INFERNO

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 *In Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s translation from 1867

SLEEPING GIANTS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So far, The Themis Files has been a disappointment.

THE ILIAD & THE ODYSSEY

Author: Homer
Year: 2002 (ca 700 BC)
Publisher: Wahlström & Widstrand
Language: Swedish (Translator Erland Lagerlöf)

Few works within the Western literary canon attain the level of ubiquity as the Iliad and the Odyssey by Homer. These two epic poems, over 2,500 years old have, like no other, shaped our understanding of literature, poetry, drama, and philosophy and by extension made their way into the global cultural heritage that we all share from east to west, from north to south.

Still, given its 15,700 and 12,100 lines respectively, all written in dactylic hexameter, it is understandable that few have had the inclination and fortitude (or, indeed, the luxury of time) to read the whole thing. So even though, for most of us establishing a fundamental rapport with these books via our cultural environment is inevitable, we largely remain oblivious as to their actual content.

As this astounding piece of art has, like few others, been analysed and dissected by scholars over millennia, all claim on introducing groundbreaking concepts in the present exposition are effectively precluded. Any introduction to the available translations will provide more profound insights than this blog post. Nevertheless, for a rudimentary delineation of my personal interpretation of this work, I invite you to press on. Maybe you will find it helpful. Let us start with the Iliad.

SPOILER ALERT

They key to understanding the whole point of the Iliad is hidden in plain sight in the very first lines of the poem.

Sing, goddess, the anger of Peleus’ son Achilleus
and its devastation, which put pains thousandfold upon the Achaeans,
hurled in their multitudes to the house of Hades strong souls
of heroes, but gave their bodies to be the delicate feasting
of dogs, of all birds, and the will of Zeus was accomplished
since that time when first there stood in division of conflict
Atreus son the lord of men and brilliant Achilleus.*

Contrary to popular assumption, the Iliad is not about the Trojan war at all. Rather, the narrative unfolds against the backdrop of an already protracted conflict, spanning nine years at the outset. The focal point crystallises around the wrath of Achilleus, his conflict with King Agamemnon of Mycene (“Atreus son”), and the fulfilment of destiny, as underscored by the resonant proclamation “the will of Zeus was accomplished”.

The storyline transpires amid the Achaeans' dire predicament, as besides the powerful army of the Trojans, commanded by the great Hektor, they are also ravaged by a terrible plague. Achilleus finally demands that King Agamemnon summons a war council and he persuades the warlords to ask a prophet why the gods have sent this plague upon them. The prophet reveals that it is the god Apollo who has struck them with the disease in retribution of Agamemnon’s disrespectful rejection of a plea from the head priest of Apollo’s temple to return his daughter to him, whom Agamemnon had taken as his slave and concubine. Achilleus, spurred by the confrontation with Apollo's wrath, compels Agamemnon to redress this sacrilegious transgression. The ensuing imbroglio results in Achilleus' withdrawal from the battlefield, refusing to participate in further war efforts.

The plague is lifted but without Achilleus’ powerful army and heroic might, Hektor and the Trojans keep pushing the Achaeans ever closer to the ships they came on. Meanwhile, Zeus has forbidden the gods in the pantheon to meddle in the battle but they find it difficult to stay away. Poseidon, Hera, and Athena favour the Achaeans while Apollo, Ares, and Aphrodite pity the Trojans and Zeus, the king of gods, has his hands full keeping his divine subjects away from the battlefield.

In the face of dire adversity, Achilleus’ childhood friend and dearest companion Patroklos, pleads with him to re-engage in combat to save his friends, many of whom Achilleus still honours and cherishes. Achilleus remains steadfast in his refusal but agrees to lend his armour to Patroklos who posing as Achilleus plunges into the fight. Under his banner, the Achaeans manage to push Hektor and his Trojans back to the walls of the city but not before Hektor catches up with Patroklos and kills him.

This triggers the second, and final, wrath of Achilleus. He is overcome with grief and rage. He decides to take revenge on Hektor for the death of his friend and storms furiously onto the battlefield, killing heroes left, right, and centre. His fury cannot be contained and he will even fight the gods themselves if they stand in his way. In a final showdown, he slaughters Hektor.

But the story doesn’t end there. Because contrary to his own expectation, killing Hektor does not give him peace. Mutilating Hektor’s dead body does not satisfy him. Killing hundreds of Trojans warriors, does not still his anger. He is beside himself with a rage that cannot be satiated. This is until Hektor’s father, King Priam of Troy, sneaks into the Achaean encampment in the night, seeks out Achilleus, falls to his knees before him and pleads with him to return Hektor’s body to him so that he can bury his son. After a few moments of bewilderment, Achilleus agrees. And finally finds closure. The Iliad ends with the burial ceremony of the hero Hektor. But, it is understood, the war continues.

The Iliad offers a myriad of interpretative avenues, with one notable aspect being the role of the gods. A literal interpretation presents them as tangible entities akin to mortal protagonists, while a more abstract reading views them as metaphysical manifestations of natural and moral forces. The epic underscores the intricate relationship between mortals and the divine, oscillating between transactional exchanges and capricious interventions.

Ordinary men are thus held accountable for actions under the influence of a higher power.

But the Trojans in the likeness of ravening lions swept on
against the ships, and were bringing to accomplishment Zeus’ orders,
who wakened always the huge strength in them, dazed the courage
of the Argives, and denied their glory, and stirred on the others.*

This is not unique for the Iliad but similar thematic elements recur for example in such scripts as the Old Testament Exodus 4:21

And the Lord said unto Moses, When thou goest to return into Egypt, see that thou do all those wonders before Pharaoh, which I have put in thine hand: but I will harden his heart, that he shall not let the people go.**

God made the Pharaoh stubborn and subsequently punished him and his people for it.

Another point that caught my interest was the apparent assumption by the poet that his listeners or readers already have a basic knowledge of the war. There is very little in the poem that explains why the Achaeans are besieging Ilion to begin with, nothing about Achilleus’ unprotected heel, or the prophecy of Hektor’s and Achilleus’ deaths. This tacit assumption aligns with the prevailing notion that these tales were deeply entrenched in cultural consciousness by the time of Homer's recording, approximately around 700 BC.

Transitioning to the Odyssey, a narrative of distinct character and structure unfolds within its approximately 12,100 lines. While sharing thematic parallels with the Iliad, it introduces a novel perspective on the journey of King Odysseus’ returning to Ithaka after the fall of Troy. This narrative, too, commences with an invocation to the Muse, to provide guidance as to how to approach the purpose of the text.

Speak to me, Muse, of the adventurous man who wandered
long after he sacked the sacred citadel of Troy.
Many the men whose towns he saw, whose ways he proved;
and many a pang he bore in his own breast at sea
while struggling for his life and his men’s safe return.
Yet even so, by all his zeal, he did not save his men;
for through their own perversity they perished — fools!
who devoured the kine of the exalted Sun.
Wherefore he took away the day of their return.
Of this, O goddess, daughter of Zeus, beginning where thou wilt,
speak to us also.***

After Troy has been defeated, the Achaean warlords share the spoils and depart each for their kingdom. Odysseus sets sail for Ithaka but is soon overcome by the capricious wrath of Poseidon. The god shipwrecks him and casts him onto an island where he is made the prisoner, and some sort of love toy, of the lesser goddess Kalypso. And this is where Homer begins his tale. Bit by bit, we get a glimpse of past events as the story progresses, including very short mentions of the Trojan Horse, the fight against the cyclops, the passage between Scylla and Charybdis, Kirke, the Sirens, and so on. For myths that have been as thoroughly engrained in the Western culture, they are surprisingly superficially accounted for in this comprehensive work. In fact, the passage where Odysseus talks about how he built a bed for Penelope is longer than any of these significantly more famous parts.

that all these stories are already known to the listeners and that his role is to put them into the context of the hero’s return to his kingdom, his wife, and his son, and to delve into the emotional hardship that he had to endure on his return journey, but also the longing, anguish, and pain suffered by the family that he left behind.

A small observation that I found interesting is that while the Iliad is told from a third person perspective where the nameless narrator presents the events as they unfold; in the Odyssey, the poet employs a novel narrative approach, predominantly featuring Odysseus as the storyteller, recounting his exploits to diverse interlocutors, notably the Phaeacians and their king Alcinoüs. However, throughout the tale, Odysseus displays a noticeable propensity for deception. He lies about his whereabouts, his identity, his family, and his intentions. Upon his return to Ithaka, he even lies to his wife while pretending to be a pauper. What is there to say that he did not also lie about all the adventures that he claims to have been on? Two of the most commonly used epithets for Odysseus in both the Odyssey and the Iliad are πολύ-τροπος and πολύ-μητις which are usually translated as “cunning” or resourceful” which underscore the main protagonist’s penchant for manipulation and a relaxed attitude to the truth****

We know from the narrator’s invocation of the Muse above, that Odysseus has seen many countries and lost many men but most of the details about his experiences are later obscured. After all, becoming the lover of a stunning, powerful, and forever young goddess might be a tempting reason to stay away for a while.    

A final consideration pertains to the Swedish translation. The overall framework is Erland Lagerlöf’s classical feat from the early 20^th century. Lagerlöf seems to have been careful to maintain the ancient atmosphere by translating Homer’s words into an archaic form of Swedish. Obsolete grammatical forms and syntax as well as unusual vocabulary were used to maintain and reinforce the impression of antiquity onto the reader. Fifty years later, Gerhard Bendz was given the delicate task to modernise the text for the purpose of making the poem more accessible to the general public, and he did so by doing away with most of the archaic Swedish and replace it with a language that was in use at his time. However, as Bendz correctly notes in his remarks, translations age. And to a Swedish reader in 2024, the language that sounded modern and up-to-date to Bendz now sounds markedly dated. It seems as though we have come full circle and the books we have now, again give the reader the feeling of holding a very old text in their hands, just as Erland Lagerlöf intended.   

In conclusion, the Iliad and the Odyssey are a testament to the nature and culture of mankind. The ambitions, weaknesses, pettiness, and stubbornness as well as the resilience and adaptability of humans in all times. Whether approached as profound explorations of human psychology or tales rooted in the idiosyncrasies of ancient lore, these narratives persist as profound reflections on the human condition.

But we can just as easily read this as the story about how thousands of men had to die because two dudes would not let a woman decide for herself whom she wanted to marry, and a tale about a man who lies to his wife about why he is late home from work.

 

* Iliad of Homer, translated by Richmond Lattimore, The University of Chicago Press

**King James Version

*** Odyssey of Homer, translated by George Herbert Palmer, Houghton Mifflin and Co, 1891.

****The Swedish translation routinely returns to the word “mångförslagen” which has an additional connotation of crafty, wily, or two-faced and heeds the original Greek meaning of many or multiple. 

BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY'S & THE GRASS HARP

Author: Truman Capote
Year: 1972 (1951 & 1958)
Publisher: Czytelnik
Language: Polish (Translator Bronislaw Zielinski)

In 1868, shortly after the civil war, the American journalist and writer John William DeForest coined the term “the Great American Novel” and delineated it as “the picture of the ordinary emotions and manners of American existence”. Without too much effort, some contenders for this esteemed distinction naturally spring to mind. Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird is one. Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer another. The Old Man and the Sea, On the Road, Moby Dick, and Uncle Tom’s Cabin are but a few more monolithic examples of novels that catch defining aspects of Americanism, and I have argued elsewhere that F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby might potentially edge ahead of them all in the race for this prestigious title.

One book of equally unassuming proportions but comparable gravitas is Truman Capote’s “Sniadanie u Tiffany’ego” (“Breakfast at Tiffany’s”). It narrates the tale through a first-person male protagonist who happens to reside in the same New York apartment building as a rather frivolous, egocentric, and seemingly irresolute young woman by the name of Holly Golightly whom he gets to know as she repeatedly rings his doorbell when she returns from her nocturnal activities, having forgotten or lost her keys. While other tenants in the building grow irritated and tired of the reckless woman, the narrator develops a liking, akin to fascination, for her.

As the story progresses, the narrator, and the reader through him, bit by bit assemble the puzzle that is Holly Golightly. Through observations, conversations with her associates, the gifts she offers and her distinctive behaviour, the character is incrementally explored and new perspectives and dimensions uncovered. We learn about her humble origins and the driving force behind her erratic behaviour in the metropolitan environment.

In Holly Golightly, the new America, or more precisely a re-invented American dream, takes form. As the post-World War America underwent rapid transformation ultimately extricating itself from the aftermath of its Civil War trauma, society was subjected to considerable stress. Holly Golightly embodies the pursuit of material success and social mobility, the bedrock of the American Dream. Everybody can make it big. And to make it big means accumulating monetary wealth. But she also experiences the solitude of the transition between social classes. A country girl traying her wings in an unforgiving and unfathomable metropolis, Holly seems to reject authority and conformism but at closer scrutiny, she is just as entangled in the web of society as her new self as she was before. Only she lacks the tools and experience to control it.

A comparative analysis with the aforementioned The Great Gatsby may prove useful. Both novels are of modest proportions and although they were published three decades apart, they found their audience at about the same time in the years following the Second World War. Both stories grapple with the issues of identity as each of them portrays a character that arrives to the big city from the countryside to confront the frenzy of material pursuit, posturing, and competition that make up the American Dream.

While I somewhat enjoyed Breakfast at Tiffany’s, I was surprised to find the second story in the volume, “Harfa traw” (“The Grass Harp”) significantly more gratifying. By all standards it is a silly tale about two elderly sisters, Verena and Dolly Talbo, embroiled in a dispute over the commercial exploitation for a medication that Dolly has concocted. As a result of their rift, Dolly leaves the house where Verena and she have lived together since forever and takes refuge in a tree house in the woods not far from the town. Her maid and her and her sister’s nephew, who is also the narrator of this story accompany her.

SPOILER ALERT

Before long, they are joined by others who for one reason or another find it prudent to move in with them in the tree house, despite its unsuitability as a permanent settlement. Verena, always the authoritarian of the two sisters, calls upon the sheriff to track down her eloped sister and bring her back home again. Law enforcement, of course, translates the mission into something they can understand and after a confusing and wildly entertaining scene by the tree house, arrests the maid.

“Harfa traw” is a heartening tale of rebellion and personal integrity but also about reconciliation and the futility of quarrel. Predating “Sniadanie u Tiffany’ego” by several years it exudes a tone and environment entirely distinct. The characters are diverse and intriguing and their interaction consistently entertaining. Although some may find the ending somewhat anti-climactic, to me it harmonises with the story’s overall tone and glides into the sunset with just enough sentimentality to make it touching and enough screech to not make it sentimental. A sheer delight.  

 

CRIME AND SOCIETY

Author: Jerzy Sarnecki
Year: 2010
Publisher: Studentlitteratur
Language: Swedish

Crime, especially organised crime and gun violence, stands as the preeminent political concern in Sweden today. As always when a subject engages a significant audience, facts and data quickly succumb to guesses, prejudice, and bravado.

Motivated by this, I picked up a book that had been standing for a couple of years untouched on my bookshelf; “Brottsligheten och samhället” (not available in English but roughly translatable as “Crime and Society”) by Swedish criminologist Jerzy Sarnecki. As this particular edition was already out of print by the time I acquired it, I acknowledge its obsolescence and its obvious inability to address recent developments in Swedish crime. However, dismissing it as irrelevant would also be misguided as its methodology, models, and theories remain applicable rendering the insights into global and national trends, processes, and dynamics in criminal behaviour enduringly pertinent.

Across 9 chapters, Sarnecki’s book offers a broad, comprehensive, and basic overview of the field of criminology intended as an entry level textbook for Swedish university students.

Chapter 1: What is criminology?
Chapter 2: The starting points of criminological thinking
Chapter 3: The scope and characteristics of crime
Chapter 4: Socioecological and learning theories
Chapter 5: Strain, sub-culture theories, gangs, and criminal networks
Chapter 6: Symbolic interactionism, conspiracy to commit crime, postmodern criminology, conflict theory, and critical criminology.
Chapter 7: Theories of control, routine activities, and structures of opportunity
Chapter 8: Crime levels and societal flux
Chapter 9: Penalty

All chapters are characterised by the accessibility expected of an introductory textbook, while still being able to delve into certain theories and models with some depth. However, as a layman, I am immediately confronted with two problems.

1.      Sarnecki introduces criticism sections for some but not all the theories he presents and even where they are included, they seem cursory and superficial. Moreover, in some cases, he injects his own personal preferences and convictions arguably misplaced in a textbook intended for impartiality. Argumentation and propositions of this sort would be more appropriately saved for articles and seminars.

2.      Acknowledging the book’s tendentious inclinations, readers are left uncertain whether Sarnecki includes all the relevant research in this book or omits some for personal reasons.

Even so, the book is highly instructive, showing the complexity of the area of criminology and the wealth of knowledge researchers have accumulated. Chapters 4 and 5 in particular caught my attention, given the fierce debates and heavy politicisation surrounding the origins of criminal behaviour in contemporary Swedish public discourse. Sarnecki maintains, that introducing biology or ethnicity into the discussion of criminal behaviour is unhelpful and cites well-documented and repeated findings by the Chicago school and various socioecological studies as compelling evidence.

When reading about criminology, it is important to bear in mind that the discipline does not, and probably never will, possess the precision to predict who will commit a crime on an individual level. Nor does it claim to possess such ambitions. Its utility lies in providing tools to identify risk factors and to suggest countermeasures to remove the risk factors, not the individuals exposed to them.

In conclusion, I would advise anyone professing to know anything about crime and criminology to familiarise themselves with the works of any recognised criminologist. While many of the theories and conclusions that Sarnecki brings up have been and continue to be contested, fully in compliance with the very nature of academia, no one who is moderately literate and possesses at least a rudimentary capacity for rational thought, will accept “look around” or “my neighbour’s niece’s bike was stolen two years ago” as valid arguments. In the contemporary information society, where knowledge and facts are available at a keystroke, ignorance is a choice.

 

TYNNER

Author: Ulrike Längle
Year: 1996
Publisher: Collection S. Fischer
Language: German

Ennui. That frozen prison of aimless inanity. That subtle whisper of misery in the theatre of existential despair. That “feeling of being bored and mentally tired caused by having nothing interesting or exciting to do”*. It is a state all too familiar to most of us who have survived the slings and arrows of adolescence and entered through the gates of broken promises into the desert of mundanity.

Many classic works of fiction have grappled with the concept of ennui. Albert Camus’ “The Outsider” (see my review from April 2023) examines the most extreme forms of complete indifference and other famous novels such as “The Great Gatsby” by F. Scott Fitzgerald explore the lengths to which the affluent go to fill the gaping hollow of an existence effectively devoid of pursuit. In non-fiction, Victor Frankl’s monumental body of work on the subject is second to none and is frequently cited among books that will change your life.

Ulrike Längle, an Austrian literary critic, university lecturer, and author, contributes to the contemplation on ennui through her concise novel, "Tynner." The narrative unfolds around Tynner, a middle-aged university reader in literary studies. Socially inept and markedly aloof, his limited engagements extend to perfunctory meetings with Mynner, a companion with whom connections seem sustained more by obligation than genuine affinity, and an awareness of his cleaning lady's presence, discernible solely through the sounds of her labour while he remains cloistered in his bedroom. Tynner’s ongoing project is the book that he is writing on the rift in the fabric of society.

As the layers of Tynner's existence unfold, we as readers realise that the greater his perceived discontent, the more enviable and gratifying his life becomes to external observers. He travels to foreign lands, engages in stimulating conversations, he dines at excellent restaurants and savours exquisite wines, he commands the allegiance of a friend ever-ready to avail himself for meetings, enjoys familial care, boasts robust health, and maintains financial prosperity. Paradoxically, he remains gripped by an overarching sense of misery, ensnared in the web of ennui.

There are several humorous episodes in the book wherein Tynner endeavours to liberate himself from his imagined malaise, yet paradoxically recoils when his miserable condition is jeopardised by the interventions of friends and family. It is only when he takes his fate in his own hands that he is finally saved. And salvation seems to have been on his doorstep the entire time.

Längle's novella appears to convey a subtle yet profound message: in the privileged landscapes of the Western world, many possess the prerequisites for happiness, or at least contentment and ease, only to grapple with some variation of self-imposed melancholy. Could it be that individuals, ourselves included, bear a burden of perceived failure, overlooking the myriad blessings that life bestows and which, if absent, would fundamentally change the nature, and our experience, of our unhappiness?

Längle's prose is as simple as it is straightforward and encapsulates an almost maternal sentiment for the protagonist. While not a pivotal piece of literature, and despite Längle's respectable role as the custodian of the Franz-Michael-Felder Archives in Bregenz, her personal contributions, including "Tynner," appear to occupy a relatively modest niche in the annals of 20th-century literature. Hesitating to diminish the significance or craftsmanship of "Tynner," it stands as a work of ordinary, albeit entertaining, literary quality suited for casual perusal. This may sound depressing in the ears of an author, and yet more than three decades after the book was published in Austria, somewhere in far off Scandinavia a banker is reading and pondering on it and inviting the readers of this blog to discuss its content. And that is more than most aspiring authors ever accomplish. Tynner may never have, but at least his creator actually finished her book on the rift in the fabric of society.

* The Cambridge Online Dictionary

TARTUFFE

Author: Molière
Year: Unknown (1664)
Publisher: Wydawnictwo "Klasyka"
Language: Polish (translator Tadeusz Boy-Żeleński)

In the English-speaking world, Molière is sometimes said to be the Shakespeare of France. Although Shakespeare predated Molière and for that reason may have some precedence, this comparison fails on two fronts. First, Shakespeare, although writing some comedies, mostly excelled in tragedies whereas Molière almost exclusively wrote farces and satires. Second, Molière holds a far more prominent status in France than Shakespeare does in England. In fact, the French language itself is traditionally referred to as “la langue de Molière”.

One of Molière’s most famous plays, and the one that nearly cost him his career and his good standing with King Louis XIV, was “Świętoszek” (“Tartuffe”). On the off chance that someone is reading these words and the even slimmer chance that that person is unfamiliar with this play, I suppose a spoiler alert is appropriate at this point.

The play opens with Orgon’s mother Madame Pellier chastising everybody in Orgon’s household, extolling Tartuffe’s piety and deriding her family’s inadequacies. She then declares that she will not stay for one more minute in the wretched place her son calls home. Orgon’s family tries to dissuade her and to convince her of Tartuffe’s fraudulent intentions, but to no avail. Orgon arrives and inquires about Tartuffe. He is told about the different accidents, ailments and misfortunes that each family member has suffered during his absence but is preoccupied with the well-being of Tartuffe alone, exclaiming “poor fellow!” at every bit of news about him, even though he is repeatedly told that Tartuffe has never been better. Tartuffe, who for a long time remains unseen in the play, is a self-proclaimed holy man who has obviously convinced Orgon that he is his path to righteousness and salvation.

This sets the stage for the play’s first half. The more Orgon’s wife, son, daughter, brother-in-law, and servants strive to expose Tartuffe’s deceit, the more Orgon defends him, even bestowing his estate and his daughter’s hand in marriage upon him. Moreover, he entrusts Tartuffe with a potentially incriminating secret letter.

A turning point presents itself when Tartuffe endeavours to seduce Orgon’s wife, Elmire. Although Elmire initially conceals the incident, Orgon’s son Damis, who has monitored the scene from a hiding place, exposes the truth. Forced to protect her own honour as well as that of Damis, Elmire tells her husband to hide underneath a table while she encourages Tartuffe to make advances toward her a second time. Seeing with his own eyes how Tartuffe has deceived his confidence, Orgon confronts him and commands him to leave his house at once. Tartuffe, however, retorts that by Orgon’s own decree Tartuffe is now the Master of the estate and he commands everyone to leave what he now considers his house. When they refuse, Tartuffe calls the authorities. The king’s soldiers arrive at the house and to everyone’s surprise arrest Tartuffe for fraud and deceit, a testament to the king’s astute judgment.

Already a celebrated playwright and actor with the king’s favour, Molière penned the play in 1664. Although it was met with acclaim from the audience at the premiere and even with the approval of the king himself, the Catholic Church took offence at its criticism of religious zeal and Tartuffe’s deceit. It swiftly moved to ban the play and pressured the king to withdraw his support. Molière revised the play to make it less controversial but that version, too, was banned. It was not until 1669 that a third and heavily revised version received the king’s approval and the Church’s acquiescence. This is the version we know today as the previous manuscripts were either lost or destroyed.

It is tantalising to imagine what the original “Świętoszek” might have contained that drew the Church’s ire. In a letter to the king, it appears that Molière sought to clarify that he was by no means criticising the Church or churchly people but rather the evildoers who take advantage of the king’s devout subjects. It is not entirely unreasonable to propose that the deus ex machina ending was added to flatter the king, but this is an unsubstantiated guess and it is even more uncertain if it contributed at all to tipping the scales in Molière’s favour.

Another speculation might be that Madame Pellier had a bigger role in earlier drafts. Either that, or she was not in them at all. For it seems that after she disappears after the opening scenes, she reappears only after Orgon has become aware of Tartuffe’s betrayal. Still being convinced of Tartuffe’s virtues she admonishes her son Orgon for having lost his faith in him. Orgon is furious that his mother refuses to believe him when he tells her about the true intentions of Tartuffe and to drive the point home, the maid Dorine says

“This is fair payment, sir, for what we received.
You wouldn't believe us; now you're not believed.”*

It is not unlikely that Madame Pellier’s naïveté was part of what sparked the vehement protests by the clergy, but it is also possible that Molière, after having removed most of the controversial material from the manuscript added a sweet and pious little lady to serve as a backdrop to Orgon’s awakening. We will probably never know.

On a higher level, Molière’s critique is not as much directed at the Church as at the gullibility of the general public. It is a curious quirk of the human mind that makes us prone to have faith on words alone but will ignore reality until we see it with our own eyes. Some would say that appealing to emotions is the easiest way to fool the masses. “Wenn du lügst, dann lüge gründlich, und vor allem bleibe bei dem, was du gelogen hast”**. Others would claim that faith comes directly from God and transcends the need for evidence.

Molière warns us against closing our eyes when we open our hearts.

A shoutout to the translator Tadeusz Boy-Żeleński whose Polish translation, despite being almost a century old, still feels fresh and current. It appears to serve as a testimony to the importance of the French language to and the elitism among the theatre-going population of Poland during the 18^th and 19^th centuries, that the play had to wait over 250 years before it was translated.

 

* Molière, “Tartuffe or the Hypocrite”, translated by Jeffrey D. Hoeper (2009)
** Goebbels, Joseph “Aus Churchills Lügenfabrik”, Die Zeit ohne Beispiel. Reden und Aufsätze aus den Jahren 1939–41, (1941)