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What Kingdom
“An incredibly moving and gripping novel . . . so sure-footed, clear, vibrating, like chiffon or a cigarette.” — Olga Ravn
An incandescent debut about young adults learning how to care for themselves — from within the limits of the psychiatric system
Perfect for fans of Tove Ditlevsen and devotees of Sylvia Plath
In honest, crackling investigations of the psychiatric system and the young people trying to find their way, Gråbøl’s soaring debut offers a critique of institutionalization and an urgent recalibrating of the language and conceptions of care.
“I’m not inarticulate, but I leave language to the room around me,” says Fine Gråbøl’s nameless narrator as she dreams of furniture flickering to life in the room she occupies at a temporary psychiatric care unit for young adults. A chair that greets you, or shiny tiles of floor that follow a peculiar grammar of their own. Our narrator is obsessed with the way items rise up out of their thingness , assuming personalities and private motives. She also cannot sleep, and practices her daily routines with the urgency of survival – peeling a carrot, drinking prune juice – all an acutely calibrated exploration into having a home.
Structured as a series of intimate vignettes like those of Olga Ravn, What Kingdom thrums with the swirling voices of this shared home. Hector blares Michael Jackson from the recreation room and recalls a past in Peru when his psychoses were treated with exorcism. The town would shake the devil out of his small, teenage body before he was relocated to Denmark. Or Marie, who has lived in the temporary unit since she was eighteen, has no idea that her mother lives just four floors below in a permanent care unit.
Echoing the aching writings of Janet Frame on electroconvulsive therapy, or Linda Boström Knausgård’s mythical meditations on silence and mental health, Fine Gråbøl renders a delicate and deep uncoupling from the world.
An incandescent debut about young adults learning how to care for themselves — from within the limits of the psychiatric system
Perfect for fans of Tove Ditlevsen and devotees of Sylvia Plath
In honest, crackling investigations of the psychiatric system and the young people trying to find their way, Gråbøl’s soaring debut offers a critique of institutionalization and an urgent recalibrating of the language and conceptions of care.
“I’m not inarticulate, but I leave language to the room around me,” says Fine Gråbøl’s nameless narrator as she dreams of furniture flickering to life in the room she occupies at a temporary psychiatric care unit for young adults. A chair that greets you, or shiny tiles of floor that follow a peculiar grammar of their own. Our narrator is obsessed with the way items rise up out of their thingness , assuming personalities and private motives. She also cannot sleep, and practices her daily routines with the urgency of survival – peeling a carrot, drinking prune juice – all an acutely calibrated exploration into having a home.
Structured as a series of intimate vignettes like those of Olga Ravn, What Kingdom thrums with the swirling voices of this shared home. Hector blares Michael Jackson from the recreation room and recalls a past in Peru when his psychoses were treated with exorcism. The town would shake the devil out of his small, teenage body before he was relocated to Denmark. Or Marie, who has lived in the temporary unit since she was eighteen, has no idea that her mother lives just four floors below in a permanent care unit.
Echoing the aching writings of Janet Frame on electroconvulsive therapy, or Linda Boström Knausgård’s mythical meditations on silence and mental health, Fine Gråbøl renders a delicate and deep uncoupling from the world.
152 pages, Paperback
First published April 21, 2021
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1464 people want to read
About the author
Fine Gråbøl
4 books18 followersFINE GRÅBØL (b. 1992) has previously published a collection of poetry, Knoglemarv lavendel (Bone-marrow Lavender, 2018), together with the poetry collective BMS – consisting of Dorte Limkilde, Mette Kierstein, Ronja Johansen, and Gråbøl. Although What Kingdom is based on personal experience, Gråbøl does not consider it auto-fiction.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 133 reviews
January 25, 2024
Fine Gråbøl is known for her work as part of Danish poetry collective BMS. Her debut novel is an episodic exploration of life in a psychiatric residential facility in Copenhagen. After a lengthy hospital stay the unnamed narrator has been transferred to a youth unit in order to work towards reintegration into so-called “normal” society. At first, she functions in relative isolation, although she’s aware that above her is Waheed whose blaring music forms the soundtrack to her nights, and along the corridor are Sara, Lasse, Hector and Marie. The unit allows each resident a maximum four-year stay, overseen by a staff of caregivers and instructors. But the story the building tells is less optimistic, below the youth unit are several floors peopled by older residents who will never leave, suspended there in time and space.
Gråbøl is intent on representing the direct, lived experience of institutional life, the realities of places bounded by rules and rituals, some imposed from outside, some improvised by individual residents. Her narrator is plagued by sleeplessness, punctuated by bouts of carefully-considered forms of self-harm. She’s aware that she’s here to ‘learn’ how to be an ideal ‘citizen’ but she’s caught up in immediate sensations punctuated by moments of intense, sensory overload. She’s acutely aware of her surroundings, the dubious distinctions in play between self and other, person and object. Time passing slows then speeds up. Her environment, the expectations placed on her are presented as fundamentally contradictory: independence is encouraged yet staff can enter any room at any point in time; intimacy, opening up to staff is encouraged, yet the staff themselves are trained to remain enigmatic – a relationship that exposes the inequalities of power inherent in this system.
Gråbøl moves between near-clinical descriptions and a kind of fractured lyricism, as she chronicles her narrator’s days and nights. Hers is a fragile world in which the political and the economic play no small part. A world of arbitrary hierarchies borne out by the way that benefits are linked to forms of diagnosis, and changes in government policy have led to damaging, dividing lines between those who can, and those who can’t, receive particular levels of support. Cultural assumptions about the distinction between mind and body tie into medical treatments, overlooking the impact of long-term medication and isolation on an individual body. As the days go by, the narrator and the other residents on her floor form a fragile community, sharing cigarettes, pooling money for outings to buy sweets and other forms of instant comfort. There’s no real plot here. Instead, Gråbøl’s narrator, like the author herself, is in dialogue with similar narratives of institutionalisation from Janet Frame to Girl Interrupted which she watches over and over fascinated by its promise of the possibility of breaking down being followed by breaking away and finally breaking free. Gråbøl’s novel at its best is almost hypnotic, persuasive, atmospheric and well-crafted. Translated by Martin Aitkin.
Thanks to Edelweiss and publisher Archipelago for an ARC
Rating: 3.5
Gråbøl is intent on representing the direct, lived experience of institutional life, the realities of places bounded by rules and rituals, some imposed from outside, some improvised by individual residents. Her narrator is plagued by sleeplessness, punctuated by bouts of carefully-considered forms of self-harm. She’s aware that she’s here to ‘learn’ how to be an ideal ‘citizen’ but she’s caught up in immediate sensations punctuated by moments of intense, sensory overload. She’s acutely aware of her surroundings, the dubious distinctions in play between self and other, person and object. Time passing slows then speeds up. Her environment, the expectations placed on her are presented as fundamentally contradictory: independence is encouraged yet staff can enter any room at any point in time; intimacy, opening up to staff is encouraged, yet the staff themselves are trained to remain enigmatic – a relationship that exposes the inequalities of power inherent in this system.
Gråbøl moves between near-clinical descriptions and a kind of fractured lyricism, as she chronicles her narrator’s days and nights. Hers is a fragile world in which the political and the economic play no small part. A world of arbitrary hierarchies borne out by the way that benefits are linked to forms of diagnosis, and changes in government policy have led to damaging, dividing lines between those who can, and those who can’t, receive particular levels of support. Cultural assumptions about the distinction between mind and body tie into medical treatments, overlooking the impact of long-term medication and isolation on an individual body. As the days go by, the narrator and the other residents on her floor form a fragile community, sharing cigarettes, pooling money for outings to buy sweets and other forms of instant comfort. There’s no real plot here. Instead, Gråbøl’s narrator, like the author herself, is in dialogue with similar narratives of institutionalisation from Janet Frame to Girl Interrupted which she watches over and over fascinated by its promise of the possibility of breaking down being followed by breaking away and finally breaking free. Gråbøl’s novel at its best is almost hypnotic, persuasive, atmospheric and well-crafted. Translated by Martin Aitkin.
Thanks to Edelweiss and publisher Archipelago for an ARC
Rating: 3.5
April 21, 2024
A realistic account of a young woman's temporary stay in a psychiatric care facility. She suffers from insomnia, depression, panic attacks and has suicidal thoughts.
It reminded me a bit of Daniele Mencarelli's Everything Calls for Salvation.
It's well-written and thought-provoking (especially when she's critical of the healthcare system for people with a mental disorder), but for me it was too fragmentary, making it hard to get invested in the story or the characters.
It reminded me a bit of Daniele Mencarelli's Everything Calls for Salvation.
It's well-written and thought-provoking (especially when she's critical of the healthcare system for people with a mental disorder), but for me it was too fragmentary, making it hard to get invested in the story or the characters.
June 28, 2024
Fine Gråbøls Debütroman ist eine episodische Erkundung des Lebens in einer psychiatrischen Wohneinrichtung in Kopenhagen. Nach einem längeren Krankenhausaufenthalt wurde die unbenannte Erzählerin in eine Jugendeinheit versetzt, um auf die Wiedereingliederung in die sogenannte "normale" Gesellschaft hinzuarbeiten. Zuerst lebt sie in relativer Isolation, obwohl sie sich bewusst ist, dass sich über ihr Waheed befindet, dessen Musik den Soundtrack zu ihrer Nächten bildet, und entlang des Korridors sind Sara, Lasse, Hector und Marie. Die Wohneinheit ermöglicht jedem Bewohner einen Aufenthalt von maximal vier Jahren, der von Betreuern und Ausbildern beaufsichtigt wird. Aber eine weitere Geschichte, die das Gebäude schreibt, ist weniger optimistisch, denn unter der Jugendeinheit befinden sich mehrere Etagen, die von älteren Bewohnern bevölkert sind, die niemals wieder gehen werden, die dort in Zeit und Raum gefangen sind.
Gråbøl ist bestrebt, die direkte, gelebte Erfahrung des institutionellen Lebens darzustellen, die Realitäten von Orten, die durch Regeln und Rituale begrenzt sind, einige von außen auferlegt, andere von einzelnen Bewohnern improvisiert. Ihre Erzählerin wird von Schlaflosigkeit geplagt, unterbrochen von Anfällen sorgfältig durchdachter Formen der Selbstverletzung. Sie ist sich bewusst, dass sie hier ist, um zu "lernen", wie man ein idealer "Bürger" ist, aber sie ist von unmittelbaren Empfindungen betroffen, die von Momenten intensiver, sensorischer Überlastung unterbrochen werden - die Selbstverletzung verschafft ihr in diesen Momenten Entlastung. Sie ist sich ihrer Umgebung, der zweifelhaften Unterscheidungen zwischen sich selbst und anderem, Person und Objekt, bewusst. Die Zeit vergeht, verlangsamt sich und beschleunigt sich. Ihre Umgebung, die Erwartungen, die an sie gestellt werden, werden als grundsätzlich widersprüchlich dargestellt: Unabhängigkeit wird gefördert, aber die Mitarbeiter können jederzeit jeden Raum betreten; Intimität, Offenheit gegenüber den Mitarbeitern wird supportet, aber die Mitarbeiter selbst sind darauf trainiert, unnahbar zu bleiben - eine Beziehung, die die diesem System innewohnenden Machtungleichheiten aufdeckt.
Gråbøl bewegt sich zwischen nahezu klinischen Beschreibungen und einer Art gebrochener Lyrik, während sie die Tage und Nächte ihrer Erzählerin dokumentiert. Sie lebt in einer fragilen Welt, in der die Politik und die Macht eine nicht zu unterschätzende Rolle spielen. Eine Welt willkürlicher Hierarchien, die durch die Art und Weise bestätigt wird, wie Vorteile mit bestimmten Arten einer Diagnose verbunden sind. Diverse Änderungen in der Regierungspolitik haben zu schädlichen Trennlinien geführt zwischen denen, die es schaffen und denen, die es nicht schaffen, ein bestimmtes Maß an Unterstützung zu erhalten. Kulturelle Hypothesen über die Unterscheidung zwischen Geist und Körper sind mit medizinischen Behandlungen verknüpft und die Auswirkungen einer langfristigen Einnahme von Medikamenten und Isolation auf einen einzelnen Körper, werden übersehen. Im Laufe der Zeit bilden die Erzählerin und die anderen Bewohner auf ihrer Etage eine fragile Gemeinschaft, die Zigaretten teilt, Geld für Ausflüge zum Kauf von Süßigkeiten und anderen Formen des sofortigen Genusses vereint. Hier gibt es keinen echten Plot. Stattdessen steht Gråbøls Erzählerin, wie die Autorin selbst, im Dialog mit ähnlichen Erzählungen der Institutionalisierung von „Janet Frame“ bis „Girl Interrupted“, die sie sich immer wieder anschaut und stets aufs Neue fasziniert ist von dem Versprechen der Möglichkeit eines Zusammenbruchs, gefolgt von einem Ausbruch und schließlich der totalen Befreiung. Gråbøls Roman offeriert uns seine besten Seite und wirkt dabei fast hypnotisch, auf jeden Fall überzeugend, atmosphärisch und gut geschrieben.
Gråbøl ist bestrebt, die direkte, gelebte Erfahrung des institutionellen Lebens darzustellen, die Realitäten von Orten, die durch Regeln und Rituale begrenzt sind, einige von außen auferlegt, andere von einzelnen Bewohnern improvisiert. Ihre Erzählerin wird von Schlaflosigkeit geplagt, unterbrochen von Anfällen sorgfältig durchdachter Formen der Selbstverletzung. Sie ist sich bewusst, dass sie hier ist, um zu "lernen", wie man ein idealer "Bürger" ist, aber sie ist von unmittelbaren Empfindungen betroffen, die von Momenten intensiver, sensorischer Überlastung unterbrochen werden - die Selbstverletzung verschafft ihr in diesen Momenten Entlastung. Sie ist sich ihrer Umgebung, der zweifelhaften Unterscheidungen zwischen sich selbst und anderem, Person und Objekt, bewusst. Die Zeit vergeht, verlangsamt sich und beschleunigt sich. Ihre Umgebung, die Erwartungen, die an sie gestellt werden, werden als grundsätzlich widersprüchlich dargestellt: Unabhängigkeit wird gefördert, aber die Mitarbeiter können jederzeit jeden Raum betreten; Intimität, Offenheit gegenüber den Mitarbeitern wird supportet, aber die Mitarbeiter selbst sind darauf trainiert, unnahbar zu bleiben - eine Beziehung, die die diesem System innewohnenden Machtungleichheiten aufdeckt.
Gråbøl bewegt sich zwischen nahezu klinischen Beschreibungen und einer Art gebrochener Lyrik, während sie die Tage und Nächte ihrer Erzählerin dokumentiert. Sie lebt in einer fragilen Welt, in der die Politik und die Macht eine nicht zu unterschätzende Rolle spielen. Eine Welt willkürlicher Hierarchien, die durch die Art und Weise bestätigt wird, wie Vorteile mit bestimmten Arten einer Diagnose verbunden sind. Diverse Änderungen in der Regierungspolitik haben zu schädlichen Trennlinien geführt zwischen denen, die es schaffen und denen, die es nicht schaffen, ein bestimmtes Maß an Unterstützung zu erhalten. Kulturelle Hypothesen über die Unterscheidung zwischen Geist und Körper sind mit medizinischen Behandlungen verknüpft und die Auswirkungen einer langfristigen Einnahme von Medikamenten und Isolation auf einen einzelnen Körper, werden übersehen. Im Laufe der Zeit bilden die Erzählerin und die anderen Bewohner auf ihrer Etage eine fragile Gemeinschaft, die Zigaretten teilt, Geld für Ausflüge zum Kauf von Süßigkeiten und anderen Formen des sofortigen Genusses vereint. Hier gibt es keinen echten Plot. Stattdessen steht Gråbøls Erzählerin, wie die Autorin selbst, im Dialog mit ähnlichen Erzählungen der Institutionalisierung von „Janet Frame“ bis „Girl Interrupted“, die sie sich immer wieder anschaut und stets aufs Neue fasziniert ist von dem Versprechen der Möglichkeit eines Zusammenbruchs, gefolgt von einem Ausbruch und schließlich der totalen Befreiung. Gråbøls Roman offeriert uns seine besten Seite und wirkt dabei fast hypnotisch, auf jeden Fall überzeugend, atmosphärisch und gut geschrieben.
December 24, 2024
We know what sort of diagnosis a person's got even before they've mentioned it: boys are schizotypal, girls are borderline or obsessive-compulsive. Eating disorders are easily spotted. The grammar of the ill is gendered, but also a matter of economics; the curable versus the chronic, benefit rates and supplementary payments, diagnoses and de-ductibles. Cash assistance subsidies, invalidity pensions, disability supplements. The fatalism of psychiatry. Our tired voices. We make sushi for Hector's birthday party. I slice the cucumber and avocado. Lasse rolls the rice with Hector. We're taking too long, and somehow we know it. We listen to Michael Jackson. The oblong table in the communal kitchen. Splendid hearts, free hands.
What Kingdom (2024) is Martin Aitken's translation of Ungeenheden (2021) by Fine Gråbøl, in the original winner of the Bogforums Debutantpris, and in translation published by Lolli Editions im the UK and Archipelago Books in the US.
Drawing on the author's own experience (see interviews below) our narrator is in a temporary psychiatric care unit for young people, along with four others, part of a facility that offers permanent care and accomodation for older patients:
We've been assigned accommodation in accordance with §107, a temporary accommodation offer for young adults between the ages of eighteen and thirty. The other floors, from first to fourth, come under $108, permanent accommodation. I have no plants, out of principle I own nothing that might die, which is a challenge, because what lives for ever, I don't know. Sara owns loads of stuff and often needs help from the staff to sort it all out, tidy up, put things in their proper places. Her shoes are lined up in a row by the door; she has a beige bedspread with a pattern on it. I don't know what Waheed's room looks like. I imagine a settee, a thick rug. All I know is he's got a speaker, or more likely two. The floors of the residential facility are much the same: between five and ten accommodation units, an office for the staff, a communal recreation room, a communal kitchen, balconies for the smokers, shiny linoleum flooring.
This is an institution where each of them has their own separate room, furnished to their taste and with the ability to lock their door from the inside (the narrator notes the contrast to hospitals) - but the staff have, and often have to use for emergencies, a master key.
It seems significant, in more ways than one, that the psychiatric care worker’s clothes aren’t the hospital’s; no white coat, no medication-blue trousers, just a normal outfit, a normal uniform. But still, you’re never in doubt as to who’s the care worker and who’s the patient, even if the clothes are no giveaway.
The English title, which differs from the Danish which I believe is essentially 'Youth Unit', ia taken from a quote from Dr Wick in the movie Girl, Interrupted, a favourite film of those in the institution:
This is one of a number of cultural, popular and literary, references in the text, including music (Tears for Fears and Everybody Wants to Rule the World, which provides the novel's epigram; Man In The Mirror by Michael Jackson and Numb by Linkin Park); and the writings of Janet Frame who fictionalised her own experiences in mental hospitals, and whose The Edge of the Alphabet has recently been republished by Fitzcarraldo Editions
I think about Janet Frame and understand everything: “The grey crater of the long-dead mad lies empty enough to be filled with many truths together” (from Owls Do Cry)
The novel is told in fragmentary vignettes which vary in style from the prosaic to the poetic, from the everyday to the harrowing, all, deliberately mixed together, and covering
- the others in the facility with her;
- their every day life such as music and movies (see above), cooking and (usually supervised) shopping expeditions;
- her asymmetric relationship with the relatively sympathetic staff;
- her issues with the care system (although non-Scandinavian readers may be surprised by the relatively genoristy of the care offered, it perhaps make its inadequacies to truly treat those in its care all the more stark);
- her own episodes of self-harm, which are rather jarring when they come for being surrounded by the every day.
It all makes for a powerful work.
Other reviews
https://wordswithoutborders.org/book-...
https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/u...
https://www.ronslate.com/on-what-king...
https://www.asymptotejournal.com/crit...
https://therumpus.net/2024/04/30/is-t...
Interviews with the author
https://www.livslinien.dk/code/pages/...
https://www.telegraph.co.uk/books/wha...
Extracts
An example of her own anxieties and self-harm
They tell me it's a serious matter to go so long without sleep; four days max, otherwise emergency treatment is required. It's the same with food, I don't know why the limit always has to be four days, perhaps it's like the weather forecast: after that it's less reliable. I'm almost at the lift now, everything's quiet, Waheed hasn't been around today, maybe he went somewhere. Something uncontrollable stirs in me, it rises from my calves, as if I was a bottle and someone poured acid into me, as if I've got chunks of ice instead of bones; the staff can't let me stay here if I don't stick to our agreements. They showed me a lot of trust when they decided not to put me in the hospital after that business with the open window and the police; it was a relief and a burden not to jump, I collapsed in Thomas's arms, and it was a promise; I cried like a dad, swore never to do it again, if only they promised not to put me in the hospital. How quiet the building is; only old Steen sitting on the sofa in the recreation room, and Hanne in her wheelchair alongside him, the same places they always sit. They say nothing but acknowledge me as I go past, Hanne with a nod, Steen looking up from his coffee. I knock on the open door in search of the night shift. Mark swivels round in his chair and smiles, Hey! He always seems so glad to see me; I love that, as if we were just friends.
Concern about a fellow resident, which leads to a general comment on how society, and the metal health care system, treats those within in:
But why hasn’t any social worker, any contact person, any mentor or psychiatrist told Marie that her mother, who Marie hasn't known since she was six years old, is living under the same sheltered though debilitating circumstances of social care and support? Why hasn't anyone told Marie's mother that the daughter she felt compelled to hand over to a system promising more harmonious circumstances in which to grow up, has now been housed four floors above her own permanent accommodation unit? Why doesn't the social worker, the mentor, the contact person or the pedagogue know that they're setting up an encounter that isn't theirs to set up? Why isn't anyone aware that Marie's mum is permanently housed on the first floor? Why doesn't anyone wonder about the line between trauma and treatment? Why doesn't anyone wonder about the relationship between compulsion and compliance? Why doesn't anyone wonder about the relationship between submission and help? Why doesn't anyone wonder about the relationship between care and abuse? Why doesn't anyone wonder about the relationship between surrender and obliteration? I've often imagined the meeting of Marie and her mum, as if it were mine to imagine.
The asymmetric relationship she has with her carers:
I know I shouldn't get attached to anyone whose job it is to care for me, the workers and wage earners who, like me, though in a different way altogether, are vulnerable to cut-backs, restructuring, reforms. I know I shouldn't make myself dependent on relationships that can only work by virtue of my own capacity to intimately share secrets. I know I shouldn't attach myself to people you can never ask about home and family or their new love interest, their kid's birthday, or their swimming every Tuesday, people who've learned how to protect themselves in their interactions with psychiatric patients but who've never taught us the same self-care in our interactions with the health system. I can tell from the faint light through the curtain that today's going to be warm and mild. I can tell from the walls that they're retreating, but they enclose me anyway. When I open the window, a cool night air streams in like an impending revolt. I've got two cups left, the rest I've managed to break; each week, on my own, with both my hands.
What Kingdom (2024) is Martin Aitken's translation of Ungeenheden (2021) by Fine Gråbøl, in the original winner of the Bogforums Debutantpris, and in translation published by Lolli Editions im the UK and Archipelago Books in the US.
Drawing on the author's own experience (see interviews below) our narrator is in a temporary psychiatric care unit for young people, along with four others, part of a facility that offers permanent care and accomodation for older patients:
We've been assigned accommodation in accordance with §107, a temporary accommodation offer for young adults between the ages of eighteen and thirty. The other floors, from first to fourth, come under $108, permanent accommodation. I have no plants, out of principle I own nothing that might die, which is a challenge, because what lives for ever, I don't know. Sara owns loads of stuff and often needs help from the staff to sort it all out, tidy up, put things in their proper places. Her shoes are lined up in a row by the door; she has a beige bedspread with a pattern on it. I don't know what Waheed's room looks like. I imagine a settee, a thick rug. All I know is he's got a speaker, or more likely two. The floors of the residential facility are much the same: between five and ten accommodation units, an office for the staff, a communal recreation room, a communal kitchen, balconies for the smokers, shiny linoleum flooring.
This is an institution where each of them has their own separate room, furnished to their taste and with the ability to lock their door from the inside (the narrator notes the contrast to hospitals) - but the staff have, and often have to use for emergencies, a master key.
It seems significant, in more ways than one, that the psychiatric care worker’s clothes aren’t the hospital’s; no white coat, no medication-blue trousers, just a normal outfit, a normal uniform. But still, you’re never in doubt as to who’s the care worker and who’s the patient, even if the clothes are no giveaway.
The English title, which differs from the Danish which I believe is essentially 'Youth Unit', ia taken from a quote from Dr Wick in the movie Girl, Interrupted, a favourite film of those in the institution:
Quis hic locus?, quae regio?, quae mundi plaga? What world is this?... What kingdom?... What shores of what worlds? It's a very big question you're faced with, Susanna. The choice of your life. How much will you indulge in your flaws? What are your flaws? Are they flaws?... If you embrace them, will you commit yourself to hospital?... for life? Big questions, big decisions! Not surprising you profess carelessness about them.
This is one of a number of cultural, popular and literary, references in the text, including music (Tears for Fears and Everybody Wants to Rule the World, which provides the novel's epigram; Man In The Mirror by Michael Jackson and Numb by Linkin Park); and the writings of Janet Frame who fictionalised her own experiences in mental hospitals, and whose The Edge of the Alphabet has recently been republished by Fitzcarraldo Editions
I think about Janet Frame and understand everything: “The grey crater of the long-dead mad lies empty enough to be filled with many truths together” (from Owls Do Cry)
The novel is told in fragmentary vignettes which vary in style from the prosaic to the poetic, from the everyday to the harrowing, all, deliberately mixed together, and covering
- the others in the facility with her;
- their every day life such as music and movies (see above), cooking and (usually supervised) shopping expeditions;
- her asymmetric relationship with the relatively sympathetic staff;
- her issues with the care system (although non-Scandinavian readers may be surprised by the relatively genoristy of the care offered, it perhaps make its inadequacies to truly treat those in its care all the more stark);
- her own episodes of self-harm, which are rather jarring when they come for being surrounded by the every day.
It all makes for a powerful work.
Other reviews
https://wordswithoutborders.org/book-...
https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/u...
https://www.ronslate.com/on-what-king...
https://www.asymptotejournal.com/crit...
https://therumpus.net/2024/04/30/is-t...
Interviews with the author
https://www.livslinien.dk/code/pages/...
https://www.telegraph.co.uk/books/wha...
Extracts
An example of her own anxieties and self-harm
They tell me it's a serious matter to go so long without sleep; four days max, otherwise emergency treatment is required. It's the same with food, I don't know why the limit always has to be four days, perhaps it's like the weather forecast: after that it's less reliable. I'm almost at the lift now, everything's quiet, Waheed hasn't been around today, maybe he went somewhere. Something uncontrollable stirs in me, it rises from my calves, as if I was a bottle and someone poured acid into me, as if I've got chunks of ice instead of bones; the staff can't let me stay here if I don't stick to our agreements. They showed me a lot of trust when they decided not to put me in the hospital after that business with the open window and the police; it was a relief and a burden not to jump, I collapsed in Thomas's arms, and it was a promise; I cried like a dad, swore never to do it again, if only they promised not to put me in the hospital. How quiet the building is; only old Steen sitting on the sofa in the recreation room, and Hanne in her wheelchair alongside him, the same places they always sit. They say nothing but acknowledge me as I go past, Hanne with a nod, Steen looking up from his coffee. I knock on the open door in search of the night shift. Mark swivels round in his chair and smiles, Hey! He always seems so glad to see me; I love that, as if we were just friends.
Concern about a fellow resident, which leads to a general comment on how society, and the metal health care system, treats those within in:
But why hasn’t any social worker, any contact person, any mentor or psychiatrist told Marie that her mother, who Marie hasn't known since she was six years old, is living under the same sheltered though debilitating circumstances of social care and support? Why hasn't anyone told Marie's mother that the daughter she felt compelled to hand over to a system promising more harmonious circumstances in which to grow up, has now been housed four floors above her own permanent accommodation unit? Why doesn't the social worker, the mentor, the contact person or the pedagogue know that they're setting up an encounter that isn't theirs to set up? Why isn't anyone aware that Marie's mum is permanently housed on the first floor? Why doesn't anyone wonder about the line between trauma and treatment? Why doesn't anyone wonder about the relationship between compulsion and compliance? Why doesn't anyone wonder about the relationship between submission and help? Why doesn't anyone wonder about the relationship between care and abuse? Why doesn't anyone wonder about the relationship between surrender and obliteration? I've often imagined the meeting of Marie and her mum, as if it were mine to imagine.
The asymmetric relationship she has with her carers:
I know I shouldn't get attached to anyone whose job it is to care for me, the workers and wage earners who, like me, though in a different way altogether, are vulnerable to cut-backs, restructuring, reforms. I know I shouldn't make myself dependent on relationships that can only work by virtue of my own capacity to intimately share secrets. I know I shouldn't attach myself to people you can never ask about home and family or their new love interest, their kid's birthday, or their swimming every Tuesday, people who've learned how to protect themselves in their interactions with psychiatric patients but who've never taught us the same self-care in our interactions with the health system. I can tell from the faint light through the curtain that today's going to be warm and mild. I can tell from the walls that they're retreating, but they enclose me anyway. When I open the window, a cool night air streams in like an impending revolt. I've got two cups left, the rest I've managed to break; each week, on my own, with both my hands.
December 10, 2024
What Kingdom - Fine Gråbøl
اقتباسات من النوفيلا:
"أولئك الذين ليس لديهم مكان للعيش فيه ولا مكان للموت ينتهي بهم المطاف في هذا المنزل التجريبي، المنزل الانتقالي المؤقت هذا.."
"أستيقظ أحيانًا وأدرك أن ما سيحدث ليس له اسم."
"أنسى كثيرًا، كما لو أن ما أتذكره يجب أن يفسح المجال لتجارب جديدة طوال الوقت، كما لو أنه لا يوجد متسع لكليهما."
~
تكتب مقيمة في منزل انتقالي مخصص بدعم حكومي لمن يحتاجون للسكنى وللمراقبة والمساعدة أيضًا، وهم ممن خرجوا من علاج نفسي طويل الأمد أو في حاجة لغيره من أوجه المساعدة الاجتماعية بسبب الإدمان والفقر، يقيمون لفترة طويلة الأمد في منزل مؤقت. وهنا تكتب لنا إحداهن يومياتها هي وثلاثة مقيمين آخرين.
لو كنتم تعرفون فيلم|Oslo, August 31st - 2011
تذكرني هذه النوفيلا بالفيلم وبالبطل وأفكر لو تسنى له أن يكتب شيئًا عنتلك الفترة ربما كانت لتكون جزءً من يومياته، خاصة وأنه كان يعيش في مكان مشابه-وكان مهتمًا بالكتابة.
نوفيلا فريدة تقدم في شذرات عن حيوات مختلفة ومعاناة خفيّة نادرًا ما نقرأ عنها.
اقتباسات من النوفيلا:
"أولئك الذين ليس لديهم مكان للعيش فيه ولا مكان للموت ينتهي بهم المطاف في هذا المنزل التجريبي، المنزل الانتقالي المؤقت هذا.."
"أستيقظ أحيانًا وأدرك أن ما سيحدث ليس له اسم."
"أنسى كثيرًا، كما لو أن ما أتذكره يجب أن يفسح المجال لتجارب جديدة طوال الوقت، كما لو أنه لا يوجد متسع لكليهما."
~
تكتب مقيمة في منزل انتقالي مخصص بدعم حكومي لمن يحتاجون للسكنى وللمراقبة والمساعدة أيضًا، وهم ممن خرجوا من علاج نفسي طويل الأمد أو في حاجة لغيره من أوجه المساعدة الاجتماعية بسبب الإدمان والفقر، يقيمون لفترة طويلة الأمد في منزل مؤقت. وهنا تكتب لنا إحداهن يومياتها هي وثلاثة مقيمين آخرين.
لو كنتم تعرفون فيلم|Oslo, August 31st - 2011
تذكرني هذه النوفيلا بالفيلم وبالبطل وأفكر لو تسنى له أن يكتب شيئًا عنتلك الفترة ربما كانت لتكون جزءً من يومياته، خاصة وأنه كان يعيش في مكان مشابه-وكان مهتمًا بالكتابة.
نوفيلا فريدة تقدم في شذرات عن حيوات مختلفة ومعاناة خفيّة نادرًا ما نقرأ عنها.
March 26, 2024
Fine Gråbøls namenlose Icherzählerin lebt in einer Übergangs-Wohngemeinschaft für psychisch kranke Young Adults zwischen 18 und 23 nach ihrer Entlassung aus der Psychiatrie. Für dieses spezielle Klientel gibt es im mehrstöckigen Haus insgesamt nur 5 Zimmer, die entsprechend begehrt sind. Die junge Frau leidet am Borderline-Syndrom mit Panikattacken und Tendenz, sich selbst zu verletzten und hat eine dramatische Vorgeschichte. Aus Sicht der Erzählerin verfolgen wir die ebenfalls dramatischen Schicksale ihrer vier Mitpatient:innen. Die zwei Männer und drei Frauen auf ihrer Station erkennen einander auf den ersten Blick: Männer sind hier schizophren, Frauen Borderlinerinnen oder Zwangsgestörte.
Sehr eloquent beschreibt die Patientin den Alltag in der Einrichtung, deren Pflegepersonal besonders qualifiziert ist, Schlafstörungen zu lindern. Sie sind offenbar der erste Schritt zu einer Verschlechterung des labilen Gleichgewichts. Eine erneute Aufnahme auf einer psychiatrischen Station würde wie eine Spirale den Zustand unaufhaltsam verschlimmern. Erstaunlich, wie scharfsichtig die junge Frau die Widersprüche ihrer Therapie durchschaut, das „psychiatrische Machtverhältnis“, aber auch die geschäftliche Seite der Finanzierung und Bewilligung von Erwerbsunfähigkeitsrenten. Sie ist überzeugt, dass die Isolation durch betreute Lebensweise die Heilung zwar verzögert, als Teil eines fragilen Balance-Aktes jedoch unverzichtbar ist. So erkennt sie, dass die Teilnahme von zwei Bewohnerinnen an einer Therapiegruppe außerhalb des Hauses auch der Emanzipation der jungen Frauen von ihrer Wohnform dient.
Fazit
Gråbøls Icherzählerin traue ich zu, eine grundsätzliche Psychiatrie-Kritik ebenso eloquent zu formulieren wie einen Entwurf fürs Sozialgesetzbuch, für einen Roman sehr ungewöhnlich!
Sehr eloquent beschreibt die Patientin den Alltag in der Einrichtung, deren Pflegepersonal besonders qualifiziert ist, Schlafstörungen zu lindern. Sie sind offenbar der erste Schritt zu einer Verschlechterung des labilen Gleichgewichts. Eine erneute Aufnahme auf einer psychiatrischen Station würde wie eine Spirale den Zustand unaufhaltsam verschlimmern. Erstaunlich, wie scharfsichtig die junge Frau die Widersprüche ihrer Therapie durchschaut, das „psychiatrische Machtverhältnis“, aber auch die geschäftliche Seite der Finanzierung und Bewilligung von Erwerbsunfähigkeitsrenten. Sie ist überzeugt, dass die Isolation durch betreute Lebensweise die Heilung zwar verzögert, als Teil eines fragilen Balance-Aktes jedoch unverzichtbar ist. So erkennt sie, dass die Teilnahme von zwei Bewohnerinnen an einer Therapiegruppe außerhalb des Hauses auch der Emanzipation der jungen Frauen von ihrer Wohnform dient.
Fazit
Gråbøls Icherzählerin traue ich zu, eine grundsätzliche Psychiatrie-Kritik ebenso eloquent zu formulieren wie einen Entwurf fürs Sozialgesetzbuch, für einen Roman sehr ungewöhnlich!
January 29, 2023
I "Ungeenheden" formår Fine Gråbøl mesterligt at indfange den tyngde, trivialitet og anonymitet, som er virkeligheden for langt de fleste psykosociale udsatte, som på sin vis er blevet en del af det psykiatriske system. Romanen handler om, hvordan et ungt menneske oplever hverdagen på et bosted. Det unge menneske er hverken tilkendegivet ved navn, køn eller for den sags skyld diagnose, men som læser er det klare indtryk også, at den information ej heller er relevant. Det relevante ved "Ungeenheden" er afbildningen af en hverdag i et system, som både overstimulerer og keder det unge menneske; der så at sige både føles evig og forgængelig.
Det unge menneske bliver nogle gange udfordret af bostedet, men er ellers accepterende over for dets præmis. Dette gør "Ungeenheden" unik i sin subgenre, hvor hovedpersonen typisk skal repræsentere en "væren-imod"-systemet (tænk den vrede Susanna Kaysen – faktisk nævnes Girl, Interrupted i selve romanen). I "Ungeenheden" er der ikke en "væren-imod", men tværtimod en "væren-med" systemet, hvilket er foreneligt med, hvordan psykosociale udsatte i virkeligheden sjældent har overskud til at bide hånden, der fodrer dem. Dette er romanens største styrke, som gør den til et retvisende og intelligent indblik.
Det unge menneske bliver nogle gange udfordret af bostedet, men er ellers accepterende over for dets præmis. Dette gør "Ungeenheden" unik i sin subgenre, hvor hovedpersonen typisk skal repræsentere en "væren-imod"-systemet (tænk den vrede Susanna Kaysen – faktisk nævnes Girl, Interrupted i selve romanen). I "Ungeenheden" er der ikke en "væren-imod", men tværtimod en "væren-med" systemet, hvilket er foreneligt med, hvordan psykosociale udsatte i virkeligheden sjældent har overskud til at bide hånden, der fodrer dem. Dette er romanens største styrke, som gør den til et retvisende og intelligent indblik.
June 12, 2021
Virkeligt fin debut! Poetisk og hård, om de liv der falder udenfor, og det kontinuerlige forsøg på bedring. Om konsekvenser og præmisser ved psykisk sygdom, det hele set indefra. Minder mig om en blanding af Tove Ditlevsens ‘Ansigterne’ og Maria Gerhardts ‘Transfervindue’.
March 23, 2024
Fünf Jugendliche leben in Kopenhagen in einer WG für junge Menschen mit psychischen Krankheiten, unter ihnen die namenlose Ich-Erzählerin. Nach langen, wiederholten Klinikaufenthalten und Therapien mit Elektroschocks und Medikamenten ist auch die WG nur eine Lösung auf Zeit für die Protagonistin, die unter Borderline-Persönlichkeitsstörung leidet und immer wieder Selbstverletzungen und Suizidversuche begeht.
In kurzen Episoden beschreibt Fine Gråbøl poetisch aber unsentimental den Alltag in der Einrichtung: die Halt gebenden institutionellen Abläufe, die kleinen Freiheiten, die Spuren der Medikation an den Körpern, die fragilen Verbindungen unter den Jugendlichen. Den Ausblick auf die Zukunft: in den unteren Stockwerken des Hauses wohnen ältere Betreute.
Kritik am psychiatrischen System scheint immer wieder durch: der Wegfall von Geldern, die ungleichen Machtverhältnisse zwischen Betreuten und Betreuern, die mitunter brachiale „Eindämmung“ der Symptome.
In kurzen Episoden beschreibt Fine Gråbøl poetisch aber unsentimental den Alltag in der Einrichtung: die Halt gebenden institutionellen Abläufe, die kleinen Freiheiten, die Spuren der Medikation an den Körpern, die fragilen Verbindungen unter den Jugendlichen. Den Ausblick auf die Zukunft: in den unteren Stockwerken des Hauses wohnen ältere Betreute.
Kritik am psychiatrischen System scheint immer wieder durch: der Wegfall von Geldern, die ungleichen Machtverhältnisse zwischen Betreuten und Betreuern, die mitunter brachiale „Eindämmung“ der Symptome.
March 6, 2024
This book actually means so much to me and I can't even explain why. It reminds me so much of my 16-year-old self and the literature that defined me at that time, but it is also a deeply personal creation from the author and such a beautiful, reflective novel. I'm so gutted I can't get a physical copy of this in the UK yet but will be so worth the wait.
February 28, 2025
Writing that I admired, though I struggled to get anything out of the book other than it depressed me.
It a stream-of-consciousness look into life in a communal house for young people with mental illness, and a searing commentary on how such patients are treated by the government.
It a stream-of-consciousness look into life in a communal house for young people with mental illness, and a searing commentary on how such patients are treated by the government.
February 27, 2024
Received this as an arc from NetGalley. Thank you to them and the publisher!!
In "What Kingdom", Grabol's unnamed protagonist recounts and reflects on life in a mental institution in Denmark, the joys, the struggles and the mundanity it entails. Grabol's poetic background is hard to miss in this novel which is adorned with a plethora of metaphors and descriptions written in such careful and captivating ways they never failed to mesmerize the reader. The constant mentions of color, furniture, walls and dimensions, accompanied with the small size of each chapter serve as tools to reflect the protagonist's mental and physical state in a memorable way. Overall, this is a very strong debut and I'm surely keeping my eyes open for other translations of Grabol's work
In "What Kingdom", Grabol's unnamed protagonist recounts and reflects on life in a mental institution in Denmark, the joys, the struggles and the mundanity it entails. Grabol's poetic background is hard to miss in this novel which is adorned with a plethora of metaphors and descriptions written in such careful and captivating ways they never failed to mesmerize the reader. The constant mentions of color, furniture, walls and dimensions, accompanied with the small size of each chapter serve as tools to reflect the protagonist's mental and physical state in a memorable way. Overall, this is a very strong debut and I'm surely keeping my eyes open for other translations of Grabol's work
November 9, 2021
Som sindslidende spejler jeg fuldstændig Fine Gråbøls spørgsmål til, hvordan vi tackler psykisk sygdom og hvorvidt man kan og skal forvente at den enkelte syge justerer sit indre liv for at kunne blive mødt af omverdenen. Kan vi måske åbne omverdenen mere i stedet?
EDIT: 08.11.21: Fine Gråbøl har modtaget debutantprisen, og jeg kunne ikke være mere begejstret❤
EDIT: 08.11.21: Fine Gråbøl har modtaget debutantprisen, og jeg kunne ikke være mere begejstret❤
November 21, 2021
Smuk og rå debut
November 26, 2021
Så smuk og enkel. Flot debut ✨
March 11, 2024
What Kingdom is Dutch poet Fine Gråbøl’s debut novel, translated by Martin Aitken.
Our unnamed, young narrator is navigating her life in a psychiatric care facility. Through direct, uncomplicated prose, we meet the fellow residents, follow the drudgery of organizing group meals and grocery shopping, and watch as caregivers come and go.
For a book where seemingly “nothing happens”, there is an awful lot going on. Plot points that could easily be their own novel are encapsulated into a few concise sentences. For example, a mother and daughter occupy the same care facility, living on different floors, completely unaware of each other.
What struck me the most was how every word of What Kingdom felt genuine and authentic. Gråbøl brings a miserable and boring facility to life, without the cloying optimism that similar books often contain.
An interesting, brief work that I’m sure will resonate with a lot of people.
Our unnamed, young narrator is navigating her life in a psychiatric care facility. Through direct, uncomplicated prose, we meet the fellow residents, follow the drudgery of organizing group meals and grocery shopping, and watch as caregivers come and go.
For a book where seemingly “nothing happens”, there is an awful lot going on. Plot points that could easily be their own novel are encapsulated into a few concise sentences. For example, a mother and daughter occupy the same care facility, living on different floors, completely unaware of each other.
What struck me the most was how every word of What Kingdom felt genuine and authentic. Gråbøl brings a miserable and boring facility to life, without the cloying optimism that similar books often contain.
An interesting, brief work that I’m sure will resonate with a lot of people.
April 16, 2024
I began this book while waiting for my last two International Booker reads to come in and then put it aside when they did and thus never really gained any momentum with it. It’s a tiny book but it took me ages to read and it never really grabbed me. I wish I had just settled in and read it in one sitting, but reading it in fits and starts didn’t lend well to the already cold, distant prose.
Told in vignettes, the narrator relays the constant cycle of self-harm, containment, therapy, hospitalizations, etc. of a group of young people living in a psychiatric residential system in Denmark. It’s bleak, but well written and poetic.
I still recommend, it was just bad timing for me.
Told in vignettes, the narrator relays the constant cycle of self-harm, containment, therapy, hospitalizations, etc. of a group of young people living in a psychiatric residential system in Denmark. It’s bleak, but well written and poetic.
I still recommend, it was just bad timing for me.
July 2, 2024
A short, beautifully written novel about an experience that is far from beautiful.
While it's a carefully observed and understated book of fiction dealing with mental health and the various institutions for those who suffer from all types of disorders/diseases of the mind, it doesn't shy away from the brutality of such institutions and the absurd pain of the afflicted -- it just doesn't wallow in or sensationalize these issues.
While it's a carefully observed and understated book of fiction dealing with mental health and the various institutions for those who suffer from all types of disorders/diseases of the mind, it doesn't shy away from the brutality of such institutions and the absurd pain of the afflicted -- it just doesn't wallow in or sensationalize these issues.
August 9, 2024
A beautifully written and translated debut novel rendered as a series of vignettes. The book centers on life inside a care facility in Copenhagen for the mentally ill.
December 6, 2025
We hardly have time to get used to their expressions before the faces assume new forms. Nor do we have our hands in common, mine are angular, fingers the same width on either side of the joints, whereas Waheed's are supple, slender and thinner where the nail begins; they rest on the table like fresh pasta laid out to dry. This is the way our hands look, as if they're waiting for something. Just as we can distinguish faces, we can distinguish those of us who were ill before the new social reforms from those who weren't until after. It wasn't just fortunate, but in every respect vital that Waheed was awarded his pension, that someone noticed him and officially deemed him to be incapacitated and unfit for work. There wouldn't have been much chance today. His soft trousers crackle with electricity, as if they're about to burst into flames. I prefer to wear fabrics that don't generate static, it's a sort of principle of mine, one of many. What's a disability pension anyway, other than the promise of a minimum of stability, a narrow rug, the possibility of grass in a crumbling monument.
[147]
April 17, 2025
what kingdom is a beautifully written piece that details the thoughts of a young woman who struggles with her mental health and receives "treatment" in a halfway house. formatted in short entries, almost like a journal, gråbøl's prose is graceful and vulnerable; she accurately captures the alienating, otherworldly, and unsettling feel of staying in a psychiatric facility. what kingdom is poetic, but the novel argues that psychiatric treatment can be synonymous to containment, even implying that it's a form of imprisonment. for the unnamed narrator, treatment is a stripping of what's inside (it explains why she is constantly describing and breathing life into her environment).
many of the unnamed narrator's thoughts and perceptions in what kingdom ringed true for me as i constantly mourn the girl that i once was. the difference between treatment and suppression is a question that will continue haunt me.
"I own only the illness inside me, the rest is something they take away."
many of the unnamed narrator's thoughts and perceptions in what kingdom ringed true for me as i constantly mourn the girl that i once was. the difference between treatment and suppression is a question that will continue haunt me.
Read
July 3, 2024Rezension zu "Welches Königreich" von Fine Gråbøl. Übersetzung: Hanna Granz
Wir begleiten als Leser:in die namenlose Ich-Erzählerin in ihrem Alltag in einer betreuten Wohngemeinschaft für junge Erwachsene, die aus der psychiatrischen Klinik entlassen wurden. In der Wohngemeinschaft soll der "normale" Alltag simuliert werden und die Bewohner:innen für alltägliche Situationen wieder eingegliedert bzw. gewappnet/fit gemacht werden.
Sehr ungewohnt, und auf interessante Weise beschreibt Gråbøl den Alltag in einer solchen Wohngemeinschaft. Die Gedanken und Gefühle wurden mir eindringlich geschildert und zeitweise hatte ich das Gefühl, direkt mit bei den Situationen dabei zu sein und diese mitzuerleben.
Der Schreibstil ist sachlich, teilweise klinisch, und dennoch spannend. Es entstehen beim Lesen keine Längen.
Ich habe den Debütroman gerne gelesen, und hoffe auf weitere, gute Werke der Autorin.
Buchdetails: erschienen am 19.03.2024 im Ecco-Verlag - 176 Seiten - gelesen als Hardcover
Wir begleiten als Leser:in die namenlose Ich-Erzählerin in ihrem Alltag in einer betreuten Wohngemeinschaft für junge Erwachsene, die aus der psychiatrischen Klinik entlassen wurden. In der Wohngemeinschaft soll der "normale" Alltag simuliert werden und die Bewohner:innen für alltägliche Situationen wieder eingegliedert bzw. gewappnet/fit gemacht werden.
Sehr ungewohnt, und auf interessante Weise beschreibt Gråbøl den Alltag in einer solchen Wohngemeinschaft. Die Gedanken und Gefühle wurden mir eindringlich geschildert und zeitweise hatte ich das Gefühl, direkt mit bei den Situationen dabei zu sein und diese mitzuerleben.
Der Schreibstil ist sachlich, teilweise klinisch, und dennoch spannend. Es entstehen beim Lesen keine Längen.
Ich habe den Debütroman gerne gelesen, und hoffe auf weitere, gute Werke der Autorin.
Buchdetails: erschienen am 19.03.2024 im Ecco-Verlag - 176 Seiten - gelesen als Hardcover
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August 28, 2025this is a very strange little book. it's told in vague vignettes and feels a bit disjointed and abstract. which isn't to say it was unenjoyable or ineffective... i think it did a marvelous job conveying the author's intent because it feels like a mental institution with all it's internal monologue and odd descriptions. that said, i don't know if it was because i listened to it on audio or because i myself was having my own mental health stuff, but i think i wanted a bit more out of it than i got. abstract books like this can be so interesting and they're a wonderful way to explore language, and again i think it caters itself to the subject matter fairly well, but they can also leave a little to be desired. again, non-zero chance this is just a me thing for the headspace/medium i read it in, but i wanted more.
it definitely made me think about it's kind of a funny story though. some interesting parallels there.
it definitely made me think about it's kind of a funny story though. some interesting parallels there.
August 11, 2024
Puh... das war keine einfache Lektüre, aber eine sehr eindringliche.
In 'Welches Königreich' von Fine Gråbøl wird der Alltag von 6 Menschen mit psychischen Erkrankungen erzählt.
Die Ich-Erzählerin die namenlos bleibt gibt uns hier auf sehr distanzierte und schnörkellose Art Einblicke in den Versuch der Resozialisierung einer betreuten Wohngemeinschaft nach stationären Aufenthalten in der Psychiatrie.
Gerade der recht emotionslos Schreibstil bringt diesen inneren Kampf und die Zerrissenheit Einzelner gut rüber und zeigt auf wie schwer ein einfaches Leben sein kann.
Durch die kurzen Abschnitte lässt sich dieser Roman sehr schnell und gut lesen, aber durch das schnelle 'durchkommen' geht, glaube ich, etwas der Botschaft verloren.
Im Ganzen war es dann doch nicht so meins und wird mir wohl nicht lange im Kopf bleiben.
Ich möchte immer gerne eine Verbindung zu den Protagonisten aufbauen, doch hier bleiben Sie einem sehr fremd.
Das könnte aber durchaus gewollt sein.
Wenn Euch der Klappentext und die Thematik anspricht, bildet Euch am Besten selber eine Meinung.
In 'Welches Königreich' von Fine Gråbøl wird der Alltag von 6 Menschen mit psychischen Erkrankungen erzählt.
Die Ich-Erzählerin die namenlos bleibt gibt uns hier auf sehr distanzierte und schnörkellose Art Einblicke in den Versuch der Resozialisierung einer betreuten Wohngemeinschaft nach stationären Aufenthalten in der Psychiatrie.
Gerade der recht emotionslos Schreibstil bringt diesen inneren Kampf und die Zerrissenheit Einzelner gut rüber und zeigt auf wie schwer ein einfaches Leben sein kann.
Durch die kurzen Abschnitte lässt sich dieser Roman sehr schnell und gut lesen, aber durch das schnelle 'durchkommen' geht, glaube ich, etwas der Botschaft verloren.
Im Ganzen war es dann doch nicht so meins und wird mir wohl nicht lange im Kopf bleiben.
Ich möchte immer gerne eine Verbindung zu den Protagonisten aufbauen, doch hier bleiben Sie einem sehr fremd.
Das könnte aber durchaus gewollt sein.
Wenn Euch der Klappentext und die Thematik anspricht, bildet Euch am Besten selber eine Meinung.
October 13, 2025
What a glorious title.
What a brilliant Fine.
What a - yet another - brilliant work from a skandinavian author - I am noticing a theme here in my reading... maybe I need to tackle Knausgard as well.
What a careful book that also carries a quietness like Balle or Fosse but way different than the latter, more similar to the former but also different.
What a novel which really shines through those quiet sentences, it is effortless but still stays with you.
What a short experience - encore please!
What a brilliant Fine.
What a - yet another - brilliant work from a skandinavian author - I am noticing a theme here in my reading... maybe I need to tackle Knausgard as well.
What a careful book that also carries a quietness like Balle or Fosse but way different than the latter, more similar to the former but also different.
What a novel which really shines through those quiet sentences, it is effortless but still stays with you.
What a short experience - encore please!
December 11, 2025
it’s a very small book that mostly doesn’t have a plot. the episodes are mixed together, and it’s sometimes hard to find a clear connection between them. but i don’t think that’s a bad thing – it actually works really well for one of the reasons Fine mentions at some point: her inability to remember things after different types of therapy. and i feel What Kingdom captures this urgent need to remember something, anything, before it slips away.
December 24, 2024
The book felt very real, I don't exactly know how to describe. The storytelling was very unique and flowed nicely. It's a very blunt narrative about the systems in place for people like her, very show don't tell in all of it as well. I'm a little surprised I liked this book, I don't think it fits into the usual description of what I enjoy.
July 25, 2024
the most connected ive felt with a portrayal of mental illness and psychiatry in a while, love the word choice and can tell the translator put a lot of work into some parts of this to get the feeling across properly
May 20, 2024
Good stuff!
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