

Through his allegorical exploration of sin, redemption, and divine justice, Dante offers profound insights into the human condition, inviting readers to contemplate the nature of existence and the quest for spiritual enlightenment, but he does so through a distinctly Christian lens. Even though the deeds of the men and women whose shadows populate underworld in the afterlife may be perfectly human, the judgment is altogether Christian.

This hierarchical structure of Hell reflects medieval Christian theology, which categorised sins based on their severity and moral implications and yet Dante is by no means oblivious to the plight of mankind and the weaknesses of the human flesh and mind. The very first circle is Limbo and is dedicated to those who departed from the world of the living without ever having known Christ as their saviour, for example heathens and unchristened infants, who have otherwise not sinned. The next four circles of Hell house the sinners of incontinence. This refers to sinners who have fallen prey to the exaggeration of natural human desires and follows the teachings of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics which singles out those weak minds that allow their desires to overcome their rationality. Here we find the lustful, they gluttonous, the greedy, and the wrathful. Heretics are found in circle six, and murderers and sodomites in the seventh circle together with those who committed suicide. In the eighth circle, Dante meets with panderers, flatterers, seducers, sorcerers, instigators, and counterfeiters. The ninth and final circle of Hell is where Satan keeps traitors.

A key element to all these sinners is that their sin only governs which circle they are sent you to. According to Catholic doctrine, the reason anybody ends up in Hell in the first place is their failure to repent. Until their last breath, every human being is able to escape damnation just by acknowledging their sins and accepting Christ’s sacrifice on the cross. Only if they fail to do that, they will be subject to the torments of Inferno. The rest is simply logistics.

Having said that, when we read “Inferno”, it is necessary to remember that, although heavily influenced by Greek, Roman, and Christian symbolism, philosophy, and theology, the work remains the brainchild of Dante alone. Although the concept of Hell rests on Christian doctrine, and it is reasonable to assume that Dante, who was in exile in the Vatican when he first began to toil over this masterpiece, made extensive theological research for his work, the result is still the product of a poet and artist and does not constitute part of the teachings of the Catholic Church.

A few observations may still be of interest to a 21^st century reader.

First, the hierarchical arrangement of the levels or circles in Hell seems to be grouped based on with the victim of the sinners’ deeds in life. Those consigned to the upper circles primarily inflicted harm upon themselves through their sins. The circles behind the walls of the city of Hell but before the Well of the Giants are for the deceitful who defrauded individuals who placed unwarranted trust in them. This is also where sins of violence is punished. Beyond the Well of Giants are those who deceived their own kin, homeland, friends, and benefactors.

Second, following as a consequence of the first, is the relatively light punishment for the sinners of incontinence. Lust in particular, although disproportionately vilified by contemporary adherents of certain pseudo-Christian denominations, particularly of the evangelical low church confessions, is relegated to a relatively lenient sentence. Dante positions these sinners outside the city gates of Hell signalling his discernment that their offenses do not merit the same type of perpetual torment endured by many others. In contrast, sins such as simony, flattery, and sorcery are deemed far graver. It is noteworthy that while acts of pimping and seduction incur explicit condemnation, the profession of prostitution per se does not. Indeed, the sole mention of a prostitute, Ptolemy’s courtesan Thaïs, in Inferno pertains to her flattery rather than her extramarital liaisons.

Third, it may appear counterintuitive to a modern reader that acts of violence and even murder receive milder retribution than e.g. deceit. Dante also grapples with this conundrum and in Canto 11 eturn man away from his humanity and make him a beast. Acts of deceit on the other hand, are sins that exploit the unique faculties given to man from God to the fullest: reason, planning, the comprehension of truth, and the volition to deceive. Therefore, by perverting the most quintessential attributes God has given to man, the gifts that define man as opposite to beasts, these sins are more odious to God then any act of violence.

Fourth, all of us sin in more ways than one way and each of the shadows in Inferno would qualify for more than one circle. Dante seems to place the shadows in the circle that corresponds to the sin that most prominently defined the sinner’s life, not necessarily the sin that is the gravest. On the other hand, people who had been fair and respected in their lifetime but made one decisive error are unceremoniously condemned by Dante to the underworld. Such as Farina di Umberto who was sent to the sixth circle as a heretic even though he had otherwise lived his life according to the highest human standards. Perhaps the fact that he belonged to a different political party than Dante might have had something to do with it.

Reading “Inferno” proves fascinating in a number of ways, not least of which is its value as a historical document. Dante skilfully weaves personal relationships and political feuds into his poem, occasionally lending it a somewhat parochial air. It is as if a modern poet would grapple with the concept of damnation by introducing King Charles III, Taylor Swift, and Rupert Murdoch into the various infernal circles. Particularly intriguing is Dante's candid depiction of sin in his surroundings. For example, in Canto 9 he encounters the father of his best friend among the heretics. Apart from that, he names a catalogue of historical celebrities, but conspicuously few of them hail from the epochs most recently predating Dante’s own. Even biblical figures are scarce. Instead, he delves into antiquity and summons both real and mythological beings from ancient Rome and Greece. It seems reasonable to perceive this as a pedagogical method, referring to characters familiar to his readers for illustrative purposes while he allowed his allusion to coeval Florentines to serve as contemporary political critique.

Dante’s remarkably compassionate eyes and his sublime poetry, expertly translated by into Swedish by Aline Pipping who, contrary to Longfellow’s English rendition, retains the poetic metric of the Italian original, Hell becomes vividly palpable and intuitively comprehensible. While no depiction, whether verbal or visual, can probably even begin to encapsulate the profound darkness and desolation of the underworld, it is undeniable that after seven centuries, Dante’s project still constitutes the benchmark for the popular conception of Hell in the Christian part of the world.

 *In Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s translation from 1867

SLEEPING GIANTS

Author: Sylvain Neuvel
Year: 2016
Publisher: Brombergs Bokförlag
Language: Swedish (Translator Peter Samuelsson)

In the enchanting years of childhood, where youthful enthusiasm knows no bounds, a girl frolics through the familiar neighbourhood, traversing woods and fields without neither plan nor goal. In this whimsical dance, the ground suddenly gives way underneath her feet and she tumbles into a sinkhole. Yet, rather than meeting the expected muddy ground, her fall is broken by a metal hand of unimaginable proportions and age. The first sleeping giant unearthed by human civilisation.

This is the starting point of Canadian writer and translator Sylvain Neuvel’s widely acclaimed series The Themis Files, whose first instalment is “Sovande jättar” (“Sleeping Giants”). The young girl’s discovery of the hand of a colossal robot triggers a global quest for the remaining parts at the highest levels of international politics. Her experience inspires her to venture into the study of physics and years later, after earning her PhD, she is heading up the team that conducts the research on the metallic giant on behalf of the US government. The tale unfolds as the team, with increasingly audacious endeavours, pursues scattered body parts worldwide, navigating geopolitical complexities.

In lieu of a traditional narrator, the story is mainly told by interrogation protocols and interviews, and in some cases hospital journals or official government documents. These accounts are mostly facilitated by a faceless, nameless, and untitled quasi-governmental agent whose interest in the extraordinary find is as shrouded in mystery as the contraption itself.

While the premise captivates attention, the execution leaves room for critique.

A common mistake is when a writer tries to inject too much action into the story without sufficiently expanding character gallery. Soap operas, obviously, have elevated this malaise to an artform. It certainly serves its purpose to keep the number of names to a bare minimum (unless you are a Russian writer and simply don’t care) but if the story becomes too complex involving too few characters, credibility suffers. This is exactly what happens to “Sovande jättar”. The improbable chain of events that leads a girl from a chance discovery to directing the research of it several decades later already strains believability. But it is only one of several such pitfalls. I leave out the rest to avoid spoilers.

Furthermore, the research direction as well as the pace and haphazard methods that mar its progress, including highly questionable ethics and safety measures, betray a vague understanding of academical research. Albeit no project can foresee and mitigate all risks, but no serious project manager would expose their teams to the kind of hazards that are described in the plot.

The choice of narration through protocols and journals, too, while not inherently flawed, falters in execution. It is imperative that the narration not only supports the story but moreover is suitable for it. If it is noticeable that the writer is struggling to maintain a certain perspective the bubble bursts. This is a constant problem for Neuvel in “Sovande jättar”. Many of the interrogations accounted for are simply unjustified, and in the case of a shrewd secret agent of an equally secret as influential agency, it should have been in his interest to not erect a protocol from certain conversations at all. But Neuvel could not omit them as they contain data that the reader needs to know to follow the story. By the same token, the interrogated characters sometimes answer questions they should’ve simply rejected or make random out-of-character comments.

In short; the plot's potential for exploring humanity's place in the universe and our technological inferiority is underutilised. Instead of delving into profound existential questions, Neuvel opts for a simplistic thriller, punctuated by juvenile love stories and he-said-she-said dialogues. From the introduction of the book, we learn that the genesis of The Themis Files is in a whimsical request from the author’s son for a bedtime tale about a toy robot. The resultant work straddles the line between a young adult and a more mature audience. The plot holes put their trust in the forgiveness of a reader's naivety and the language remains simple, while the political dimensions and sexual undertones require a more advanced age group. The characters, constrained by the protocol/article narration, emerge as flat and uninteresting—a foreseeable consequence of this stylistic choice.

So far, The Themis Files has been a disappointment.