I read that Swedish writer Lina Wolff atmospherically channels other sui generis narratives, such as Mercè Rodoreda’s Death in Spring, and Roberto Bolaño’s 2666, two of my favorite and stand-out books of all time. Her postmodern style is not for everyone, as there is zip on any relation to formula, and the characters have minimal histories. Typically, authors conceive their characters’ behaviors on the childhood influences that shaped them, but Wolff dispenses with that and creates her cast from raw material, as if history is casually immaterial. She follows chaos where it leads, and she doesn’t lead them into a systematic plot. The inverse of deterministic framing, the sense of destination is torpedoed. Moreover, the moral center is a person who you will initially think is vile. Eventually, you “get” that Wolff’s structure is not to prove an equation. Instead, she demonstrates that existence is messy and mysterious. I was carried away by the narrative sensuality, Wolff’s fleshy and complex layers, the astonishing passages, and her bold, provocative images.
Quick rundown of characters and situation—there’s Lucia (meaning “light”), an elderly nun with a missing thumb and astonishing history; a middle-aged female Swedish writer named Bennedith, who is in Madrid on an award grant for three months, and who suffers from body dysmorphia; a Spanish man named Mercuro who is grieving over his serial infidelity to his ill wife, Soledad (she needs a heart transplant); and an urbane woman who joyfully cares for her Alzheimer’s-stricken husband, despite the total care that he requires.
There’s also the inclusion of a TV show called Carnality that is both a send-up of our social media climate and a malevolently-inspired lesson on prurience and punishment. Wolff combines and merges all this together, and more! You just can’t predict a thing, as far as the development of plot or the outcome. Certain themes, such as unbridled lust, repression, and our violent impulses, darkens this stark landscape with a Nietzschean nihilism and desolation. “Imagine a cross between the strength of a Belgian Blue bull and the evil of Hitler. Throw in a couple of armfuls of hatred for men and the concentrated essence of embittered womanhood, and that’s her to a tee” is an example of feminism turned on its head, images that stay with you even after you turn the last page.
Speaking of turning the last page, don’t expect the author to wrap it up, or even to put it all together. As the reader, you do the work, although Wolff will provide the finest material for you to negotiate through and navigate. Despite its enigmatic, cryptic narrative, I couldn’t put this down. Read this and leap!
Kudos to Frank Perry for his keen and lucid translation from the Swedish.