When it comes to literature, I can be something of a snob. Not a sophisticated snob: I do not curl up in front of a crackling fire utterly lost in the delicate prose of an obscure 20th century French poet (Paul Claudel, perhaps) while softly humming Liszt’s Piano Sonata in B Minor between sips of a complex, nutty pinot noir. But I am sufficiently pretentious to snub books that enjoy broad, popular appeal. Maybe it’s my misanthropy showing, but if everybody likes something, how could it possibly be worthy of my consideration?
This smugness serves me well, except when the broadly popular book that everybody won’t shut up about happens to be awesome! This happened to me recently. Mostly to stop my wife’s relentless promotion of some silly book she had just finished, I agreed to give it a glance, flip through a few pages, see what the fuss was all about, and then tell her, politely, that it wasn’t something I found interesting.So I flipped through a few page. Then a few pages more. Then I proceeded to invest a couple dozen hours over the next few days (hours that more reasonably should have been spent asleep) burning through a couple thousand pages of Swedish author Stieg Larsson’s enormously popular thriller/crime/mystery trilogy featuring Lisbeth Salander, the girl with a dragon tattoo (along with several other tattoos and some piercings). Scary, crazy, violent, brilliant, profane, resilient, resourceful Lisbeth is also the girl who played with fire and the girl who kicked a hornet’s nest. Along the way, she establishes herself as one of the most fascinating literary heroines since, well, ever. She made me want to join the loose association of middle-aged and older men (Blomkvist, Palmgren, Armansky, Bublanski, Paolo Roberto, Anders Jonasson, et al.) who mobilize within the pages of the trilogy to protect her from the bad guys while convincing authorities that, contrary to appearances, Lisbeth is not a psychotic-mass-murdering-satanic-lesbian. Not that she encourages or appreciates her fan club, and she flatly rejects the notion that she needs protection from the bad guys. It’s true: more often the bad guys need protection from Lisbeth.
The bad guys are perfect foils who dutifully receive their comeuppances: a serial killer/sadist/rapist, a Russian-hit-man-turned-Swedish-gangster, a renowned shrink with a dirty secret, an abusive guardian, a rogue Swedish secret police unit, a biker gang, and a giant human with a condition that prevents him from feeling pain. Lisbeth disposes of several of the bad guys on her own, with a little help from a Taser, a nail gun, and a nasty attitude. Did I mention that she’s also junior high dropout and a world-class hacker with a photographic memory who solves unsolvable math problems in her head for fun?
Stieg Larsson died of a heart attack at age 50 not long after finishing his three best selling novels. This trilogy (The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Played With Fire,The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest) is not flawless. The dialogue is clunky at times (maybe it’s the translation into English, or maybe that’s how Swede’s talk?). Lisbeth has a twin sister, Camilla, who is mentioned but never appears, an annoying loose end. I kept waiting for her to appear suddenly, dramatically. But no. Maybe Larsson was saving her for a later novel but died before writing it. The biggest unexplained mystery, though, is why women in the trilogy relentlessly fling themselves at Mikael Blomkvist. Certainly he’s interesting, but on paper he doesn’t come off as irresistible. He’s a slightly out-of-shape, self-absorbed, crusading journalist in his 50s who doesn’t even try to seduce the women who keep ending up in his bed. Maybe Larsson (a slightly out-of-shape, middle-aged, crusading journalist) was projecting a bit. But I don't judge. I will also be irresistible to women in the novels I write that feature a protagonist based on me.
So I am chagrined and fully confess, while curled up by the fire with a moderately priced glass of Irish whiskey, a Merle Haggard tune (Big City) running through my mind, immersed in the adventures of my new crush, Lisbeth Salander, that popular doesn’t necessary equal insipid. I admit that my beautiful and intelligent wife knew best. This time. I love her but there's still no way I'm reading that Twilight crap.
RCM
Nice summation of a book I've never ready but a movie adaptation I have seen complete with subtitles. So, if it's possible to judge a book review based only on having seen a movie stemming from said book, you nailed it. Being somewhat forced to be a geek due to my occupation, I really loved the hacking aspect of "Girl." What I didn't love is the abuse she endures. Kind of made my stomach turn and keep on turning. In fact, I didn't sleep the night I viewed the film. That's why I won't be seeing the new American version, James Bond or not. Anyway, I digress. More good stuff from a blog I sincerely enjoy. Now, when can we expect another review from the blog's smarter half? :-)
ReplyDeleteThanks,Slimfast Buddha! Was thinking about you the other day after an animated debate (about morality!) with another good friend. I had to take the opposing view at times just to keep things going. Miss the old days. . .In the books, the abuse was central to the story, but description of abuse was almost clinical rather than salacious. Disturbing, but not keep me up all night disturbing. Haven't seen the movies (the Swedish version are in my instant que on streaming Netflix, but haven't been able to stay up later than the kids to watch yet) but sounds like they may be more graphic. And maybe if I pictured Blomkvist as James Bond, the chick magnet thing would make sense? Anyway, thanks for the kind words. RCM
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