To my understanding, grace is something like the receiving of unmerited blessings. For his part, protagonist Johan Sletten does not seem like a worthy recipient of any grace that might attend him—and this, perhaps, is the point of the novel. Though the first chapter immediately begins with a heartbreaking diagnosis, what we learn about Johan in layers thereafter does not invite a sentimental Lifetime-movie response: he was as cruel and unforgiving to his first wife as she was to him, he treats his son (who possibly has cognitive or social disabilities) with contempt, and his childhood familial relationships don't paint a much brighter picture. He's not a monster, though. In many ways, Johan is classically Norwegian: he embodies the Scandinavian way of life represented by the Swedish word "lagom," meaning that something is not too much, not too little, but just right. Middling, perhaps. Sufficient. Unoffensive. Throughout his life, he tries to skirt fate by being well-behaved yet unremarkable. The result is a character who mismanages his career and his relationships and faces his terminal illness with little more than a wish to die with dignity.
The concept of dying with dignity becomes the central thrust of the novel. Euthanasia is still illegal in Norway. The novel does not seem to take a particular political stance on the issue per se, but it invites us to consider many shades of nuance when it comes to end-of-life care. Though the novel is short, it also touches on aging, familial relationships, disability, marriage, and memory. It's thoughtful, provocative, and the translation reads like a dream. Seriously: way to go, Barbara Haveland!
One of the main things that kept it from being a five-star novel for me is that it made a few bold narrative decisions without much payoff. The biggest example of this is Ullmann's choice in narrator: the story is told in third person with a knowledge and tone that largely suggests an omniscient narrator, but occasionally (especially near the beginning) that authoritative voice is undercut by the narrator reminding us that s/he is Johan's friend and inserting personal commentary, apologies for getting off-topic, etc. That could have turned out to be a really cool and interesting narrative choice but instead it kind of falls flat, as though by the end, Ullmann forgot that she situated the storyteller that way. There were also a few plot ambiguities that, with a little more fleshing out, could have probably strengthened the story and/or the structure. It is clear, however, that Ullmann took great care with other literary choices, such as the very successful juxtaposition of the two passages that describe the novel's ending.
Something I wish I had known while I was reading is that Linn Ullmann is the daughter of Liv Ullmann and Ingmar Bergman (!!!). Once I heard that, I felt like my locating various Bergman references throughout the text (the wild strawberries, the wager with Death à la Seventh Seal) was possibly justified. Though the novel is dealing with serious topics, however, it has much more levity than a Bergman film or probably even the average piece of Scandinavian lit. There is some humor and cleverness throughout; the tone never becomes melodramatic or takes itself too seriously, which is to Ullmann's credit.
Grace was well-received in Norway and elsewhere among readers and critics, and I think for good reason. I originally gave it four stars but scaled it back when I realized that was just one star away from the rating I awarded another Norwegian novel I've recently read, Per Petterson's Out Stealing Horses, which I think handles some of the same topics (aging, memory, trauma) with much more, shall we say, grace. Grace is short and rewarding, though, for anyone who is already accustomed to "depressing literature" (a phrase the undergrads in my classes use with reckless abandon) or who is interested in end-of-life care issues, which this novel engages compellingly. In the end, it offers a profound (/bleak?) vision of the inscrutability of even our closest relationships.