IN THE SPRING OF LIFE

Author: Agnes von Krusenstjerna
Year: 2010 (1938)
Publisher: Albert Bonniers förlag
Language: Swedish

By the time we reach the fourth volume of Agnes von Krusenstjerna's Pauper Nobility-series, titled “I livets vår (“In the Spring of Life”), the distressing maltreatment endured by the unfortunate protagonist, Viveka von Lagercrona, has wrought its predictable effects, rendering her a young lady whose sensibilities have been warped into a state of such disorder that one might scarcely hope to see in her the bloom of a well-functioning social being.

We are reunited with her in the spring of her adulthood, at a moment when her brother and nemesis Antonius, along with two of their companions, Ava de Gam-Palin and Adolf von Gottlibson, are on their way to enjoy a period of rest and recuperation at the estate of Ava’s parents. Ava is secretly in love with Antonius, while Adolf and Viveka engage in a cautious, though mutual, exploration of their feelings. Complicating this fragile patchwork of emotional bonds is the peculiar nature of the friendship between Antonius and Adolf; a connection marked by such closeness that one cannot help but wonder if it transcends the boundaries of ordinary male companionship. Though never explicitly stated, the suggestion that their friendship might surpass the strictly platonic was shocking at the time of this novel’s publication.

I suggested in my review of the preceding volume (see review from July 2024), that, owing to the persistent psychological abuse which characterised much of Viveka’s childhood, her faculties, both social and mental, might be deemed in some degree impaired. As the narrative progresses in this fourth book, we observe the pernicious effects of such abuse. Our heroine appears petrified, bereft of any capacity to act on behalf of herself. She remains a passive observer in the course of her own life, as though every decision and action taken upon her person is but the will of others, to which she submits without question, without interest, and indeed, without resistance. So it is, that the most significant moments of her existence are shaped by the choices of those around her, whether it be her engagement to Adolf or her attendance at the deathbed of her dreaded aunt, Eveline MacDougall.

The nature of Pauper Nobility must be understood against the backdrop of Krusenstjerna’s earlier and most contentious work, the Miss von Phalen-series, which depicted female behaviour that a century ago was considered highly improper, but nowadays would in many societies be regarded as a display of feminine empowerment and emancipation, and therefore not only accepted but moreover encouraged. In a letter to her editor, Krusenstjerna gave assurances that her next endeavour would be of a more neat and tidy disposition, promising to avoid any further perturbations to the delicate sensibilities of the public. It is apparent that the controversy which followed the release of her previous series had left a mark both on her and on her publisher.

In my updated edition of the Pauper Nobility-tetralogy, each volume is accompanied by a commentary from the editor, complete with excerpts from the esteemed literary critics of Sweden and Swedophone Finland at the time of publication. It becomes evident that the cultural elite of the period, who had expressed considerable disapproval towards the Miss von Phalen-saga, found much to admire in the more polished, some would say bland, composition of Pauper Nobility. There appears to have been a general consensus that Krusenstjerna was a brilliant writer, unrivalled in her ability to explore the intricacies of the female experience within the upper classes. Criticism seemed mild and was typically confined to very specific observations of limited gravity. Her command of language and style was rarely questioned and her abilities as a wordsmith were virtually unchallenged.

SPOILER ALERT

And so, “I livets vår” marks the fourth and final volume of the series. Or does it? In the opening scene of the first book (see review from March 2024), we are introduced to Viveka von Lagercrona as an elderly lady, receiving a visitor who stirs in her memories of her childhood. We also become acquainted with her elder brother, the feverishly sensitive Antonius, who threatens to sever all ties with her should she proceed with a marriage he does not condone. Curiously, Krusenstjerna never seems to return to these themes in the fourth volume. Moreover, this edition, in addition to the excerpts from the contemporary press, offers a wealth of bonus material such early drafts and letters in which Krusenstjerna discusses her work. Everything is expertly commented on by the editor. From these documents, we learn that Krusenstjerna had already made significant headway toward a fifth volume at the time of “I livets vår”’s publication. Sadly, she passed away in 1940, at the age of 46, without finishing her work.

In conclusion, Pauper Nobility was an unusual and more personal read to me than most other works of fiction. The character of Sebastian, with his determined efforts to assert himself while daring to transgress the rigid boundaries of his social class, resonated with certain aspects of my own experience, though in a manner less overt. Equally moving, though profoundly painful, was Douglas’ costly defiance of his father’s cherished ambitions for him, and the old colonel’s bitter struggle to reconcile himself to his son’s perceived inadequacies in the career so carefully chosen for him. The selfishness of Antonius, so shallow in its egotism, finds a reflection in his equally self-absorbed mother, Sophia, whose indifference and vanity are as vexatious as they are enervating. Viveka, finally, is the hapless and defeated victim of this all, helplessly crushed under the weight of the collective trauma of her family, to a point where it drove me to physical unease.

It is unlikely that I will read any more works of Krusenstjerna but I am glad I read this. It was a reading experience like no other, and one, I only need once in my life. But need it, I did.   

CHILDREN OF THEIR CITY

Author: Per Anders Fogelström
Year: 1962
Publisher: Albert Bonniers Förlag
Language: Swedish

The second book in Per Anders Fogelström’s epic tale about the people of Stockholm, “Barn av sin stad” (“Children of Their City”) shifts its focus to the children of Henning Nilsson, the protagonist of the first volume of this timeless saga (see my review from August 2024). After his untimely death, a cruelty all too often meted out by fate to the people of the 19^th century, his widow Lotten steps in to shoulder his mantle, taking upon herself the heavy burden of keeping the household clean, clothes mended, and food served while also working long hours as a washerwoman, like her mother before her, eternally bending beneath the dirt of others.  

The city, once a pastoral farmland gracing the slopes of the Brunkeberg ridge, is slowly changing as new buildings sprout from the soil claiming dominion over territory not long ago commanded by the plough. Yet, it is not merely the landscape that shifts. Society itself is caught in the winds of change. The many large and small industries and production facilities, as well as the booming trade with buyers and sellers from near and far, attract masses of unskilled labour who pour into the city in search of a brighter destiny, much like Henning had done 20 years prior to the events in this book.  The city, in all its glory and allure, remains cold and relentless to the newcomers as well as their offspring. Housing is scarce and expensive, work is hard, wages are kept low by the constant inflow of labour. The dreams held by men and women such as Henning and Lotten are quickly shattered by the reality of the city as it appears to exchange their rustic chains for urban shackles, equally crushing but far more insidious. No wonder then that the trade unions, that only began to form in the first novel, by the last decades of the 19^th century begin to gain momentum as they challenge the suffocating weight of an industrial beast that, until now, had cared little for the crushed souls left in its wake.

“The want grew and fed the hatred”

For Henning’s now fatherless family, the poverty is of a different kind than it was for him when he first arrived to Stockholm in the 1860s. Their hardship, though still palpable, is softened by the warmth of companionship. Unlike Henning, who had entered the city as a stranger, forced to forge his own fragile connections, his widow Lotten and their children have each other, as well as a network of friends and acquaintances she and Henning had painstakingly woven over the years. Moreover, they possess something Henning could scarcely have dreamt of in his early days: a house, their own home, modest yet solid, a refuge in a city of shifting fortunes. While Henning had once rented a mattress on the floor of a violent and unpredictable coalman, his family now have the means to offer a room as landlords to others less fortunate. One of their tenants is Bärta, who by lack of character rather than premeditated malice, will in time prove to have a profound impact on the family.

One cannot help but be dazzled by Fogelström’s exquisite command of the history, politics, and geography of 19^th century Stockholm. He masterfully incorporates global, national, and local events into his narrative. At times, these events exercise great influence on his characters’ development; at others, the glide by in the background like clouds in the sky, visible but inconsequential. Reading Fogelström is like being transported back in time. Every alley is historically correct, every event perfectly fitted into the story. As a reader, I trust Fogelström to get every shadow right and the weather report on any particular day to be accurate.

Consequently, Fogelström’s account of the wretchedness that stalks the impoverished is imbued with a chilling authenticity. The prostitution, the crime, and the violence; these are not the aberrations of a select few, but the inevitable companions of destitution in any community. In present-day Sweden, where organised crime casts its bleak shadow ever further over the underprivileged segments of society, typically populated by first- and second-generation immigrants, and gradually spreading its tentacles into every corner of civil society, it is all too convenient for some to attribute this ruin to migration. I would urge anyone who clings to this childish illusion to read "Barn av sin stad" as a necessary corrective. There, within its pages, one will find that the thieves, the rapists, the con artists, and even the murderers are not foreign to this soil. They are blonde, Swedish, and irredeemably poor. Poverty, it seems, is an alchemist that turns human beings into the basest versions of themselves, regardless of their origin. And though the narrative offers moments where happiness dares to flicker and respite from the relentless drudgery briefly graces these lives, it is never long before the misery of want reappears, omnipresent, a constant reminder of the abyss that lies beneath.

“To smile is to open ajar for a moment the hardened shell of everyday existence – and is there anything but tears inside?”  

All quotes are my own translations from the Swedish original and are not from the printed translation by Jennifer Brown Bäverstam.

 

THE KNIGHT TEMPLAR

Author: Jan Guillou
Year: 1999
Publisher: Piratförlaget
Language: Swedish

It has been ten long years since the last pages of the first book in Jan Guillou’s trilogy about Arn Magnusson were turned. Arn, serves his penitence as a Knight Templar in the Holy Land where he has been promoted to lord of a remote castle south of Jerusalem. His beloved Cecilia endures her own purgatory, confined within the austere walls of a convent presided over by a spiteful abbess, a sworn foe to the ancient bloodlines from which both Arn and Cecilia descend. To debate who among them suffers the greater agony is futile. For while Arn strides across the stage of history, his stature rising amidst the revered ranks of one of Christendom's most formidable orders, Cecilia is entombed in a stone sarcophagus, where each breath is a silent rebellion against the tyrannies of a cruel and relentless gaoler who delights in her power to torment and subdue.

As with the opening volume of this series, the author's command of history is both impressive and nimble, allowing him to weave thread after thread of fact into a credible and absorbing universe. He summons forth the towering figures of the age with both elegance and ease. Saladin, resplendent in his court of many a historical character, along with a cavalcade of kings, dukes, knights, and bishops from the Christian realm. He even manages to inserts a brief but ridiculous encounter between Arn and a youthful Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe, a tongue-in-cheek jab at the venerable Sir Walter Scott, the unsurpassed master of the genre.

Jan Guillou, furthermore, continues to craft exquisite landscapes for his readers, drawing them effortlessly into the sun-scorched deserts of Palestine or the shadowed, sombre halls of Gudhem nunnery. He has an unquestionable talent to conjure these distant worlds into vivid being without succumbing to the dreariness of exhaustive description. In Guillou's prose, action remains ever at the forefront, yet we are never deprived of the sights, scents, and sounds of the protagonist’s surroundings. With each turn of the page, we find ourselves immersed in a world that feels startlingly alive.

Also similar to the first book, alas, the plot itself and particularly the characters remain downright childish, evoking the unmistakable impression of a boyhood fantasy in the head of a nine-year-old sprawled on the floor, fighting battles with his toy knights and horses, albeit dressed in the vocabulary of a grown man. The main protagonist, Arn Magnusson of Arnäs, is so impossibly perfect that even Our Lord might cast a jealous glance his way. Arn, after all, speaks no fewer than four languages without an accent, is undefeatable in battle, possesses a mind that fathoms all mysteries, and foresees every manoeuvre of his foes with uncanny precision. He is a master not only of architecture, engineering, medicine, politics, and military strategy but of history, the Bible, and the Quran as well. His temper is a paragon of restraint (with one exception) and his honesty is as unwavering as his chastity as he remains devoted to Cecilia for two decades without so much as a flicker of romantic attraction to another woman, despite having known his fiancée only fleetingly as a teenager. In short, there is nothing Arn cannot achieve, nothing he does not know. He is not merely the finest warrior among the Knights Templar but, indeed, the finest human to have ever graced this earth. To the discerning adult reader, this portrait of a man, more suitable for a 1960s superhero comic than a historical novel at the dawn of the 21st century, might be either laughable or boring … or both.

Arn is hardly alone in his condition of implausibility. In Guillou's novels, the line dividing the virtuous from the villainous is typically drawn with the crystalline brightness of a child's crayon. The good are perfectly angelic, the wicked irredeemably diabolic, and never the two shall meet. In this moral landscape of stark absolutes, there is no room for the subtleties of human nature, no weaknesses, no flaws, no shades of grey to lend depth or credence to the characters.

All that being said, in our present age, where human wretchedness is celebrated, where theft, mendacity, treachery, pettiness, ignorance, and stupidity are hailed as virtues, and where the worst of our kind are exalted to rule, it can be liberating, if only for a moment, to dive into a world where integrity, compassion, and honour still carry weight. Guillou does not show us what humans are like. He shows us what they should be like. Thus, I find it hard to dismiss Guillou entirely as a mere purveyor of the banal. For while I am fully aware that the quality of this book is highly questionable, I cannot deny that a part of me looks forward to the third and final instalment of the trilogy with some anticipation.

I have, perchance, stumbled upon my guilty pleasure, my literary sanctuary if one will. But if that be the case, all of you who make up the society of today are to blame.

 

THE CITY OF MY DREAMS

Author: Per Anders Fogelström
Year: 1960
Publisher: Albert Bonniers Förlag
Language: Swedish 

“Mina drömmars stad” (“The City of my Dreams”) is the first of five books in Per Anders Fogelström’s classic Swedish epic informally known as the “City”-series, which unfolds the grand tale of Stockholm across several generations, from the second half of the 19^th century to the middle of the 20^th. In this first book, we find ourselves in the company of Henning Nilsson, a poor farmhand turned worker after having forsaken the countryside and to seek his fortune in the city. Industrialisation is well underway and the smoky and clattering leviathan of the expanding urban production machine hungers for labourers to man its factories, warehouses, ports, railways, and road constructions. Henning, undeterred by his youth and unimpressive physical strength, tries his luck in several different trades but in the end, dedicates his life to the rough and relentless port as a docker, compensating with commitment what he lacks in physique.

Through Henning’s experience, Fogelström takes us on a journey to a Stockholm of yore, to a time where this city began its long and cumbersome transformation from a provincial backwater on the northern outskirts of Europe to the regional metropolis it is today. The Stockholm of a century and a half ago, was a place barely recognisable, a forsaken accumulation of crumbling shacks and dilapidated huts, housing the most wretched of humanity such as impoverished workers, thieves, prostitutes, beggars, drunkards, and vagabonds. In these odious circumstances, man and women were grappling daily with the cruel game of survival as the meagre coin they earned stretched only to cover a fraction of their most acute wants.  It is a dark, filthy, and miserable world where despair clings to every cobblestone.

“The city was ruthless. It offered no quarter to the fearful. Every moment demanded courage.”*

Children hold a place of particular significance in Fogelström’s prose, commanding his devoted attention and meticulous care. It seems like the writer takes great pains to ensure that every facet of the proletariat is laid bare so that no one goes unaccounted for, no matter how young. The poverty and decay are examined from every conceivable angle and retold in unmasked detail.

And yet, Fogelström does not seek to cast us into despair. Although there is no effort to gloss over the squalor, his narrative glimmers with the humble brightness that Stockholm could offer even to the poorest of its flock. Amidst a world where there is no shortage of souls who wish to take advantage of Henning Nilsson and where employers who underpay and overwork him are legion, he still finds true friendship and love. Little by little, Fogelström reveals to us how a man of character and steadfast resolve can carve out room for himself even in a city where the surroundings, the customs, and the very way of life seem alien. In so doing, he reminds us how happiness may find even the most destitute of men.

Each character is crafted with exquisite precision. There is Henning’s friend Tummen, a man who knows everyone worth knowing, and can land a job, a room, or a bottle when they are needed the most, all the while nursing grand dreams of a workers’ revolution. Then there is Lotten, the washerwoman’s daughter, who, despite her scant means, insists on a home kept immaculate and clothes always in order, as if defying her poverty with each stroke of her broom. Annika, the daughter of a brutish coalman, pours every ounce of herself into the ambition of marrying out of her class. And Klara, with the unmistakable spark in her eye, who drifts into prostitution for the sake of convenience and learns to bear its bitter consequences.

Though the novel makes little reference to the precise era in which it is set, there are subtle clues strategically scattered throughout the narrative. Here and there, the reader will find the telltale imprints of historical figures, institutions, and events accurately woven into the story collectively, each serving as a timestamp for the reader to make note of. For example, August Strindberg’s novel “The Red Room” was published in 1879 and made a huge impact. Fogelström writes:

“Soon she left again. Lying down, Henning glanced at the book. ‘The Red Room – Scenes from the Life of an Artist and Writer’”

(For more on The Red Room, see my review from January 2023)

The title, finally, “Mina drömmars stad” is exquisite. It encapsulates the dual nature of desire, the fervent hopes and lofty dreams of those who abandoned the fields and farms of rural Sweden in search of a brighter existence in Stockholm, and the poignant yearning for a future forever out of reach, an imagined paradise that for many never quite arrived. The Swedish poet Lars Forssell, ten years Fogelström’s junior, captured the illusions that some rural dwellers harboured for the rapidly expanding capital city at the time.

“The streets in Stockholm are made of gold – I think. Purple drapes hang from every house.
No man will another indebted hold – I think. No one’s poor like a lowly louse.”*

It seems that in the end of the day, dreams were all that the city was able to deliver. And ultimately shatter.

*My own translation from the Swedish original 

METRO 2034

Author: Dmitry Glukhovsky
Year: 2017 (2009)
Publisher: Coltso
Language: Swedish (Translator Ola Wallin) 

Dmitry Glukhovsky’s book, “Metro 2033” (as discussed in my review from June 2024), though not without its shortcomings, achieved a remarkable success. Despite the passage of over fifteen years since its publication, and a full decade since it was launched to stardom by means of a popular video game adaptation, new readers continue to find their way into his imaginatively wrought post-apocalyptic world, set in the Moscow underground. Yet, there appears to be a consensus among them on one particular point: the sequel, “Metro 2034”, is far inferior to the first book.

“Metro 2034” is set a year after the events of “Metro 2033” and follows a largely different cast of characters than the first volume. However, one familiar hero does return, and with a role of even greater significance than before: Hunter.

Hunter is among the most skilled fighters and trackers in the entire metro, and a master of survival. His reputation precedes him as one who shoots first and asks questions later, harbouring no scruples about sacrificing innocent lives in pursuit of the idea of a greater good. His idea, to be more precise. In “Metro 2034”, he teams up with the significantly more sensitive and poetic adventurer, Homer, on a quest to rescue the remining shards of mankind dwelling in the metro tunnels from certain doom. On their journey, they encounter the sole female character to appear thus far in the series: Sasha.

For natural reasons, the second book differs significantly from its predecessor. It is quite understandable that Glukhovsky composed “Metro 2033” with a distinct political agenda in view; an agenda that reached its fulfilment by the conclusion of that volume. In the sequel, however, there is no longer an agenda to guide the narrative. What remains is merely the post-apocalyptic world itself, and thus the author is obliged to devise a new story. One that must adapt to a world originally crafted for an entirely different purpose.

Glukhovsky does this with a fair degree of success. Unlike the first book, which often read like a series of disconnected events hastily assembled to form a story, this time the storyline is more coherent and easier to follow. The political and philosophical digressions are fewer, giving way to a more action-driven central plot. For those who appreciated the reflective qualities of “Metro 2033”, “Metro 2034” may appear somewhat barren and banal, yet those in search of suspense and action will likely find it quite satisfying.

Still, there is wisdom to be found in the second volume as well. Notably, I find a contemplation of Thomas Hobbes' “Leviathan” (see my review from April 2022) through the prism of the Metro saga thus far to be particularly intriguing. Hobbes posited that in a society bereft of a centralized authority incorporated as an unopposed arbiter, the state of nature would inevitably devolve into a perpetual war of all against all. Only by surrendering our freedom and subjecting ourselves to oppression can we ensure that others are equally oppressed and thereby rendered incapable of harming us. Glukhovsky, however, presents us with a different perspective. In his world, the central power has been annihilated by war, leaving the survivors to contend with one another for the scarce resources that remain available. Yet, Hobbes' vision of a universal state of war does not entirely come to pass. Rather than individuals engaging in their own solitary one-on-one struggles, people band together to form communities, often, and this is key, defined by their opposition to another community. The state of war, as envisioned by Hobbes, does materialise to some extent, but not between individuals; rather, it arises between collectives. Within these collectives, conformity and cooperation are fostered not through the imposition of a judge and punisher, but through the rational choice to unite in the face of an external foe.

Beyond this, the continued scarcity of impactful female characters continues to plague this series. Granted, we are introduced to Sasha, and while her role is not entirely unjustified, the overwhelmingly masculine nature of the world is only accentuated by the presence of a damsel in distress who, after being rescued, endeavours to redeem a man who has seemingly strayed into ruthlessness and violence. Such a trope is far too clichéd not to be conspicuous, particularly in light of the glaring absence of other female characters.

In conclusion, I found myself far less disappointed by this book than some other readers, perhaps owing to my not having been as captivated by the first as they had been. In my view, this sequel proved to be a worthy and moderately enjoyable continuation, with its literary merit still largely dependent on the excellent worldbuilding and captivating settings. Indeed, the principal characters were actually more engaging here than in the initial volume. All in all, Glukhovsky has sustained both pace and altitude with this work. “Metro 2035” now beckons.

 

THE ROAD TO JERUSALEM

Author: Jan Guillou
Year: 1998
Publisher: Piratförlaget
Language: Swedish

Jan Guillou stands as one of Sweden’s most prominent authors of action literature, whilst also being a renowned, and oftentimes controversial, columnist with radically left-leaning political views. His most celebrated work, which catapulted him to literary prominence in Sweden during the 1970s, is perhaps the autobiographical novel "The Evil" which lays bare his supposedly harrowing experiences as a youth of modest origins amidst the privileged confines of a prestigious private school. Guillou's stature as a writer of action was ultimately solidified with the overwhelming success of his Coq Rouge-series in the 1980s and 1990s, wherein he recounts the daring exploits of a Swedish nobleman and military intelligence officer.

Guillou has since then proven himself to be a prolific writer, delighting in the exploration various eras and frequently displaying a bias to book series about his favourite protagonists. Among thsese is the medieval knight Arn Magnusson of Arnäs hailing from West Gothland in what would later become part of the unified kingdom of the Swedes and the Geats, today simply known as Sweden. The first volume of a series of three concerning Arn is entitled “Vägen till Jerusalem” (“The Road to Jerusalem”).

Arn, the second son of the head of one of the most illustrious families in West Gothland, is offered to a local monastery as a child, a token of gratitude by his parents to God for sparing his life in what ought to have been a fatal accident. Growing up among the Benedictine monks, Arn is immersed in their teachings. Beyond the expected studies of the Bible, philosophy, Latin, and geometry, he also gains knowledge in biology, medicine, engineering, and architecture. Most significantly, one monk, once a Knight Templar, instructs him in the arts of horsemanship, swordsmanship, and archery. To the astonishment of the Benedictines, and unbeknownst to himself, Arn matures into a formidable fighter, a knight without equal in the Nordics. His destiny is irrevocably set when, upon reaching adulthood, he is sent forth from the monastery's walls to seek God’s purpose in the wider world.

It is always a delight to read well-researched historical fiction, and "Vägen till Jerusalem" is indubitably founded upon solid historical study. The political struggle for power and the initial steps towards the unification of the Western and Eastern Geats and the Swedes are portrayed with great accuracy. Fictitious characters are interwoven seamlessly with authentic historical figures, although Guillou permits himself some artistic license on occasion. The storyline proves compelling, and the language is both brisk and straightforward. Mr. Guillou skilfully employs his journalistic prowess to captivate the reader and sustain their interest throughout.

Having said that, the downside of Guillou’s narration technique is a certain lack of depth in the storytelling. The characters’ actions appear to bear more significance to the story, and indeed the author, than to the characters themselves. Whenever an action or a word risks being ambiguous, Guillou is quickly there with his pen to ensure that the reader comprehends the underlying intention. Furthermore, every character is either impeccably virtuous or completely reprehensible. They are either angelic or satanic. There is no middle ground. All of this, in total, renders Guillou’s world-building somewhat flat and, to speak candidly, reveals many of the unmistakable signs of a juvenile writing style.

“Vägen till Jerusalem” is certainly not a great work of art and due to the aforementioned shortcomings, to a degree misses the mark as entertainment, too. While I appreciate the historical setting and Guillou’s choice to situate the narrative in an era of Swedish history that is largely ignored by the Swedish educational system and thus widely underexplored by most Swedes, I do hope that he will allow both the story and the characters to gain complexity in the subsequent volumes of this trilogy.   

 

THESE HAPPY YEARS

Author: Agnes von Krusenstjerna
Year: 2010 (1937)
Publisher: Albert Bonniers förlag
Language: Swedish

In the third instalment of Agnes von Krusenstjerna’s tetralogy, the main protagonist, Viveka, enters her teenage years and has her first brush with desire for the opposite gender. She had, of course, experienced puppy love in the preceding books, most notably with her aloof cousin Donald, but as she begins to mature, her capacity to love and feel desire also develops. This will have significant ramification for Viveka’s further choices. 

In “Dessa lyckliga år” (“These Happy Years”), Viveka’s father retires from his esteemed career as an army colonel necessitating the family’s departure from the spacious provincial residence in favour of a modest flat in central Stockholm. Sofia, Viveka’s mother, who is never too shy to allow her own desires eclipse any concern for her daughter’s needs, assigns a scruffy corner in one of the few and narrow rooms to Viveka, allowing her to fashion a much-desired enfilade, a pitiable attempt to maintain a semblance of upper-class elegance when entertaining friends and acquaintances. The retired colonel eventually secures a position as an auditor with a prominent industrial firm owned by one of his distant acquaintances. The additional income derived from this position is scarcely sufficient to keep the family afloat in the lowest levels of the urban aristocracy.

The Lagercrona-family’s continuous struggle, and failure, to preserve an appearance of affluence is further exacerbated during Viveka’s early teenage years.  She is not only relentlessly scrutinised by members of considerably richer branches of the family, but she is also thrust into the unfamiliar world of city life with its obscure rules and expectations. This new environment presents a host of challenges, compelling Viveka to navigate the intricate social minefield of urban society while under the critical gaze of her more prosperous kin.

As Viveka grows older and takes her first steps in what is supposed to be the social life of a young girl from the nobility, the adverse effects of her upbringing under an egotistic and emotionally volatile mother start to become increasingly apparent. Viveka, beset by profound insecurity and low self-esteem, finds every social encounter to be an emotional rollercoaster. She falls in love with alarming ease yet considers herself too inconsequential to even deserve to be spoken to. She is frightened and horrified by each new situation or each new acquaintance. She is plagued by doubt about her clothes, her looks, her voice, her opinions, her name, and indeed her very existence. Every action becomes a daunting ordeal, every encounter a battlefield, every acquaintance a threat, every word a barbed arrow to her heart. In her distress, Viveka tries to hide, she weeps, and she is sick to her stomach throughout most of this novel.

The exaggerated emotional reactions would border on the tiresome, were it not for the realisation that the narrator is an emotionally deeply disturbed individual. Short of the self-destructive behaviour, Viveka exhibits signs of what modern psychiatry might consider Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder (EUPD), including erratic emotional responses to seemingly insignificant stimuli, crippling anxiety, and extreme self-doubt. The notable absence of self-destructive behaviour and self-harm can potentially be attributed to her quasi-paralytic inability to act at all, a constant state of pacification and fear that would align with the diagnosis. Indeed, a chaotic or traumatic childhood is cited in the medical literature as the primary cause of this disorder.  

Krusenstjerna’s portrayal of the floundering social class and the detrimental individual effect it had on its members is a triumph of literary accomplishment and an important historical document. Her decision to observe this decline through the eyes of a child who matures with time is particularly compelling. By following Viveka across the first three parts of this tetralogy, we have so far got to see the inevitable expiration of the aristocracy through the eyes of a child, an adolescent, and a young adult respectively, all of which are perspectives that contribute uniquely to the depth and nuance of the total picture.

It was hinted in the prologue to the first book “Fattigadel” (see my review of March 2024) that Viveka’s life would not end happily. By the time the events in “Dessa lyckliga år” unfold, it becomes evident that the essential tools for navigating any stratum of society, be it the aristocracy, the bourgeoisie, or the proletariat, have been systematically denied to her throughout her upbringing. Her mother, with her own capricious motives, but also her brothers and her extended family played a pivotal role in this depravation. Viveka von Lagercrona is a personal tragedy waiting to happen. I am intrigued by how Krusenstjerna will weave these threads together in the fourth and final book. Stay tuned.