by Stieg Larsson
535 pages, Quercus
Review
by Pat Black
Scandi
Crime is big business. Writers such as Jo Nesbo and Henning Mankell are huge
sellers in the English-speaking world. It reminds me of Tartan Noir, a similar
scene which made stars of Scots authors Ian Rankin, Val McDermid and Denise
Mina. Maybe I should change my name to Per Blacksson and see how we go?
The
Scandinavian invasion was spearheaded by the late Stieg Larsson, whose
Millennium Trilogy achieved monstrous sales and worldwide fame in the past
decade. Death got in the way before he could enjoy either – bummer – but let’s
have a look at what he could have won.
I’m
wary of hype. This means that I sometimes get into perfectly good books, films
and music several years off the pace of the rest of society… once the coast is
clear. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of these people who held on for years
before getting a mobile phone, or who stuck with Betamax to the bitter end. But
ubiquity can be a bit of a drag, and invites prejudice.
So
now I come to The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. The movie versions have already
been made, and remade – that’s how far behind I am. I enjoyed the David Fincher
film, and it’s a book that several people have told me was one of the best
they’d ever read, which was a sign that maybe there was a wee bit more than
hype and marketing to blame for the phenomenon.
In
case you don’t know, the novel tells the story of Mikael Blomkvist, a
middle-aged Swedish journalist, and Lisbeth Salander, a young computer hacker
with a troubled past. Blomkvist is a crusading journalist in Sweden with
Millennium magazine. He is contracted by rich, elderly industrialist Henrik
Vanger to solve a family mystery – the disappearance of his niece, Harriet, in
the 1960s. Blomkvist, facing a prison sentence and financial ruin after libelling
a corrupt businessman, has no option but to take on the job. He travels by rail
to the remote fictional town of Hedestad, where the Vanger family live in a
semi-reclusive enclave.
Meanwhile,
back in Stockholm, another story develops – that of Lisbeth Salander. A
computer hacker and private investigator, the girl is a severely damaged
individual owing to family problems and unpleasant experiences as a child. She
dresses alternatively and lives a very unconventional life, having been
institutionalised in her younger years. Despite her problems and issues, she
strikes me as a unique character in commercial fiction. Salander isn’t the
first fictional creation to be beset by psychological problems, but she is not
defined by them. It’s hard to think of her as a victim. Although her
experiences are awful, it’s heartening to see her pragmatic reactions, her
strength of will. Particularly after she is raped by her legal guardian; but
we’ll come to that presently.
The
book starts by violating an edict which is often handed down to wannabe
writers: “show, not tell”. It may be something to do with the translation, but
much of the action in the early part of the book, as Blomkvist’s backstory is
outlined, concerns a whole lot of telling. It seemed almost rude – a glorious
two fingers extended to convention and boxed-up thinking. At one point,
Blomkvist takes stock of his adventures and says, “This is almost exactly like
a locked-room mystery novel. Every clue seems to lead to a dead end…”
To
be fair, the “show, not tell” rule is there for your own good in the majority
of cases. But it was, if you’ll pardon the expression, telling, to see such a
best-selling book stuffed with it to the point where even a lummox like me
starts frowning. I’d have been tempted to get the red pen out, myself.
The
suspicion I have is that the public either don’t know or don’t care about such
conventions, clauses, caveats, articles and restrictions in the technical
business of writing novels, whether they’re just looking for a page-turner to
pass the time or whether they’re keen students of the art. They respond to a
good story told well. Nota bene.
It’s
a long novel, with a leisurely pace. Blomkvist’s assignment in the snowy
wastes, knocking on doors of Vanger family members and reading through press
cuttings and box files in his lonely cottage with just a cat for company,
seemed charming to me. Who wouldn’t want a little sabbatical from their normal
life, playing Sherlock Holmes out in the countryside – and being well paid for
it into the bargain?
Things
ramp up. First of all, Salander has to extricate herself from a nasty situation
when she is appointed a legal guardian who turns out to be a sadist. Salander,
despite being 24, is still a ward of state owing to mental health problems. Her
first counsellor is a kindly, fair-minded older man who allows her autonomy and
control over her finances. When he falls ill, his successor is only happy to
allow Salander some kronor if she submits to his unpleasant sexual demands. The
pragmatic Salander, who always gets her own back, takes brutal, sublime
revenge.
Her
story is intertwined with Blomkvist’s after he discovers she has hacked into
his computer, as part of a background check carried out for the Vanger family
through the investigation firm she works for. Blomkvist, who has admiration for
her sheer cheek as much as he is alarmed by her skills, needs a researcher to
help out with the Vanger case: Salander is the perfect fit.
The
puzzle draws you in – not just through the search for Harriet Vanger, but for
the deeper mystery it uncovers; a series of horrific murders. These cases do
not become apparent until mid-way through the book, about the same time that
Salander and Blomkvist join forces. It’s here that the novel clicks into a
higher gear and becomes the book all writers dream about writing: the
page-turner. One that keeps you awake at night, forging on until another
chapter is finished, and the one after that… And one for the road…
Scandi
Crime works because of its strong contrasts, casting shadows on a seemingly
enlightened part of the world. Sweden in particular is often painted as a
liberal paradise, with progressive attitudes to family life, social care,
education, law and order and sex all happily mingling in the same hot tub. Indeed,
it’s odd that the cultural touchstones and clichés Sweden boasts should all be
so well-received; cool furnishing aesthetics, beautiful women, Abba, King
Henrik Larsson (peace be upon him), the chef from the Muppets. They’re just
about all positive.
What
Stieg Larsson show us is that, just like any other country in the world, Sweden
has its murderers, sadists, corporate monsters and most especially, crimes
against women.
Larsson’s
Blomkvist is about the same age, but he’s no Wallander. Certainly he’s a cheerier
man who enjoys his life, although it seemed kind of rootless to me. Perhaps
this is because he spends rather a lot of this book bonking.
He
has a very “European” relationship with Erika, his partner at Millennium. Her
husband knows that they sleep together now and again, but he’s alright with it,
and they all spend Christmas together.
He
also cheerfully sleeps with one of the Vanger family. All it takes is a cup of
coffee, a quick segue into a foot massage, and Bob’s yer mother’s brother. It’s
curious that this coupling didn’t make it into the movie version – perhaps they
didn’t want to paint Blomkvist as a complete dog?
I
suppose Mikael is sensitive. As Salander puts it, he is undemanding,
considerate and kind. After a lifetime of bastards, he would probably come
across as a huge surprise, and a fine catch.
But
I did have problems with Blomkvist and Salander’s inevitable sexual
relationship. Inevitable, because the conventions of narrative dictate the hero
and heroine should end up in bed. But in a book that strikes a deep note of
realism in its dealings with damaged women, I found this troubling. Would a
girl who has suffered so horribly at the hands of middle aged men in her life
suddenly leap into bed with one just because he’s “nice”? I’m not convinced. If
you want to read more of my thoughts on this matter, have a wee look here:
http://patblack.wordpress.com/2012/01/10/the-bloke-with-the-kitten-tattoo/
On
the flip side, there are Men Who Hate Women – the book’s original title in
Sweden. The chapter heads are sometimes
preachy, spitting out statistics regarding the level of harassment and sexual
assault Swedish women can expect in their lifetime. Not quite the figures you’d
associate with a more egalitarian, highly-educated western society. The crimes
that the book examines are ghastly – hinting at something altogether more
monstrous, and easily recognisable, lurking behind Sweden’s glassy
exterior.
A
curious parallel comes to us from another key noughties work of art from Sweden
– Let The Right One In. That has another strange pairing, and paints a shadowy
picture of a country which has an underpinning of sadness from its very
mythology right into the present day – alcoholic fathers, people spending their
time in darkness, a sense of despair in the deep winter.
Salander
is a memorable avenging angel, a quite sublime character. Damaged, but a
fighter; from the most troubled of backgrounds, but not dwelling on it for too
long; always looking forward, not back; and a million miles ahead of her
adversaries in terms of intellect. Small wonder so many people responded to her
– I’d much rather young women identified with Lisbeth Salander than Bella Swan.
Mind
you, that’s prejudice: I haven’t read Twilight either. Don’t be holding your
breath for that one, though.
No comments:
Post a Comment