Scandinavian Crime Thrillers Today
Lectures at several San Francisco libraries help put perspective on modern Sweden - through today's popular crime thrillers. Many Swedish Americans find fun and enriching ways to live their heritage in America, but some of those activities — folk dancing, embroidery, cooking heirloom recipes — may actually harken back to the Sweden of 150 years ago when their ancestors came to America. The Sweden of today is a modern, diverse and urban place that can be a challenge for Swedish Americans to connect with as the land of their forefathers. Swedish crime novels have a way of helping facilitate that connection. Crime thrillers enable readers to learn about the real lives of Scandinavian people today and are a fun and exciting introduction to literature and the humanities.
When Maj Sjöwall and Pär Wahlöö started writing 50 years ago, they began presenting a picture of their country and its people through crime novels. Sjöwall and Wahlöö presented a critique of the Swedish welfare state and highlighted the struggles of the poor and neglected. They also offered a vivid sense of place — the beautiful countryside, the Göta Canal, the picturesque buildings and streets of Stockholm. These novels have enjoyed huge public success.
Dr. Jim Kaplan, professor emeritus at Minnesota State University Moorhead, has read and studied them and will present a discussion of these Scandinavian crime novels that are enjoying world-wide popularity.
Kaplan’s library lectures will feature Jar City by Icelandic author Arnaldur Indridason, Occupied by Norwegian author Jo Nesbø, and The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo by Swedish author Stieg Larsson, with film clips from internationally recognized main characters Lisbeth Salander, Kurt Wallander and Harry Hole.
Discussion participants may bring a brown bag supper.
The programs are free and open to the public on:
Feb. 1, 2017 at 6 p.m. at San Francisco Main Library
Feb. 2, 2017 at 7 p.m. at San Francisco Public Library, Merced Branch
Feb. 3, 2017 at 12 p.m. at Woodside Public Library
See http://www.nordstjernan.com/calendar for more information
HT: Sue Trowbridge
There was a tap at the door at five in the morning. She woke up. Shit. Now what?
She’d fallen asleep with her Palm Tungsten T3 in her hand. It would
take only a moment to smash it against the wall and shove the battery up
the nose of whoever was out there annoying her. She went to the door.
“I know you’re home,” he said.
Kalle fucking Blomkvist.
She tried to remember whether she was speaking to him or not. Probably not. She tried to remember why. No one knew why. It was undoubtedly because she’d been in a bad mood at some point. Lisbeth Salander was entitled to her bad moods on account of her miserable childhood and her tiny breasts, but it was starting to become confusing just how much irritability could be blamed on your slight figure and an abusive father you had once deliberately set on fire and then years later split open the head of with an axe.
Salander opened the door a crack and spent several paragraphs trying to decide whether to let Blomkvist in. Many italic thoughts flew through her mind. Go away. Perhaps. So what. Etc.
“Please,” he said. “I must see you. The umlaut on my computer isn’t working.”
He was cradling an iBook in his arms. She looked at him. He looked at her. She looked at him. He looked at her. And then she did what she usually did when she had run out of italic thoughts: she shook her head.
“I can’t really go on without an umlaut,” he said. “We’re in Sweden.”
But where in Sweden were they? There was no way to know, especially if you’d never been to Sweden. A few chapters ago, for example, an unscrupulous agent from Swedish Intelligence had tailed Blomkvist by taking Stora Essingen and Gröndal into Södermalm, and then driving down Hornsgatan and across Bellmansgatan via Brännkyrkagatan, with a final left onto Tavastgatan. Who cared, but there it was, in black-and-white, taking up space. And now Blomkvist was standing in her doorway. Someone might still be following him—but who? There was no real way to be sure even when you found out, because people’s names were so confusingly similar—Gullberg, Sandberg, and Holmberg; Nieminen and Niedermann; and, worst of all, Jonasson, Mårtensson, Torkelsson, Fredriksson, Svensson, Johansson, Svantesson, Fransson, and Paulsson.
“I need my umlaut,” Blomkvist said. “What if I want to go to Svavelsjö? Or Strängnäs? Or Södertälje? What if I want to write to Wadensjö? Or Ekström or Nyström?”
It was a compelling argument.
She opened the door.
He handed her the computer and went to make coffee on her Jura Impressa X7.
She tried to get the umlaut to work. No luck. She pinged Plague and explained the problem. Plague was fat, but he would know what to do, and he would tell her, in Courier typeface.
< Where are you > Plague wrote.
< Stockholm. >
< There’s an Apple Store at the intersection of Kungsgatan and Sveavägen. Or you could try a Q-tip. >
She went to the bathroom and got a Q-tip and gently cleaned the area around the Alt key. It popped into place. Then she pressed “U.” An umlaut danced before her eyes.
Finally, she spoke.
“It’s fixed,” she said.
“Thanks,” he said.
She thought about smiling, but she’d smiled three hundred pages earlier, and once was enough. ♦





