Well, this was wonderful, and unexpected. Just happened to find it on the library new shelf and picked it up. Long live libraries!
I always feel hopeful when I read biographies of writers who became successful later in life, as at this point that would be my aspiration:). Lindgren worked at a newspaper as a young girl, had an affair with the owner of the paper, who was much older and had many children already with his first wife, and became pregnant. She seemed to know her mind, though -- she refused to marry the man, though she was careful to establish that they were "secretly engaged," which made her child eligible to inherit. She also thought carefully about where to give birth so as not to have to give the father's name on the birth certificate, and found a lovely foster home for her son Lars (Lasse) in Denmark. However, being separated from her was so hard on him that, the author argues, it informed her philosophy of child-rearing, of childrens' need for a strong connection and love quite early in life.
For Lasse's first three years, Lindgren worked in Stockholm and supported herself (the father paid for the fosterage), living frugally in a small room and with a roommate, and visiting Lasse as often as she could. The Danish foster mother and foster brother were wonderful, and Lindgren always considered them a blessing. The foster mother then became ill, and Lindgren brought him to Sweden to live with her, though she wasn't sure who would watch him while she worked. She soon fell in love with Sture Lindgren, who ran the Swedish Automotive Association, married, and had a daughter, Karin, in 1934. Lindgren took on freelance work and office temping jobs to help make ends meet, writing for the automobile club (where her husband worked) or selling children's short stories to magazines.
Throughout her childrens' childhood, she kept diaries of their words and activities, seeing them as interesting and absorbing. In the late thirties, she began keeping a "War Diary," a palimpsest of news clippings and family doings, conceived as an "attempt to document the war and the long shadows it cast over the life of an ordinary family" (129). Pippi had her roots here, "in the horrors of the Second World War, and in Astrid Lindgren's abhorrence of violence, demagoguery, and totalitarian ideologies" (128). Pippi was originally conceived in spring 1941, when Germany was preparing to inviade both "England and the Soviet Union, and the Nazi plan to wipe out all of Europe's Jews was entering an increasingly purposeful phase" (147). From her perspective in Sweden, "The worst thing is that one hardly dare wish for Germany's defeat any longer, because now the Russians have begun to stir again . . . and a weakened Germany can only mean one thing for us in Scandinavia -- we'll be overrun with Russians. And I think I'd rather tbe saying 'Heil Hitler' for the rest of my life than have that happen. it's scarcely possible to imagine anything more terrible . . . . Dear God, don't let the Russians come over here!" (147). Written as a birthday gift for Karin, and was "a cheerful pacifist whose answer to the brutality and evil of war was goodness, generosity, and good humor. When someone approached Pippi aggressively or threateningly -- whether it be hooligans, social authorities, police officers, burglars, or a circus ringmaster and his strongman -- she instinctively believed they wanted to play, dance, or fight just for fun" (146).
The story of Pippi's publication is interesting, as is the extent to which Lindgren rapidly became a phenomenon a la JK Rowling. Lindgren had one book published before Pippi came out, but Pippi had been rejected, and was then accepted by a small publisher. Pippi ended up being that publisher's salvation, making Raben and Sjogren the country's "leading publishing house for children and adult literature" (169). "Pippi fever" spread rapidly in 1945-1946, due in part to the fact that "few Swedish writers of the 1940s had such a natural and unintimidated approach to modern media as Astrid Lindgren, and she was one of the first people in Scandinavia to understand how essential it was to use platforms beyond paper-based ones to tell a good story. In the 1950s and 1960s, long before the term 'novelization' came into use, she wrote radio and film scripts that were reworked rapidly into literary best sellers" (171).
The speed and extent of her fame and success are breathtaking -- even for her -- ""In the world of children's literature she was by far the year's highest flyer, having published four major books inside twelve months. Two years after her debut, Astrid Lindgren had two Pippi books on the market, as well as two novels for girls, two plays, and a children's detective novel; althogether they had sold 100,000 copies. She had also won four literary prizes, signed a film contract, and sold translation rights to Pippi to several counties" (175).
I was startled to find that Lindgren had referenced a Chinese proverb that was important to me at a dark time in my own life: "The big black bird accompanies Mio throughout most of his journey, reminding us that sorrow is a condition of life, on an equal footing with happiness. No one can avoid it. Astrid Lindgren liked to explain it with the aid of a Chinese proverb, which she would repeat to dejected or anxious friends . . . 'You can't prevent the birds of sorrow flying over your head, but you can prevent them building nests in your hair" (207).
Describing her father as a "valmanske," a "Smaland word which Lindgren used to refer to people who spread positivity and created a good atmosphere without making a show of it -- people who did nice things for others, who pitched in and helped out when needed, often spontaneously and on instinct" (257).
"The coherence and wholeness of Astrid Lindgren's perspective on life hinged on the fact that amid all the nuisances, the disappointments, and the frustrations at striving after wind, there was also time for happeiness, time for pleasure, time for poetry, time for love, and time for play. And who better to embody this capacity for presence in the now than children - and the child within adults? As Anders explains at the beginning of Bill Bergson and the White Rose Rescue: "Life was short, and what mattered was playing while you still could."
"This day, one life.
"Life can be over in a single day, and a single day can feel like a lifetime. In its essence, Astrid Lindgren's philosophy was about getting the most and best you could out of your brief time on earth . . .
"I just live . . . I always think the now is so exciting and rich in content that I don't really have time to brood about what will happen next. I take each day's knocks as they come. I think you should treat every day as if it's the only one you've got. 'This day, one life.' But now and again I feel there's still so much I want, and I realize I won't manage all of it . .. I think, really, that life is a swiftly fleeting absurdity, and afterward comes the great silence. But the short span you're here on earth you have to fill with things." (319).