Dancing in the Rain

A bleak day prompts a review of a bleak book.  An excellent bleak book, though.

Henning Mankell’s The Return of the Dancing Master

I was unaware of Mankell’s existence—I think he was the Swedish author someone once mentioned to me over lunch at a conference, but I am not sure.  A former student (who graduated in 1996) stopped by my office earlier in the year and while chatting about books, she asked if I had ever read Mankell.  I said “No,” and then about a week later, a couple of his books (and a biography of Wodehouse) were in my mailbox.  All I can say, is that I am really glad I had never heard of Mankell, because it isn’t often you get the great joy of discovering a new author who writes really good books.

The book is a detective story, but a detective story with literary merit. The bleakness in this book is strong.  It takes place in rural Sweden at the outset of winter, so the landscape is cold and bare.  (That was one of my big surprises in moving to New England, by the way.  I had always assumed mid-winter with snow on the ground would be the bleakest part of the year, but it isn't even close.  Late November, when the leaves are gone and there isn't yet snow is much bleaker.  The snow actually brightens things up.)  The protagonist of the novel (the detective) has just been diagnosed with cancer (on his tongue) and he despairs.  The whole novel takes place in the time between his diagnosis and the time he goes in to start treatment.  The murder is all wrapped up in the legacy of Nazi activity in Sweden, so either the murdered or the murderer is a Nazi and there is a steady stream of aging Swedish Nazis who may or may not know something about the murder.  Bleak.  Yet shockingly well written and thoughtful throughout.  I eagerly look forward to reading the rest of Mankell’s work—and nicely enough, I already have another one on my shelf.

Hmmm.  That is a pretty bleak blog post.  I’d like to throw in a cheery detail or two, but come to think of it, there aren’t really any cheery details in the book.  It is really good at maintaining its tone throughout.  There is an interesting moral dilemma at the center of the tale—one with far too many modern applications—does the murderer of a murderer deserve punishment?  If a political radical of some stripe had tortured and killed a relative, and escaped punishment, would you a) be justified in killing the murderer, b) be willing to do so, and c) be justified in torturing the torturer first?  The last question is the easiest.  The first question is a nice staple of discussions of justice.  It’s the second one which is the hardest. 

This is getting bleaker by the moment.  And it’s raining outside.  Again.  I suppose I should go read some more Shelley:

I met a Murder on the way—

He had a mask like Castlereagh—

Very smooth he looked yet grim;

Seven bloodhounds followed him:

All were fat; and well they might

Be in admirable plight,

For one by one, and two by two,

He tossed them human hearts to chew

Which from his wide cloak he drew.

Yeah, that’ll cheer things up…