As a young man, I
was fascinated by Swedish cinema. In particular, the films of Ingmar Bergman
were a revelation to my undergraduate mind. The image of Death playing chess on
the beach with Max von Sydow in The
Seventh Seal has lingered forever, imprinting on my brain Swedish melancholy
and obsession with life’s fragility.
Later, of course, many
of us were delighted by the seeming contrast of Abba, with its youthful
enthusiasm, physical beauty and joie de vie. Yet even Abba, as their marriages
fell apart under the pressures and strains of success, produced songs that
turned to despair, such as One of Us
and Under Attack. Indeed, after the
release of their final album, one critic suggested that Bergman sign Abba to
provide a soundtrack for his films!
Björn Ulvaeus
himself has said ‘Our songs may sound happy but deep inside, they are not….[Our
music] has that Nordic melancholic feeling to it.' (The Guardian, 11 April 2014).
Does this psychology
have something to do with the light in Sweden or lack of it? On New Year’s Day,
Stockholm receives just over six hours of daylight – little enough to give
anyone a bad dose of Seasonal Affective Disease. In contrast, Stockholm has
over eighteen hours of daylight in mid-summer. Too much of a good thing
perhaps? Or is it the freezing temperatures and year-round rain – Stockholm has
173 rainy days a year?
What I did not know
was that while Bergman explored the Swedish character on the screen in the 1960s,
a young Swedish couple named Maj
Sjöwall and Per Wahlöö were
busily delving into Swedish society in a series of novels revolving around
Inspector Martin Beck of the Stockholm police. Starting in 1965, they published
ten Beck novels, writing together after they had put their children to bed.
Although they took turns writing the chapters, the finished books are seamless.
And true to Swedish tradition, Beck becomes more morose as the series
progresses and more obsessed with his work. His marriage too, collapses as he becomes
more distance and detached from his wife and more focussed on his inner needs
and drives.
This fine series has
been republished in English translation over the last few years, in some cases
with an introduction by well-known crime writers like Henning Mankell, admired for
his Kurt Wallender novels and Val McDermid, famous for the Wire in the Blood TV series, among other achievements. Nicci
French, another writing couple named Nicci Gerrard and Sean French, also contributed an introduction.
McDermid, in her
introduction to the second Martin Beck book, says ‘It’s almost impossible to
grasp how revolutionary they felt .. so many of the elements that have become
integral in the police procedural sub-genre started life in these ten novels.’
‘Whoever is writing crime fiction
after these novels is inspired by them in one way or another,’ adds Henning
Mankell. (See more at: http://inside.org.au/paradise-lost/#sthash.snoyr6ko.dpuf).
McDermid singles out
wonderful plotting, strong character development, subtle social criticism and
an emphasis on teamwork and procedure in solving crimes as key features of
their work. I would counterpoise that by suggesting that much of the interest
in the books comes from the rivalries if not outright hatreds and workplace
bullying between the detectives – which often drive the plot and force their
investigations forward. At times, Beck becomes almost a secondary character and
several others are given prominence as they each recount their own
investigations. Mostly, like Beck, they are a melancholy lot.
Gerrard and French
point out that Sjöwall and Wahlöö’s policemen ‘are plagued by doubts about what
it is to be policemen and what they are for.’ Society itself often seems to
create the opportunities that facilitate crime - as well as the weak characters who are only
too happy to seize them.
Yet, somehow, Sjöwall
and Wahlöö’s stories are gripping, driven by a logic that creates gratification
at the end – ‘Yes! I knew it had to be that way.’
‘The Locked Room’
has one of the most satisfying plot structures I’ve ever come across in
detective fiction, even though the investigation is an exercise in bungles,
while ‘The Laughing Policeman’ sets up a most intriguing conundrum which yields
only to the most intensive investigation. As is so often the case in crime
fiction, past and present intersect violently.
Sjöwall and Wahlöö
love to introduce multiple plotlines which at first seem unrelated. The reader can
have fun working out the connections because sure enough, they will be
connected!
Sjöwall and Wahlöö’s
villains are complex and are often seen as inevitable products of a failing
social model. At times, the villains are deeply engrossing characters in their
own right. Mauritzon in ‘The Locked Room’ is one such study - a thorough
villain but a multifaceted personality with many redeeming features. I even
grew to quite like him in a way and felt sorry for him at the end - which I
won’t spoil for you!
Sjöwall and Wahlöö wrote from the far left of Swedish society
and rather than seeing the Swedish Welfare State as an advanced form of caring
in a harsh market-driven world, they viewed it as a means of preventing genuine
change towards a better life for all. In their view, social democracy was not a
very successful model. Gerrard and French state that ‘[Their] investigation is
a snapshot in disenchantment, of poking beneath the surfaces of Swedish
complacency and discovering what’s beneath, and it’s invariably corrupt or
depraved.’ And, I’d add, fascinating!
Like many others, Sjöwall and Wahlöö tempered their views in later life and moved
back to the centre of politics.
And then there’s Mankell.
Interestingly, he married Ingmar Bergman’s daughter Eva in 1998.
More on Mankell in
another blog post.