CITY IN THE WORLD

Author: Per Anders Fogelström
Year: 1968
Publisher: Albert Bonniers Förlag
Language: Swedish

The story about the ultimate metamorphosis of Stockholm, from an impoverished hamlet to a prosperous, albeit small metropolis, reaches its completion in the fifth and final instalment of Per Anders Fogelström’s classic “City”-pentalogy: “Stad i världen” (“City in the World”). During the preceding books, Fogelström has chronicled how the dilapidated huts that once housed the many denizens of the Swedish capital’s working class were dismantled and triumphantly replaced by stately edifices featuring such blessings of modernity as running water, central heating, and electricity. In the final volume, the population has begun to reap the fruits of public education, job security, and democratic rights. The gulf between the grim struggles of Henning Nilsson, who first migrated into the city in the mid-19th century in “Mina drömmars stad” (see review from August 2024), and the comfortable lives of his descendants a century later could scarcely be deeper.

Fogelström does not end there, however. He is not blind to the new era and the challenges that await the generation that will populate post-war Stockholm. While their grandparents marvel at the privileges that grace their lives, the youngsters, largely oblivious of the hardships endured by their predecessors, stand impatient on their inherited pedestal, making new demands and aiming for loftier horizons, much to the amazement, and sometimes disapproval, of their elders.    

The final abandonment of the old era is symbolised by the death of Emelie Nilsson, Henning’s and Lotten’s daughter, and the backbone of the series. Emelie was a heroine of such monumental proportions that the final success of Henning’s entire lineage depended on her. Cruelly orphaned as a teenager, she was tethered to her destiny by the last words of her dying mother, Lotten: “Take care of your brother”; words that would etch themselves into the core of her heart and define her entire life. Yet Emelie’s care would extend far beyond her brother; she embraced family, neighbours, and friends with a magnanimity so profound that she became the invisible architect of their development. The progenitor of none, but a mother to all.

Among Fogelström’s characters, one that intrigues more than others in “Stad i världen” is the virtually inconsequential side character Olle Holm. Olle is the archetype of the indignant working-class conservative. He is an honest and hard-working man who is barely scraping by financially but proud to be independent and to appear strong-willed and single-minded. He has little regard for the hardships of others and regularly sets himself as a model for all humanity to emulate. To him, social security is squander, because if he can work to support himself, so can everybody else. He sees no point in aligning the traffic circulation to the right-hand-traffic of the rest of Europe, because he never has reason to drive in Denmark or Germany so why should anybody else, etc. Olle clings fiercely to the myth of his solitary success, scorning the sacrifices of generations past. To him, those who falter below him are lazy, those who ascend above him are crooked. In this character, Fogelström captures the timeless paradox of the man who turns his back on solidarity, seduced by the emotional allure of rugged individualism, even as he unwittingly basks in the warmth of collective labour and sacrifice. A figure whose bitterness and pride foreshadow the discontent that, in later decades, would make part of the working-class shift their allegiance from social democracy to the darker allure of nationalist populism.

The final judgment of Fogelström’s magnum opus can be nothing less than unqualified acclaim as it has indubitably earned its place in the Swedish canon. With the artistry of a master, Fogelström ushers the reader through the ebb and flood of history, never stooping to pedantry or encumbering his prose with technicalities and infodumps. Each historical event weaves seamlessly into the storyline interlocking with the fates of his characters, their actions, thoughts, and feelings. Though every protagonist is born from the author’s imagination, they breathe with the unmistakable vitality of flesh-and-blood Stockholmers of bygone eras. There are no villains in Fogelström’s Stockholm, merely real people who seek their own way of negotiating the vicissitudes of fate. Some prevail. Others succumb. Yet everyone feels achingly tangible, authentic, vibrant, and profoundly human. This, perhaps, is Fogelström’s greatest triumph: not merely to recount the story of a city, but to evoke its soul, embodied in the lives of its people.

 

THE KINGDOM AT THE END OF THE ROAD

Author: Jan Guillou
Year: 2000
Publisher: Piratförlaget
Language: Swedish

The crusades have reached their sad end, leaving the crusaders battered by humiliation, fatigue, and, in the luckiest cases, merely the indignity of survival, as they make their way home to their predominantly European homesteads. Among these weary souls is Arn Magnusson, or, as his fellow Templars knew him, Arn de Gothia; a knight whose life was spared and pockets lined with gold by the magnanimous Sultan Saladin, the conqueror of Jerusalem and paragon of nobility. Surrounded by an entourage of engineers, horsekeepers, physicians, blacksmiths and other denizens of the Middle East, he returns to the land of his fathers in the far north from whence he had departed to serve the Church in its holy quest over twenty years prior. When we encounter him again, it is within the pages of “Riket vid vägens slut (“The Kingdom at the End of the Road”), the third and final part of Jan Guillou's trilogy.

Arn returns to a kingdom united under his childhood friend, King Magnus Eriksson. Yet even as the land stands nominally united, the shadow of discord looms large as a rival dynasty, bolstered by the support of Denmark's monarch, plots its dissolution. Observing the fragile balance, Arn realises that his mastery of swordplay and horsemanship are insufficient to ensure peace in the land and the unchallenged influence for his family. To the consternation of his kin, he puts in motion a peace project of unparallelled ambition based on engineering, trade, and a crushing war machine.

The Arn of the final volume is a figure reshaped and remoulded, bearing little resemblance to the devout and unassuming knight we got to know in the first two books. Gone are the piety and modesty that once defined him. In their stead, we find a man of pride and arrogance. He wears the family crest or the Templar’s cape, symbols once held sacred, alternately as required to promote his personal agenda. He insists on bearing his sword into church, disregarding the reprehension of other parishioners. He is indifferent toward his brother. He taunts his adversaries.

It is tempting to excuse such a transformation as the natural result of a life scarred by trauma and the memories of mayhem and devastation. A man who has seen the worst of humanity and the full scale of its incompetence, corruption, and folly, might well return to the simplicity of his backwater origins cynical and arrogant. Yet such character development demands exploration, an inquiry into the slow erosion of virtue and the creeping dominance of bitterness in the once innocent heart. Alas, Guillou provides none of that. The shift in Arn’s character feels less like the organic development of a man’s soul and more like the result of a writer who has grown tired of his soft-spoken and timid hero and without much ceremony rewrites him as a bad-boy. The result is a screeching dissonance: the Arn Magnusson who departs the Holy Land at the end of “Tempelriddaren” (see review from September 2024) is not the Arn Magnusson who strides into West Gothland in “Riket vid vägens slut”.

Although “Riket vid vägens slut” is less encumbered by heroism and bravado than the first and particularly the second book, there is no shortage of boyish fantasies about a superhero who in this case actually happens to wear a cape. Nowhere is this more evident than in the lengthy account of a bachelor-party, a sequence so satiated with machismo that one suspects it sprang directly from the author's own unresolved issues with adolescence.

And yet, as with most books, hidden in the clutter of verbiage, whether artfully crafted or carelessly strewn, there are some nuggets worthy of contemplation. Toward the end of the novel, Arn Magnusson reflects over his time as a knight templar and about the devastating defeat that the crusaders suffered at the hands of Sultan Saladin. He seeks some divined message in the humiliation, a lesson that God intended for him and the other survivors. And he does this with the most supremely brainwashed mind.

Here stands a warrior, a sword consecrated by holy water and pledged to the service of God by his side. A man who for twenty laborious years has risked life and limb to guard the resting place of the one he considers to be the Son of God. He has knelt in prayer, imploring God’s help in his quest to reclaim the Holy land, all the while being keenly aware how his foes, no less fervently, pray to their God for the same favour. And yet, in the face of unequivocal defeat, he ponders not whether his cause was just or his belief misguided, but instead what subtle knowledge God intends him to discern. This scene provides us with a stark meditation on the nature of fanaticism. It is a lesson, possibly inadvertently, about the maddening resilience of single-mindedness and the inherent futility of reasoning with those who cannot, or will not, entertain doubt.

Having ploughed through Jan Guillou’s entire trilogy, the lasting impression is mixed. Jan Guillou certainly is no Sir Walter Scott. Nor is he a Ken Follett or even a Frans G Bengtsson. He is definitely a far cry from Umberto Eco and the intellectual labyrinths emanating from the Italian’s prolific pen. Yet, it is not in the art of storytelling that Jan Guillou falters. His shortcomings lie instead in the fragments of the tale he chooses to dwell upon. Guillou deserves recognition for his bold excursion into the pre-Gustav Vasa era, a period which most Swedes know scarcely anything about. I also enjoy the well-researched albeit artistically tailored description of the medieval environment, the historical figures, places, and the political games. Yet, the characters he breathes into being remain stubbornly two-dimensional and would belong on the panels of a comic book rather than the pages of serious literature, and the story line is sometimes far too juvenile to befit a 55-year-old writer, or indeed, his 48-year-old reader.  

IN A CITY TRANSFORMED

Author: Per Anders Fogelström
Year: 1966
Publisher: Albert Bonniers Förlag
Language: Swedish

Interbellum Europe saw two major ideologies, divided by banner but united by tyranny and disregard for lives, grow into the powers that would less than two decades later once again draw calamity over the continent. Meanwhile, in the north, people were busy forging the social democracy that after the war would form the bedrock for peace and prosperity in the Scandinavian region. Having gladly unshackled itself from the thankless chore of governing the uncultured mountain brutes that are its westerly neighbours and who more than a century later, much like earthworms and small rodents, still make their living from burrowing for sustenance in the dirt, Sweden was in the midst of transforming its society into the highly productive, innovative, and technologically advanced economy that is its hallmark to this day. From this audacious experiment rose a society where the fruits of the labour of the many would not rot in the troves of the few.

Per Anders Fogelström once more invites us to step through the looking-glass of time to Stockholm, forever metamorphosing, forever restless, in the fourth volume of his City novels, “I en förvandlad stad” (“In a City Transformed”). With his unparallelled knowledge and attention to detail, he brings the old streets, many of which no longer exist, buildings, trams, and historical and fictitious persons to life in a time machine crafted not from cogs and gears, but from the alchemy of words.

Indeed, Fogelström’s narrative and the rise of social democracy are deeply intertwined. The sudden creation of the penniless proletariat on the back of the rapid industrialisation of the 19^th century, was poised to create a backlash. While the farmhands and crofters had been scattered and divided, bound to the vast lands that they had been put to cultivate, the urban workers were packed together by necessity. Before long they had organised themselves, despite the furious opposition from the capital-owners. This moulting process was both driven (Strindberg, Moberg, Martinsson) and chronicled (Fogelström) by the written word.

A simple juxtaposition reveals the distinct voices of these monumental Swedish writers, each a prism refracting the light of their age into singular spectra.

Strindberg, ever the provocateur, wields his pen like a rapier, slicing through the pretensions of power with an elegant arrogance. His caricatures, sharp and unrepentant, gleefully expose the follies of the patriarchy, the institution of marriage, the clergy, press, and academia alike. It is mockery elevated to an art form, a carnival of irreverence.

Moberg, by contrast, discards the flourish for the hammer. His prose is an uncompromising onslaught, a furious indictment of the structural cruelties that condemned the many to lives of indignity and despair. In his unvarnished rage, one feels the raw pulse of revolution, the breath of a Sweden that might, in another turn of fate, have traded compromise for catastrophe.

And then, there is Fogelström. Gentler, wistful, and imbued with a love that softens the harshness of his truths, his accounts of the working class are not merely chronicles of misery but testaments to their resilience, their quiet nobility, and their unyielding humanity. His is the voice of remembrance, painting the struggle not in anger but in tender hues, a poignant reminder that even in the depths of suffering, dignity can endure.

While Fogelström has received criticism for being too rosy in his depictions of the struggles of the proletariat, his contribution lies in revealing a simple truth: despite differences in financial means, all people, rich and poor, are fundamentally the same. The character of August embodies this philosophy. Through August, Fogelström dismantles the myth that wealth pertains to individual of certain pedigree, and demonstrates how those born poor, if given the right prerequisites, can be just as successful as those born rich, or even more so, and that modest origins do not necessarily jeopardise an acquired social standing. August, in many ways, epitomises the core values of liberalism: the triumph of individual merit over inherited privilege.  

Another observation of some interest, though perhaps of limited consequence, is Fogelström’s curious treatment of art and its devotees. In the book series thus far, two characters have dedicated themselves completely to art: Olof the painter and Stig the musician. Both men frail and sickly they seem destined for tragedy. Then there is Jenny, Olof’s widow, who occupies a different artistic sphere. An actress, she appears predominantly in vaudevilles, her success being in entertainment rather than art. Contrary to Olof and Stig, she is portrayed as robust, vigorous, and easy-going. Whether Fogelström by drawing this contrast between true art and commercial art intends to comment on the artists’ place in society, I leave to the discerning reader’s judgment.

“I en förvandlad stad” concludes with the Nazi capitulation of 1945 and the drop of the curtain on an era that will forever remain an indelible stain on the conscience of humanity. Fogelström meditates on the evil and destruction that mankind is capable of, and what is more more, on the indifference that we as a collective are capable of, whether it be in the role of obedient soldiers or passive onlookers. Stockholm, together with the rest of the world, stands on the doorstep to a new age.

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.

 

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.

 

UNDER THE NORTH STAR - III

Author: Väinö Linna
Year: 1988 (1962)
Publisher: Wahlström & Widstrand
Language: Swedish (Translator N-B Stormbom) 

Yea, drive us together with scourges,
and bluest spring shall bud.
You smile, my people, but with stiff features,
and sings, but without hope.*

Verner von Heidenstam’s famous poem “Invocation and Pledge” from 1899 reflects upon a Sweden basking in its own comfortable complacency at the turn of the century. With the discerning eye of a poet, Heidenstam contends that only through the bitter taste of adversity might the Swedish people awaken and re-discover the sweetness of unity, patriotism, and freedom. In the same manner that an individual having faced a near-death experience comes to value life more deeply, Heidenstam aspires for an existential challenge to invigorate the Swedish nation with a newfound strength and energy.

It was, of course, a trifle for a nobleman such as Verner von Heidenstam to recline in his gilded upper-class bubble and bemoan the lack of sufficient trials for his less fortunate countrymen. Sweden in the early 20th century was by no means overflowing with riches. Poverty in the wake of rapid industrialisation and urbanisation was widespread, infant mortality was around ten percent, and famine and diseases ravaged many parts of the kingdom. Between the years 1850 and 1920 over 1.5 million Swedes, driven by hunger and despair, sought solace and sustenance across the Atlantic in North America.

Even so, no Nordic nation has experienced a transformation more brutal and profound than that of the Finns. After their independence from Russia following the First World War, a brief but savage civil war between the landowning and capitalist elite on the one side and the landless and the proletariat on the other (see my review of Linna from April 2024) ensued. The war, although short-lived, inflicted deep wounds upon Finnish society. Wounds that would prevail until the Finnish people was ‘driven together with the scourges’ of the Second World War.

Individuals who had once grown up together only to later find themselves locked in blind rage and mortal combat, now stood shoulder to shoulder in the trenches defending Finland from the Soviet onslaught in 1939. Communists and Nazis fighting side by side, presenting the Red Army with an unexpected and formidable resilience.

During the interbellum years, progress did not omit Finland. Both men and women were granted the right to vote, crofters were allowed to acquire the land they worked, technology opened up for new business opportunities and improved productivity. The world changed and Finland changed with it.

Väinö Linna in the final instalment of his trilogy “Under the North Star” captures this transformative process with unparallelled sublimity. Despite the horrendous memories of the civil war and the harrowing loss of loved ones at the hands of their fellow countrymen, life slowly finds a new equilibrium. Amidst an atmosphere thick with suspicion, scorn, and silent resistance, a fragile tranquillity engulfs the small town. However, it is the cataclysm of the Second World War that ultimately serves as the catalyst for the national healing.

With “Söner av ett folk”, Väinö Linna ties his magnum opus together in the most spectacular way and sends his beloved Finland off into the future as a fatigued but united, confident, and free nation. This literary masterpiece should be mandatory reading for all Nordic school children and the literature of choice for anyone who values an exquisitely crafted narrative featuring vivid characters over some of the most troublesome and yet auspicious decades in Finland’s history. Putting this book down for the last time was like parting with a group of dear friends. I cannot recommend this trilogy enough.

*Shady, uncredited translation I found on the internet. Couldn't be bothered to make may own this time.

METRO 2033

Author: Dmitry Glukhovsky
Year: 2013 (2008)
Publisher: Ersatz 

Language: Swedish (Translator Ola Wallin) 

Whenever I find myself amidst the bustling allure of Moscow, I invariably check in at the same hotel in Tverskaya-Yamskaya Road, a mere two-minute walk from the Belorusskaya metro station. If one exits the hotel through its rear gate, one will find a shortcut leading to a side entrance of the station, right opposite of an unassuming white church contrasting against the otherwhile grey concrete architecture. This particular station is strategically convenient, nestled as it is adjacent to Belorussky vokzal where the airport train from Sheremetyevo Airport stops. Moreover, it straddles both the circle line and the direct line to Tverskaya and Teatralnaya stations, both of which are situated in the heart of the city and connect to several other metro lines. Some of the most iconic Moscow metro stations, such as Komsomolskaya and Mayakovskaya, can be reached from Belorusskaya without the trouble of changing trains.

With this experience and more from Moscow, I jumped eagerly into Dmitry Glukhovsky’s sensational novel “Metro 2033”. This dystopia envisions a near future in which the world is reeling from a nuclear war that has annihilated most civilisations and relegated whatever shards of humanity that remain to a subterranean existence. In Moscow, the fortunate few that have survived have settled in the winding labyrinths of the metro system, each station becoming a microcosm of society, constituting its own community with its own government and lifestyle. Some stations have come together to form alliances, others are ensnared in warfare.

The main character, Artyom, lives with his foster father in one of the fringe stations at the periphery of the inhabited part of the metro. His station is routinely attacked by mysterious creatures that ostensibly inhabit the desolate surface. To find a way to vanquish these murderous intruders once and for all, Artyom is assigned the secret task of delivering a vital message to a high-ranking military officer stationed at a remote part of the metro. And so, the quest begins.

There is a lot to like in this novel. The story’s premise is downright superb and Glukhovsky’s captivating prose quickly envelops the reader and thrusts them helplessly into the dimly lit tunnels of the underground. The milieu is exquisitely portrayed, conjuring vivid images of the claustrophobic environments and the constant threat of hostile human factions, slaughterous beasts and mutants, toxic gases, and deadly radiation. The sense of peril is omnipresent, palpable, and intense.

The storyline itself is simple but functional, dutifully mirroring the archetypal framework of most fantasy novels. There is the unlikely hero, the journey, the secret message or sacred item, the friends and foes the hero meets on his path, and the final resolution in the end. All staple ingredients of the genre.

Yet, the novel is not without some notable deficiencies. First of all, Artyom remains a rather uninspiring figure throughout the book. His character development is virtually non-existent, rendering it increasingly difficult for the reader to remain invested in his fortunes. Moreover, many of the situations he encounters on his journey seem to contribute little to the advancement of the plot. Rarely does one encounter has any effect on subsequent events and Artyom is rescued from his predicaments by what can best be described as deus ex machina miracles more often than by his own craft or any experience he might have gathered from his travels.

The reason for this is in fact rather straightforward. Glukhovsky has never been shy to publicly advertise his political views* and in “Metro 2033”, his protagonist becomes a vehicle for his opinions. On his journey, Artyom happens upon a multitude of political, religious, and philosophical interest groups, each judged by their actions toward him and each other. The purpose of each episode is to scrutinise the group or sect in itself through the prism of Glukhovsky’s political preferences, rather than to incorporate it into a cohesive string of a forward-moving narrative.

A more perplexing observation is the near total absence of women in Glukhovsky’s underground world. Besides a few fleeting references to Artyom’s deceased mother, there is no mention of any female character of consequence. There are no women in Artyom’s environment at his home station. He encounters no women on his mission. Neither Artyom nor any of the men he meets harbours any romantic or even crudely carnal attraction toward the opposite sex. There is not one single dialogue between a man and a woman except for Artyom’s foster father’s memory of his brief exchange with Artyom’s mother as she implored him to safeguard her baby in her moment of death. On a whole, this completely male-centric perspective dents the believability of the world that Dmitry Glukhovsky creates for the reader.

Although “Metro 2033” cannot pretend to the highest echelons of literary dystopias occupied by such giants as Karin Boye’s “Kallocain” (see my review from June 2021) or Ray Bradbury’s “Fahrenheit 451” (see my review from March 2023) it remains an undeniably immersive read. Despite the aforementioned reservations, Glukhovsky’s aptitude as a writer is undisputable. The atmosphere, the looming danger, the flickering lights fighting a futile battle against the darkness of the brooding tunnels, and the subtle blurring of the boundaries between realty, dream, memory, and madness are all masterfully crafted and pull the reader mercilessly into the menacing depths of the Muscovite underground.

 

*In fact, at the time of writing this, he lives in exile as he is wanted by Putin’s fascist regime for expressing his disgust with Russia’s invasion of Ukraine.

PARADISO

Author: Dante Alighieri
Year: 1968 (1321)
Publisher: Rabén & Sjögren
Language: Swedish (Translator Aline Pipping)

Having traversed the tear-filled mountain of purgatory and imbibed the truths of salvation, Dante is finally ready to see paradise. In the culminating part of the Divine Comedy, “Paradiset” (“Paradiso”), Dante is allowed to journey among the stars and the planets to the sanctified domain of the eternally blessed. His companion in the last two books, the poet Virgil, now has to remain behind relinquishing custody of the wanderer to Beatrice, Dante’s one and only true love and the paragon of earthly purity. Beatrice is not the wise and experienced cicerone of her own power like Virgil had been in the past. Rather, by her angelic innocence she channels all the virtues of a saint through the love of God, including beatific vision and complete comprehension. With a gentle hand, she picks up the mantle where Virgil’s wisdom no longer suffices, and illuminates Dante’s path with the ethereal light of heavenly guidance.

In contrast to the circles or spheres in hell and purgatory, paradise is organised among the celestial bodies known to Dante in his time. Beginning with the moon and then travelling from one planet to the next, Dante is faced with philosophical and exegetic conundrums which he discusses with various denizens of this world and sometimes directly with Beatrice. His conversations have been scrutinised and dissected countless of times through each era following its creation, rendering any attempt on my part to explain it futile. “Paradiset” is famously complex and metaphysical, often balancing on the brink of the incomprehensible. The poetry is more entangled and the symbolism more abstract and impenetrable than in the preceding two books. But in all of this, Dante brings forth some intriguing doctrinal reflections.

In Canto 7, he asks Beatrice why Jesus had to endure the agony of the cross when God in all his might could have chosen any other method to reconcile with His creation. The answer that Dante arrives at appears to respond to St Anshelm’s meditations on the same issue in his book Cur Deus Homo from two centuries prior. Whereas Anshelm frames the dilemma as “either punishment or sacrifice”, Dante proposes “either forgiveness or sacrifice” and then fuses them together to an argument where we as humans are too bankrupt to offer satisfaction but too proud to seek forgiveness. God does both of that for us, Dante says, out of his love for us by offering himself as sacrifice in the name of forgiveness.

Canto 13 struck a particular chord with me as it discusses the reasons why some humans, although being the fruit from the same tree, do not enjoy the same intellectual capacity as others.

For very low among the fools is he                 
Who affirms without distinction, or denies,
As well in one as in the other case;

Because it happens that full often bends
Current opinion in the false direction,
And then the feelings bind the intellect.

Far more than uselessly he leaves the shore,
(Since he returneth not the same he went,)
Who fishes for the truth, and has no skill*

Dante knew human nature well and he would probably not be surprised by the lamentable state of human comprehension seven centuries hence. The first verse in the quote decries the lack of critical thinking, the second speaks of how emotions are allowed to trump facts and logic, and the third indicts the schooling system for having failed to equip the citizens with the appropriate tools and skillsets to discern truth from deception. Dante would probably feel oddly at home amidst the cacophony of 21 century social media which has perversely elevated all the above embarrassments to virtues of the imbecilic majority.  

On a more positive note, Canto 25 is what can best be described as the canto of hope. It stands to reason that Inferno would be a place where there is no hope. The souls here have removed themselves eternally from God’s face, choosing instead to wallow in the putrid swamps of their own perpetual misery. Purgatorio, by contrast, is filled with patience and trust rather than hope as every soul is assured admission to paradise once they have been properly prepared. Paradise, at last, is where all hope comes to fruition. Hope, after all, can only be relevant where there is a disunion between a desired position and the status quo. The souls that have already entered here thus have no more need for hope, enjoying already their eternal reward. So, the only place for hope seems to be earthly life.

And yet, Dante chose to locate his canto about hope in Paradise. My personal interpretation leans toward the suggestion that it is Dante’s own hope that serves as the vantage point for this meditation. The canto opens with Dante expressing his fervent wish to one day return to his native Florence, whence he had been expelled into exile by his political adversaries. This is the hope of a living man, a mere a visitor to paradise. Against this backdrop, Dante may intellectually probe the nature of hope. The choice of doing so in paradise may be connected to paradise being the desire of every true Christian and only through its union with faith and love can hope lead to salvation, and only then becoming meaningful.

A general observation can be made about the tone Dante chooses to employ in each part of the Divine Comedy. In Inferno (see my review from February 2024) the graphic portrayal of the damned souls’ torture and torment and the meticulous depiction of their wickedness and Satan’s malevolence are strikingly vivid. In Purgatorio (see my review from March 2024), the narrative shifts to a poignant exposition of the souls’ grief and remorse, alongside the hardship that they have to endure in order to cleanse themselves of their earthly sins. “Paradiset”, however, departs from this visceral imagery. We are not treated to visual representations of God’s glory, the eternal bliss or sublime light. These elements all subtly suggested but never explored. Instead, Dante opts for an intellectual and philosophical lecture on Christian ethics and abstract musings on the theoretical benevolence of God.

Given Dante’s brilliance as a poet, I am compelled to conclude that this difference is not by choice but by necessity. Could it be that the Western tradition has so richly cultivated the language, symbols, and imagery to depict evil, suffering, torture, and regret, yet tragically neglected to develop corresponding linguistic and cultural tools to convey harmony, bliss, happiness, and splendour befitting paradise? If so, such a linguistic impoverishment in the face of celestial glory would speak volumes about our priorities and limitations as a civilization. Perhaps we are simply better prepared for Inferno than we will ever be for Paradise. After all, we can reach the former on our own merit, but require God's intervention to enter the latter. 

"Paradiso" proved to be unequivocally the most challenging of the trilogy, demanding a profound acquaintance with medieval politics, philosophy, and symbolism. It necessitated an investment of time, concentration, and dedication. Nevertheless, amidst these demands, it remains an eminently rewarding endeavour, its treasures undiminished by the troubles of its pursuit.

*The Divine Comedy, Translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Ticknor and Fields, Boston, 1867