In Light, Lindgren cooks up a strange and worrisome stew. On the one hand it is a hearty medieval grotesque inspiring both wonder and repulsion, a story about a small medieval town ravaged by a plague that leaves only half a dozen survivors and a great abundance of rabbits, which were the carriers of the disease. But it is also a keen study of order and chaos, of the terrible freedoms bestowed on the small, confused remnant. And the novel is thoroughly post-modern, filled with a mix of tall tales, metafiction, and magical realism. Of the three Lindgren novels I've read, I expect this would be the one to appeal most as a memorable, literary work--though Hash may be slightly more entertaining.
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Below is a sample of the writing in Light. When the last elder in the town of Kadis dies (after committing a horrific, disgraceful crime), one of the surviving men laments the way the plague has not only devastated the town, but also uprooted order and confused everything:
"And what is shameful is what is evil. We recognize evil through shame. We never needed to feel shame in Kadis before, we knew how to avoid shame because we knew what was forbidden. We had suffering, but no shame. When you feel shame the soul festers and becomes an abscess within the body. The soul should be like a warm breeze in the limbs. We should be at peace in our minds and bodies. Goodness is when everything is as it should be, goodness is what is right and proper. If everything is as it should be, then things are good and sensible. Common sense is the will of God, and here in Kadis we have always inherited common sense; fathers have passed it on to their sons. Everything was so simple, it was like a water-wheel that goes on and on as long as the water flows. There was a sure way of living and everything seemed to have its own reason. But now it’s impossible to know what’s right. Kadis has broken apart."