METRO 2035

Author: Dmitry Glukhovsky
Year: 2018 (2015)
Publisher: Ersatz
Language: Swedish (Translator Ola Wallin) 

And so, the time has come to bring yet another book series for the year to a close; Dmitry Glukhovsky’s Metro-trilogy. The heroes of the first book “Metro 2033” (see review of Jun 2024) and “Metro 2034” (See review of August 2024) come together in the third and final volume, aptly named “Metro 2035”.

The story unfolds two years after the events of 2033 that had made Artyom Chorny an unlikely and involuntary hero. Two years later, he has sacrificed most of his hero status as well as his marriage, on the altar of his fixation with the idea that there may be survivors in places other than the Moscow metro. As an authorised ‘stalker’, that peculiar breed of soldier who braves the poisoned surface in search of relics and resources, he periodically ventures into the contaminated outdoors carrying his shortwave communication radio to try to pick up signals from the hypothetical pockets of other survivors, and to send messages of his own. Day after day, he sends his missives into the void, and day after day, he is met with the void’s majestic indifference. No signal answered, but then again, hope, like a stubborn weed, is resilient to reason. When one of the main characters from “Metro 2034” looks him up at his home station, Artyom’s life changes completely.

In this volume, Glukhovsky settles the final score with his creation. It is brutal, not merely in terms of violence, but also in terms of honesty and the most unsparing truth. He tears the curtain from the façade that sustains those huddled in the tunnels and reveals the unfathomable and ugly machinery of power whose gears grind relentlessly upon the backs of humanity. While Artyom’s exploits bring him closer to the truth, he finds that the price of revelation is nothing less than his sanity and that of his companions. In an almost melodramatic way, Glukhovsky lays bare the futility in humanity’s battle over ideologies and social trifles. He mocks the shallowness of fascism by demonstrating how easy it is for a fascist regime to shift the population’s hatred from one arbitrary target to the next. He ridicules mankind’s incurable irrationality and disdain for knowledge and reasoned thought. When shown a truth that would topple their cherished certainties, they flee from it as from the plague. When pressed to rise against their own suffering, they clutch their chains all the tighter. It is a ruthless indictment, a portrait of humanity painted with scathing accuracy and a certain tragic affection.

In short, Dmitry Glukhovsky sketches a most unflattering portrait of a species that will willingly choose destruction over construction and despair over hope. Artyom learns that people would rather cling to a familiar lie than extend a trembling hand toward an unsettling truth. For them, comfort lies not in enlightenment, but in the quiet, stubborn shadows of their accustomed illusions.

“Men are like handsome race horses who first bite the bit and later like it, and rearing under the saddle a while soon learn to enjoy displaying their harness and prance proudly beneath their trappings.” Etienne de la Boétie.

Taking a step back, one might observe that “Metro 2035” constitutes the philosophical battleground between Niccolo Machiavelli’s Prince and Etienne de la Boétie’s insubordinate subject. The ultimate ruler of the Metro-world, portrayed as some sort of solitary Bilderberg Group, is a decisively Machiavellian persona, operating through a carefully curated mixture of violence and the illusion of protection. Artyom, by contrast, emerges as the lone voice of candour, the innocent child daring to cry that the emperor is, in fact, naked.

Unfortunately, Glukhovsky’s analysis is neither novel nor particularly deep. To a reader with an advanced intellectual capacity, the book may serve as a reminder that the political landscape is more complex and the power structures of society more convoluted than meets the eye, but for such readers there is better literature to reach for. To the lesser thinker, the book may appear to confirm several existing conspiracy theories and lead to an even looser grip of reality.

Though, the Metro-series is written as a trilogy where both the setting in the Moscow metro system and the characters are recurring and refer to events in previous volumes, each book strikes a distinctly different note. In this final instalment, the political intrigue, which lent “Metro 2033” such gravity yet was conspicuously absent from “Metro 2034”, returns in full force. However, the murky, menacing threat of nameless mutants and shadowy beasts, which haunted the earlier volumes, has receded into the background, leaving the eerie atmosphere markedly diminished. This third instalment is possibly the most action-packed of the three, but that does not necessarily make it the best.

Before I embarked on this journey into the underground, a good friend of mine advised me to read the first book but forfeit the remaining two. I cannot say I did not enjoy Metro 2035, but still I sometimes think that maybe I should have listened.

REMEMBER THE CITY

Author: Per Anders Fogelström
Year: 1964
Publisher: Albert Bonniers Förlag
Language: Swedish

The new century dawned amid the throbbing disquiet that one and a half decade later would hurl Europe into an event that came to define the entire epoch; a world war.  By now, labour unions had crystallized into forces of considerable import, demanding, and enforcing the much-desired principle of eight hours for work, eight for rest, and eight for leisure. Astonishingly, even some employers, guided perhaps by a flicker of enlightenment or, more likely, by a calculated desire to retain skilled labour, began to see in humane conditions a way of ensuring the continuous and efficient production line. After all, as abundant as unskilled labour was, the growing complexity of the production industry began to require workers of some aptitude.

Even so, strikes and conflict abounded, marking the twilight of the untethered capitalism that had proven as unsustainable as it was insatiable. In its place, a confident labour movement emerged, which to this day purports to guard the rights and dignity of those who trade their skill and sweat for sustenance.

Against this backdrop unfolds the third volume of Per Anders Fogelström's five-part epic, “Minns du den stad” (“Remember the City”), charting Stockholm’s metamorphosis from a backward outpost in the northern provinces of Europe to the hotbed for culture, commerce, and governance in Scandinavia which it would become. Here, Emelie Nilsson, daughter of the late Henning Nilsson, emerges as the pivotal character. Her loyalty, steadfastness, wisdom, and kindness earn her a place in the literary pantheon of paragons, on par with the likes of Jean Valjean (see review from September 2022) and Atticus Finch. Through her modest but indomitable spirit, she becomes the unseen architect of the fortune of others, saving her young nephew from domestic abuse and almost certain death, shielding her brother’s honour, and stirring the young women around her to take the reins of their own lives. Even amid the brewing animosity between capitalists and labourers, where the risk of a violent revolution looms ominously, Emelie wins the trust of her coworkers and employers alike.

Despite the tensions and the enormous upheaval that Stockholm, and indeed the rest of the western world endures, the atmosphere of Fogelström’s universe remains warm, contemplative, and benign. The struggles are, of course, keenly bitter and enmity irreconcilable. Some individuals prey upon the vulnerable, leaving some destitute souls to collapse under the weight of oppression, sometimes inflicting harm on others as they fall. Yet, for all its suffering, hatred, and injustice, Fogelström's world is never desolate. His characters know what is right and wrong and their choices, even when they are harmful or destructive, are rarely governed by malice, but rather by inadequacy and fear.

More than anything else, Fogelström seeks to unveil for us the resilience and tenacity of Stockholm’s underprivileged classes. These workers of the city’s underbelly refuse to give in; neither to despair nor to hunger. And also, as embodied by figures such as Gunnar and Tummen, they refuse to surrender to bitterness or brutality. The socialist revolution in Sweden, was a revolution of dignity and perseverance.

“She who is poor, must be very strong. The grit to toil at length, refusing to give in.”*

The identity of poverty permeates every thread of relationship in “Minns du den stad”, casting its shadow and light upon each encounter and interaction. Fogelström invites his characters to ponder upon their own existence and their station in society. They measure themselves against one another, positioning themselves with regard to one another. They define, compartmentalise, and label themselves and people in their community.  In both their rejection and acceptance of the humiliations they endure, they carve out a remarkable spectrum of perspectives, each unique and defiantly individual. In different ways, they embrace and reject various aspects of their material want to form unique insights into how a population that is united by their squalor, can remain so diverse. No poverty can rob them of their human dignity. 

* My own translation from the Swedish original.

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.