Bodil Malmsten (1944–2016)

This may be the best book in the series of Bodil Malmsten's log books, which mostly consists of texts and pictures from her blog. This book is the last in this series.

This book delves into Bodil's anger at the Swedish state, at people for not being angry with the state, loss, sadness, homelessness and not being homeless, "The Sopranos", her own writing... It's a ragbag of great stuff.

Bodil may be the best Swedish author alive. When she's dead, she may be the best Swedish author, dead or show more alive.

This should be obligatory reading. show less

This is the last book that Malmsten has written from Finistère, from where she moved while writing this book, a collection of "logs", as she calls them, i.e. snippets selected by herself as posted on her blog. She writes of her neighbours, of the Evil Internet Operator Orange, of the sea and obsessing a lot. In the best possible way. She is not simple, while taking great care in writing using simple words.

I've often compared Bodil Malmsten with Arthur Rimbaud, and I still believe this show more comparison to be singularly valid.

She has a very special way of interpreting and exhaling the world around herself, whether it is a seemingly small thing (e.g. the Tape Family, expanding thoughts on words) or seemingly big (e.g. depression, moving, Nicolas Sarkozy's influence on Europe).

The outtakes from her play makes me immediately want to read it.

All in all, a lovely collection of thoughts that does not play into the regular breadth of what being a 60-ish female means. These thoughts alarm and provoke by just being uttered. I really enjoy reading this book, and will most definitely re-read it. show less

Like practically everything I've ever read by Bodil Malmsten, I thoroughly enjoyed this book. She is so refreshingly HUMAN.

The book is about a Swedish poetess who moves to a village in Brittany. It describes her first year there, the people she meets and such, but it isn't a typical expat discovery journal. There are politics mixed up with the gardening and deep discussions about the nature of language.

Malmsten comes from Norrland in central Sweden. Swedish is actually her second language. The first, the language of the village, has no written form and no one from beyond the village understands it. The author show more spends a good part of the book wondering why she lived in Sweden for so long, in the repressive, spectacular dark. Yet life in Finistère is not perfect, it is merely separate from Sweden. In Finistère, the author is able to be the Other who will never be a local no matter how long she lives there. As such, she feels there are no expectations other than those she makes for herself.

A book like this would not be complete with a friendly soul to guide her through her new life. Madame C arrives in a purple Peugeot and spends much of the story prodding Malmsten to write a book about Finistère. There are great passages about writers block and the futility of art to capture human experience without strangling the life out of it.

A fantastic book both in concept and execution. It is translated from Swedish into English, and the translator managed to keep the poetic feel of the prose intact. Marvelous.

Obviously, I'm a sucker for books like this. Check Thad Carhart's The Piano Shop on the Left Bank. Similar book in theme and emotional content.

I suppose one reason I am drawn to books like this is that I believe in being the outsider. It is so much easier to be alone when you are the outsider, and being alone is what I crave. show less