This is a corporate novel from the time of the Norwegian dot com boom around 2000. It's a smooth, well told story, the writing and storyline reminding of Tom Wolfe's Bonfire of the Vanities and Bret Easton Ellis' American Psycho. (There is a parallell storyline containing a dark BDSM mystery (involving the paraphilia of "scarfing" or near-asphyxiation), and the fashion fetish in this book is limited to expensive wrist watches.)
There are two sequences right in the middle of the book, two spectacular parties, the first just before the book's halfway mark, the second following immediately thereafter. Neither of these spectacles are relayed very successfully, thus standing out negatively since this part of the book was obviously meant to be a spectacular and original intermezzo in the novel. In fact, at the very beginning of the 12 pages (painstakingly) detailing the first party, an end-of-season party of the crème de la crème of Norway's authors and other artists which clearly was meant to be a burlesque, over-the-top, surrealistic bonanza, simply becomes extremely tiresome, and the author must have realized he wasn't succeeding with his ambition, because at this point, the protagonist staggers to the toilets, opens the lid and reads: WARNING - YOU'LL LOSE NOTHING BY SKIPPING THE REST OF THIS CHAPTER. Which is kinda funny. The reader (of the book) doesn't realize this message was in fact for him until the next eleven pages have been tediously endured. So why didn't the author simply drop this part of the book, re-write it or do something completely different? Then follows the next party, which is with a totally different crowd of super-rich, nightclub-type, socialites in a 12,000 sq ft mansion at the most expensive real estate location (Christian Benneches vei) on the Bygdøy peninsula, which is one of a few neighbourhoods of peak affluence in Oslo. The debauchery which the protagonist is exposed to (and dragged into) here again includes scarfing, but also drugs, to which he is mysteriously (incredulously?) utterly oblivious, yet he gets to experience the effect of a couple of grams of Mexican A (heroin) being evaporated inside a sauna. The problem with this party sequence I believe, must have been for the author to relay a social scene to which nightclub goers will easily relate but to which the average reader will lack sufficient points of reference should it have been realistically retold. So we get a couple of musical references that everyone can relate to (e.g. 'I'm Too Sexy'), but the drawing in text of the scene becomes sketchy, too sketchy, and we don't get a credible sense that he has been partying hard all night when he gets out of there around five in the morning and decides to jog home, high as a kite, across the city.
I'm not going to write more about this. The suspense drama of a hostile takeover of Norway's two largest publishing houses is engaging and especially interesting for me who has a particular interest in the publishing business and in Norwegian publishing history. But, this author is talented, no doubt. This was his breakthrough novel, and I have several more of his more recent books on my bookshelf which I will be taking a look at eventually.