When X first talked about this novel with me, I hadn't read anything written by Bodil Malmsten. I had heard her name in conversation, nothing more. At the time we first spoke of her, I was deeply into biographies and books about serial-killers and did not start reading this book until about two months ago.
I've only read one book by the author before this one, namely "Hör bara hur ditt hjärta bultar i mig", which I found to be marvellous. It's her blog, cobbled together in book-form; it's very nice to have in your hand, as she's prone to editing and deleting her online stuff.
This book latches on to her easily identifiable style; she often writes using short sentences, referring to set phrases, epic dramas, quotes. Bodil has a unique way of using her style to let the reader delve deeply into the mind of her main subject: Maurice Lind, an old, cracked actor, who's suffered a massive breakdown due to alcoholic and mental problems amassing since way, way back.
Upon starting to read this book, I almost immediately felt that Bodil had latched on to Maurice's mind, controlling his alternate states and describing them masterfully. I've always had a hard time with people artistically attempting to describe panic, a profound sense of loneliness and loss - simply because it most often has said very little to me about my life - I've become thick-skinned and in doubt of such works. I mainly knew that this book is about a man well into his middle age and in crisis in some way(s), but had little idea of how it would come to envelop and affect me.
Maurice's stream of consciousness makes out most of the book, and other persons' minds are in there as well. The book is a massive collection of thoughts, with no author's narrative. Memories and stories from the past are unraveled as they're thought of by the characters, bound together by Maurice's day-to-day life as he is struggling to become something other than a has-been actor, an impossible, womanising former husband and an estranged father, now beleaguered by demons, his past and his present, as he is seemingly constantly trying to run or duck from the inescapable. Sisyphus springs to my mind.
Maurice, how the heavens tempt you and how hell leads you down, whenever you're not willingly taking the next cab there from and to another bar.
However fallible, Maurice is most human. At times during reading, I felt extremely frustrated with Maurice's narcissistic, lying, reckless and fleeing ways. He seemed to blame everybody other than himself, and use alcohol to quench himself from his pains, at the cost of others. At other times, I found him to be one of the most sympathetic characters ever through being compassionate, intelligent and emphatic, especially when coupled with his will to really become a better person. His will to change his errors howls though the chapters, paired with his feebleness. I cried during several parts of the book where he really tries to win and just can't. He's just not there yet.
The passages where Maurice seems to be alright only to break down a moment later, is especially horrific reading for me. They hook into my soul in many ways. I've written about my problems with panic, and on that note, Maurice's internal affairs connect with me on many levels; having the chance to pick his mind felt somewhat inimitable. I couldn't have passed up the opportunity even if I had wanted to.
On an ending note, I must defend the book for those of you who have not read it: I cannot do it justice. There is no way. I just feel I have to express myself on the matter through this post, which in a way is like trying to describe Rimbaud's poetry: as I get too detailed, its essence eludes. You have to experience this yourself.
Safe to say, this is one of the most heart-felt books I've ever read. Reading it feels like coming home and, at the same time, makes me re-live a mass of daymares, panic and pain, feelings I don't want to have lived without. Thank you, Bodil.