The reading list and Outi Pakkanen

Well Helsinki, although cold, was inspiring. Between ballet, birthday suppers and practical arrangements moving Daughter into her new apartment, I penned a skeletal draft for my next novel.

But I also managed to spend an hour or two browsing at Akateeminen Kirjakauppa on North Esplanade. I concentrated on modern translations and here's what I found.

'When I Forgot' by Elina Hirvonen

'A Frayed, tender account of love...a wrenching read.' The Guardian

'The American Girl' by Monika Fagerholm

Murder mystery, fugue, 1970's culture bath, mythic experiment, chronicle of the feminine mystique... Jenny McPhee, author of Man of No Moon.

Priest of Evil' by Matti Joensuu

There's nothing more thrilling than a mysterious murderer who is never seen, even by cameras.

I'll be reporting back on these books within the next few weeks.

While I was in Finland I consumed (yes, that's the right term for these disposable soft-crime novels) two books by Outi Pakkanen, Yöpuisto and Korttelin Kuningatar. There are several reasons these books appeal to me. They're usually set in the centre of Helsinki, one of the most charming parts, such as Eira or Ullanlinna. They're written in contemporary language, using the slang of the Capital. And they're easy to read. When I read in Finnish these days I have to have an easy read, otherwise it just takes too long.

Usually I - rather snobbishly - abhor anything that could be classified as 'an easy read', but I also admire those writers who can year after year turn out books read by millions. Perhaps not millions in Outio Pakkanene's case - her books are not widely translated into English and with a population of only 5 million in Finland this would be rather a struggle for any writer.

Finally, with Outi Pakkanen I know what I'm getting. Again, if I heard some-one say this at a book club meeting or similar, I'd gasp in exasperation. I'll hide again behind my need to keep things simple while reading in Finnish, but I suspect there's really a lazy reader lurking inside me somewhere.

Yöpuisto, a crime novel Pakkanen wrote in 2009 didn't disappoint. Though written partly from the point of view of a 12-year-old overweight, unhappy boy, it was the usual, safe Pakkanen fare. But what I enjoyed was not the predictable plot and the somewhat caricatured characters. What I saw was descriptions of contemporary Helsinki, written from the point of view of real 'stadilaiset' (Helsinki-born) people, written in contemporary language. What I got was a real sense of the city I love, the buildings I'd love to live in and the parks I'd love to walk my dogs in.

I do wish her books would be more widely translated into English. I've only found 'Party Killers' on Amazon. I believe the sense of place and time in her narrative is very accurate and highly fascinating. Pakkanen also has a blog where she displays pictures and explains the history of the buildings and streets she writes about. An excellent idea which I think all writers should follow. Unfortunately it's only available in Finnish (the Google translation was so inaccurate it was laughable), but nevertheless with these pictures you can be transported to the Helsinki of Pakkanen's novels.

Korttelin Kuningatar, the second book by Pakkanen I read while in Finland, was a somewhat older novel. Interestingly it's set in the aftermath of MS Estonia ferry tragedy were over eight hundred people from Estonia, Sweden and Finland lost their lives. Just as in her other novels Pakkanen spends much of the book examining tensions between people rather than the crime itself or even the investigation. Death of a character in the ferry accident provides a perfect backdrop for human conflict.

While reading Pakkanen I often wonder why she feels the need to include the token crime in each novel. I know for her it's a proven formula, just as it was for, say, Agatha Christie, but I cannot but wonder. If Pakkanen just stretched herself that little bit more, would she not be a truly great novelist, and not just an entertainer?

Apology Number Two

I know I've been neglecting this blog - again.

But do not despair. I'm off to Finland tomorrow and will hopefully come back with suitcase-full of new Finnish literature. I even promise to read them and then even review them...in time.

At the moment I'm in what we fondly in our family call the Millennium Vortex. I read the first two books in Stieg Larsson's trilogy in quick succession and am half-way through the third and final book. These best selling thrillers have been reviewed so widely I'm not going to attempt to give my humble opinion. Besides the guy is dead, his books have sold more than 10 million copies worldwide, so who am I to say yay or nay about his writing skills?

So, once again I'm asking for your patience.

Or, I can point you over to my other blog...if you'd like to read some of my words.

My Wallandergate

Last weekend a couple of friends mentioned the British Wallander series starring Kenneth Branagh.

'There's a limit to how much bleakness you can stand,' said one.

This coincided with a brief interview with the Swedish author of the crime thrillers, Henning Mankell on BBC's breakfast TV on Friday. Mankell promptly announced that he had at last finished writing any more stories for the angst-ridden detective. But that there were enough plots to cover a further series the BBC are due to film soon.

I can understand how Mankell must by now be a little fed up with his most famous Police Inspector. He has written 13 novels with the same character, with several TV series based on the novels. One can also but wonder how much more crime the small Swedish coastal town, Ystad, can bear.

The Mankel interview on the BBC was hot on the heels of an article commenting on the increased taste for Scandinavian crime fiction by Boris Johnson in the Telegraph. His theory is that, 'because we have grown so used to hearing of the superiority of the Scandinavian system, we are so gripped by the sight of the underbelly of the global goody-goodies.' (The Telegraph) He also points out that blood is brighter in the snow.

A good point.

Boris Johnson did not, however, comment on the another issue that has engaged TV reviewers on the pages of The Telegraph and The Times (among others): which Wallander is better, the English Branagh one or the current Swedish series with Krister Henriksson. Of course the purist feel the Swedish actor who first played Kurt Wallander, Rolf Lassgård, is unbeatable in the role, but I'm talking of more than just the actors.

You may have guessed that I have a problem with the British TV version. AA Gill called those of us who prefer the series made by Yellow Bird Films in collaboration with Svensk Filmindustri, 'sub-title snobs'. If only being a snob was the only reason I didn't like the Branagh version. I'd love to have as many Wallander series on TV as possible. Just as the mysteries by Agatha Christie, Henning Mankell stories make such wonderful viewing.

But there are several reasons why I cannot stand the British version. Firstly, the pace of the narrative of the Swedish TV series is much quicker. In trying to make the series atmospheric, the BBC has slowed the pace to almost nothing. Instead of action, we get wide screen shots of the rape fields or long coastal lines. We know Ystad is situated by the sea, and that the scenery is indeed beautiful, and that weather plays a strong part in the plot as it does in the psyche of the Nordic character, but there is a limit to how much landscape one can take in a programme that is after all supposed to be an action crime thriller.

The BBC series also revolves too singularly around Wallander, making the plot seem monotonous, and the police work incompetent. It's true that in the Swedish series too, we get to follow the personal struggles Inspector Kurt Wallander faces, from his turbulent relationship with his policewoman daughter Linda, to his woman troubles or his father's illness. But we also get the perspective from the other characters such as Svartman, Nyberg and Stefan Lindman. In comparison the BBC series seems greatly indulgent to the central character. One wonders if the script was altered to accommodate the great Shakespearean actor?

My last great objection to the BBC series is the set where the indoor scenes are filmed. Where did all that sixties-style furniture and lighting come from? I went to school in Stockholm in the 1970's and I didn't see any of this kind of stuff there then. Did the set designer imagine that the dark wood veneer would match how the British think a Swedish police department should look like? I doubt anyone has actually seen this kind of interior design anywhere outside of Shoreditch retro art galleries.

Over to you. Which Wallander do you prefer?

Maskarna på Carmine Street by Håkan Nesser

A few months ago, I went to see Håkan Nesser speak about his writing at the Swedish Church in London. He's been my favourite Swedish modern crime writer for a few years and I couldn't wait to meet him and hear him speak. I wrote about it on my other blog.

As you may imagine, I was thrilled at the prospect of reading his newest book, The Worms on Carmine Street. This is a loose translation, but it gives you the idea of the title, which, put mildly, is eccentric. Just like the man himself.

The book is set in New York, where the author lived for a number of months. It's a story of the city where more human experiences and personal histories are crammed into a small area than anywhere else in the world. It is also a story of the search for a child who's gone missing. And of guilt and of loneliness.

The story is similar to Nesser's collection of short stories, From Doctor Klimke's Perspective, where Nesser examines the possibility of absurd co-incidences, magical happenings and existentialism. In those stories several supernatural phenomena are never explained, where as here, Nesser tries almost too hard to ground the plot in reality.

At first Worms on Carmine Street moves relatively slowly back and forth between the history of the relationship between the first person narrator, author Erik Steinbeck, and his painter wife, Winnie. It lingers between their first meeting (this itself having an intriguing and almost supernatural co-incidence), and their present self-imposed exile in West Village on Manhattan. It then races through their married life to the tragic event surrounding the disappearance of their child, Sarah.

Half-way through the book the narrator at last remains in the present, which to the reader is far more seductive in it's description of well-known places in New York, actual events and real people. Though I guessed the crisis in the middle of the book, I still found it a satisfying and plausible twist to the plot, one that also allowed the narrator to spring into action. Action which at last started to remind me of Nesser's other, highly enjoyable crime stories, featuring Detective Inspector Barbarotti, or (in his earlier books) Inspector Van Veeteren.

There's no date (as far as I know) when Maskarna på Carmine Street will be published in English, but I assume it will be sooner rather than later, set as it is in New York and not in some abstract Northern European country. Even so, I do not wish to spoil the enjoyment of this book to you by revealing the ending. Sufficient to say, as much as the first half of the story is uneventful, the second half is fast paced.

The book, however, is not a classic Nesser. Whether it's the influence of New York, or the subject matter, but the book is decidedly more sombre than any of his other works. And that's going some. We're talking about Nordic crime literature after all. Angst doesn't come close to describing the level of existential loneliness found in this book.

Still, I'd recommend this latest Nesser to anyone who's enjoyed his earlier works, or even anyone who's new to Nordic crime writing. It has a magical, lingering quality that many of the British or American crime stories lack. Or perhaps I just enjoy reading about that, oh so, Nordic of mental states: serious, slow, self-fulfilling introspection.

Bitter Bitch by Maria Sveland

This novel by the Swedish author, Maria Sveland, is to be published in English on 25 February 2010, but came out in Sweden in its original title, Bitterfittan, already in 2007.

According to The Bookseller, Constable and Robinson bought the rights to the book during the London Bookfair in April with 'a substantial five-figure sum'. It has sold over 200,000 copies in Sweden. The German translation sold 20,000 copies in its first three weeks after publication earlier this year.

The book tells a story of a frustrated journalist mother of one, Sara, who's overwhelmed by motherhood and finds herself growing more and more bitter.

The Swedish daily, Dagens Nyheter, called the book, 'A political novel about cohabitation and equality' and its English-language publishers, 'A wonderfully honest and open account of a woman querying the values of motherhood and family life.'

While reading it, I had to pinch and remind myself that this was 2009 and that women burning their bras had occurred a decade or three earlier. And that Sweden had been at the forefront of the feminist movement.

But I guess that's her point. Life between the sexes by now should be equal. Men should equally have to, not just take responsibility, but also feel the weight of responsibility we women do for our children. But, all the same, in a country where 20% of men actually take paternity leave and where women have the most equal opportunities at the workplace in the world, what you might say has she to complain about? That life is not perfect? Wow, that's a really revolutionary observation.

I felt sorry for the men in the book. I felt Sveland didn't go any deeper into any of the relationships she internally investigates, including her parents' unhappy marriage or the connection between couples she observes in Teneriffe, where she's gone alone for a week long holiday 'to sleep'. Everything that is wrong in the world is men's fault. And women are perfect in every way.

And she misses her young son, a fact she resents. In fact she resents motherhood.

But the biggest problem with Bitterfittan is a total lack of a plot. What we get instead is a memoir of how this thirty-year-old had got to where she is, a Bitter Bitch. There's always a problem with a narrator going back in her life, especially if we know her present situation, as this takes away any form of suspense. Instead the reader is asked to sit in on her internal journey from an angry young mother to...well I won't spoil the little in a way of a twist that the book provides.

The title of the of the novel in Swedish is much more offensive than its English translation. Sufficient to say that instead of 'Bitch', it includes a word beginning with 'C'. Could it be that this has something to do with the novel's popularity in Sweden and Germany?

No excuses

I know I've been neglecting this blog.

The sad fact is, I've not read any Finnish or Scandinavian literature in ages. Even the Wallander TV series recently broadcast on BBC Four passed me by due to a digital box failure...

Plus the annual trip to the Åland Islands just didn't happen this year due to many reasons, one being daughter's op, another being work.

Boring, boring I hear you shout. Mere feeble excuses, I know.

But, I am willing to make amends. I have just started reading the highly acclaimed book by Sofi Oksanen, Purge, which is soon to be translated into English. She won the 2008 Finlandia Prize , the most prestigious literary award in Finland. Many of my friends have recommended this book to me, and have nagged me to read it. So, here goes. I'll be back to report to you my findings in a week or so.

Thank you for your patience.

'To Steal Her Love' by Matti Joensuu

The storyline of this book is chilling. A stranger visits women in their Helsinki flats at night. Nothing happens to them, or has yet, but will it? Tweety, a skillful picker of locks roams the streets and falls in love with one of his night-time women. As we follow him, we realise he's a love-starved youngster, under the spell of his criminally infamous family.

Detective Sergeant Timo Harjunpää has his own worries, but begins to take note of the women reporting strange goings on at night. While he struggles with his own complicated love and family life, he's increasingly worried about the night-time goings on in Helsinki.

I could not put this book down. It weaves a delightful pattern between the policeman's personal dilemmas and those of the small-time criminal. It also paints a beautiful picture of the city of my student life: the night-time streets of Helsinki, it seems, have not changed that much in twenty years.

I'm off to buy 'Priest of Evil', Joensuu's previous novel, also available from that well-known Internet retailer.