beer good
Well-Known Member
The Way of a Serpent, Torgny Lindgren
"Lord, to whom shall we go?"
Torgny Lindgren's breakthrough novel (first published in 1982) is a dark affair, reminiscent of one of Dostoevsky's heavy tomes condensed down to a 150-page "j'accuse" towards a seemingly uncaring God and the, if you will, tyranny of evil men.
The question at the start of this review is repeated like a mantra by our narrator, Johan - the grandson of a farmer in 19th century Northern Sweden who ends up in debt to the local merchant, who in these new times demands payment in cash rather than in kind. And when the family is unable to come up with the cash, the merchant - and his son after him - takes his tribute in other ways; the sins of the father are visited upon the daughter, and as the sole male heir, Johan grows up seeing first his mother and then his sisters used as currency. What follows is both a very disturbing and realistic-feeling description of what life could be deep in the woods, and a harsh examination of the themes of sin, atonement, charity and self-sacrifice. Lindgren converted to catholicism about the same time as he wrote this; it's a deeply Christian novel, but one in which faith alone will never set things right, and where Bible phrases are as often used to justify oppression as to offer comfort. If the authority that rules you claims to be in the right, and the ultimate authority offers no reply... Lord, to whom shall he go? Johan is blameless in his misery, and if he takes action to end it, he'll get the blame. It's not a pretty story, but a powerful one.
Torgny Lindgren is one of Sweden's most acclaimed authors (and a member of the Academy as well), but I only recently understood his greatness; this is the fourth novel of his I've read, and he just keeps impressing me and making me think with every short volume, straddling the line between social conscience, good old-fashioned storyteller and philosopher. I can't vouch for the English translation; I'm not sure whether to envy or pity his translators - not only is the entire novel based on the double meaning of the Swedish word "skuld", meaning both "guilt", "lack of innocence" and "debt", but it's narrated in a heavy archaic dialect which is a joy to read but must be hell to translate. But the story is universal, and this is one of the best novel(la)s I've read this year.
5/5
(Note: apparently, the English translation is available both separately and in the collection "Merab's Beauty and other stories".)
"Lord, to whom shall we go?"
Torgny Lindgren's breakthrough novel (first published in 1982) is a dark affair, reminiscent of one of Dostoevsky's heavy tomes condensed down to a 150-page "j'accuse" towards a seemingly uncaring God and the, if you will, tyranny of evil men.
The question at the start of this review is repeated like a mantra by our narrator, Johan - the grandson of a farmer in 19th century Northern Sweden who ends up in debt to the local merchant, who in these new times demands payment in cash rather than in kind. And when the family is unable to come up with the cash, the merchant - and his son after him - takes his tribute in other ways; the sins of the father are visited upon the daughter, and as the sole male heir, Johan grows up seeing first his mother and then his sisters used as currency. What follows is both a very disturbing and realistic-feeling description of what life could be deep in the woods, and a harsh examination of the themes of sin, atonement, charity and self-sacrifice. Lindgren converted to catholicism about the same time as he wrote this; it's a deeply Christian novel, but one in which faith alone will never set things right, and where Bible phrases are as often used to justify oppression as to offer comfort. If the authority that rules you claims to be in the right, and the ultimate authority offers no reply... Lord, to whom shall he go? Johan is blameless in his misery, and if he takes action to end it, he'll get the blame. It's not a pretty story, but a powerful one.
Torgny Lindgren is one of Sweden's most acclaimed authors (and a member of the Academy as well), but I only recently understood his greatness; this is the fourth novel of his I've read, and he just keeps impressing me and making me think with every short volume, straddling the line between social conscience, good old-fashioned storyteller and philosopher. I can't vouch for the English translation; I'm not sure whether to envy or pity his translators - not only is the entire novel based on the double meaning of the Swedish word "skuld", meaning both "guilt", "lack of innocence" and "debt", but it's narrated in a heavy archaic dialect which is a joy to read but must be hell to translate. But the story is universal, and this is one of the best novel(la)s I've read this year.
5/5
(Note: apparently, the English translation is available both separately and in the collection "Merab's Beauty and other stories".)