Tag: By the Book column

Men. Women. Power. Money. Sex. Truth. These are the final winding down days of the case of Dominique Strauss-Kahn and the alleged rape of an African hotel maid, and I keep wondering what Stieg Larsson, the journalist, would have had to say. Stieg Larsson was the author of the Millenium Trilogy — “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo,” “The Girl Who Played with Fire,” “The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest” — published posthumously to huge success after his death at age 50. While he was alive, he wasn’t known as a novelist. He was a crusading left-wing, feminist, anti-racist journalist who published magazine articles and books that put him under death threats from Swedish Neo-Nazi groups. He had spent a year in Africa training female guerrillas how to use rocket launchers. He had strong feelings about sexual violence toward women. He might have had something interesting to say about the Strauss-Kahn story.

Now that he’s dead and can’t say anything at all, there are two new books out about him: “Stieg Larsson, Our Days in Stockholm: A Memoir of a Friendship” by Kurdo Baksi and “ ‘There Are Things I Want You to Know’ About Stieg Larsson and Me” by Eva Gabrielsson, his life companion of 32 years. It is interesting how slippery word portraits are when they try to describe a person. Photographs taken by different people, in different lighting, at different ages, all are somehow believable as describing the same person. Written accounts by best friends, colleagues, girlfriends, seem to be better at describing the writer of the account than the subject.

I feel I know quite a lot about Kurdo Baksi and Eva Gabrielsson, who seem like perfectly decent people, although neither is a particularly gifted writer or original thinker. Neither seems to be writing a book that they are internally compelled to write. They have written books that will sell because the subject is of interest, and they have written books that champion their own sides of the story.

Eva’s is more compelling because she was Stieg’s lover for most of their lives, although you really don’t get much of an understanding of how their domestic and romantic life functioned on a day-to-day basis. He wrote her a love letter when he was 22 and returning from a near-death experience in Africa. She says he usually cooked dinner for her. Kurdo says his friend couldn’t cook at all. Kurdo says Stieg suffered from terrible insomnia and hardly slept. Which would explain how he managed to hold down a full-time job for money, work at least an equivalent of full time doing his own investigative reporting, editing and publishing, while reading voraciously both science fiction and murder mysteries, and last but not least, actually writing three, four, maybe five long novels.

Eva would have us believe that they slept together, although she really doesn’t give us any sense of the physical intimacy between them. She’s Swedish and shy and I’m not asking for prurient details, but I am curious. There is plenty of sex in his novels, of all sorts, described with great accuracy. If he was committed to Eva since they met at 18, were they each other’s only sexual partners? It seems highly unlikely, but there is no conflicting or corroborating information in either of these nonfiction books.

One story that both tell is that Stieg related a terrible event that happened when he was 15 years old. He was close by when three of his friends raped a girl they all knew, and he did nothing to stop it. A few days later he went to the girl and apologized for his inaction, but she would not forgive him and said he was just like the others. It’s a curious story, one that he tells about himself, one that “explains” both his political writing and his fiction. When will some investigative reporter go up to northern Sweden and try to find the people involved, or some other witnesses? Is this a true story or a story that a novelist might tell a few people to illuminate some deep truth about himself but that a journalist who respected truth would never write down or publish? In the book about honor killings that he co-wrote with Cecilia Englund, he says, “The cultural and anthropological models used to explain these tragedies speak to the form of oppression involved but do not explain it. And so in India, women are set on fire: they are murdered in the name of honor in Sicily: they are beaten up on Saturday night in Sweden … Yet culture does not explain why women all over the world are murdered, mutilated, mistreated by men.”

This was a problem he set out to understand and solve in different ways, and the sad thing is that he had only completely finished three of the planned 10 books of the series, whose working title was “The Men Who Hate Women,” when he died. If only he were still around and working, we would have more complicated books, whether mysteries like “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo,” police procedurals like “The Girl Who Played with Fire,” political thrillers like “The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest” or nonfiction exposés about honor killings or hate crimes. He would be even closer to being the grown-up embodiment of both his childhood literary heroes, Pippi Longstocking and Kalle Blomkvist, characters invented by Astrid Lindgren and beloved by children all over the world, just as his own characters Lizbeth Salander and Mikael Blomkvist are admired and beloved by adult readers all over the world for their courage against injustice.

Ms. Johnson, of Greenport, is assistant director at Floyd Memorial Library and moonlights as an artist and newspaper columnist.

I was reading about a recent Yankee game and came across this: “ … a triple that was misplayed by centerfielder Nyjer Morgan. Morgan sprinted toward the warning track in pursuit of the well-struck ball, but crashed violently into the padding and fell to the dirt.” My first thought was “old-time sports writing has returned.” It’s rare today to find dramatic descriptions of plays or players, which is fine, I guess, but when I saw “well-struck” and “fell to the dirt” I was back in the ’40s and ’50s when writers like Joe Williams, Dick Young and Joe Trimble covered the games.

I have a scrapbook of World Series newspaper articles from those Yankee/Dodger/Giant years, when the writing, surely florid, stoked your imagination. Here’s the report of a huge play in the sixth game of the ’47 Series:

“Little Al, hydrant high and running like a bunny with his tail afire, raced back, back, back. He finally turned and stuck out his gloved right hand as the ball was about to clear the bullpen barrier … ” Phew! All you Brooklyn/Bronx fans know who Al was, and just relived that moment. Few of us actually saw it — TV sets were few and far between — but we experienced it the next morning, hot off the presses.

Today’s writers understand that replay after replay — in full color, in slo-mo, on every channel — has lessened the need for colorful descriptions, and cold facts work fine. Strike up the bland! But the morning after the second game of the ’51 Series brought us this: “The miracle Giants fell right out of those fleecy clouds of fantasy yesterday. Durocher’s darlings of destiny were dragged back to reality … ” New York City’s English teachers must have jumped with joy: the entire grammar school had certainly read that and “today’s lesson will be about alliteration.”

1952. Seventh game. With the bases loaded, the game on the line and the infielders in disarray, “Martin darted toward the mound as the ball descended rapidly, running out from under his hat and, with one frantic lunge, grabbed the pill at knee level.” The next morning it was read about, hashed, rehashed, revered and reviled. “Of all people, that Martin guy,” just as in ’51 it had been “Of all people, that Stanky guy.” Rizzuto never got over Stanky kicking the ball away.

Just one more. “Ever so briefly and ever so lightly, Brooklyn’s sad sky wept openly in the last half of the ninth inning. Perhaps the Brooklyn sky, black and frowning throughout the day, could restrain its tears no longer.” This after only the third game of the ’49 Series!

I don’t want to live in the past, but this upholstered writing (“shattering wallop,” “overpowering hurling,” “hustling scoop,” “squirming crowd”) embraced all the things we were being taught in school: see it, feel it and express it. It was also very enjoyable, something to anticipate the morning after a game.

A final note. The sportswriters used to say “flied out” but are now saying “flew out.” It’s probably better English, but the only player who maybe “flew out” to center field is Angel Pagan.

Mr. Case, of Southold, is retired from Oxford University Press and a former member of Southold Free Library’s board of trustees. He can be reached at [email protected]

The results are in. Thanks to everyone who took the time to pin down their favorite books. Some of you named 10, many noted three, a few came up with one. One reader broke the bank with 27! Everybody moaned about the difficulty of choosing only 10 — some seemed upset with me for having the temerity to ask that of them. I heard from 32 people, who came up with an astounding 211 different titles.

Several entries were multiple volumes: the “Bounty Trilogy,” “The Lord of the Rings,” the three Long Island DeMilles; these were counted as one. That seemed fair, but then came the Bobbsey Twins, the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew, probably 40 books in all. I loved seeing them mentioned; it spoke of the joy of reading as a kid — my wife admitting to reading Nancy after “lights out” under a blanket, with a candle. Scary.

Authors were named — as in “anything by …” — with James Michener, Robert Parker, Jane Austen, John Steinbeck, Willa Cather, Leon Uris and many others being cited.

One woman used the term “seared by” when listing “Angela’s Ashes,” “Stones from the River” and “Say You Are One of Them,” perfectly expressing the experience of reading about troubled times, whether in Ireland, Germany or Africa. Most choices were toward the serious side, although Winnie the Pooh poked his head up a couple of times.

My nephew asked if anyone seemed self-conscious over a lack of classics on their list. Well, not that I could see, Huck Finn and “Wuthering Heights” each got three mentions, “War and Peace” two. Assorted single entries brought classics up to 15. Fiction was a hands-down, 86 percent winner; the nonfiction was generally historical or inspirational: presidents, wars, cups of tea and spiritual enlightenment.

There were titles I’d read, enjoyed and, sadly, forgotten. “The Princess Bride” was one, a delightful book. Oddly it recently resurfaced recently, when Peter Falk died; he played the grandfather in the movie. Others in this category were “Trinity,” “Shogun” and “Snow Falling on Cedars.” Murder and mayhem were prevalent, mostly by author rather than individual titles. We seem awfully fond of blood.

A handful of titles got three mentions: “The Poisonwood Bible,” “A Prayer for Owen Meany,” “The Killer Angels,” “The Lovely Bones,” “The Mists of Avalon,” the Harry Potters and my all-time favorite, “Bang the Drum Slowly.” Three titles had over three: “Pillars of the Earth” (four), “The Grapes of Wrath” (six) and a resounding 12 for “To Kill a Mockingbird,” certainly no surprise.

Everyone out there seems to read anything and everything, with the focus on the delight of following made-up characters through the ins and outs and ups and downs of imagined experiences.

In 1998 The New Yorker featured “My 100 Greatest Books” by Steve Martin. I’ll include four; you’ll get the drift: “Prenup Loopholes” by Anon. Esq.; “Silas Marner” (first and last page only); “Victoria’s Secret Fall Catalogue”; and “Ulysses” (first sentence only).

It’s amusing when iconic 10 Best lists are seen for what they really are, exercises to debate and enjoy, but basically meaningless. Best movies, best restaurants, best songs, best actors —  hey, they’re your own personal lists. Anybody for “The Five Little Peppers and How They Grew”?

Mr. Case, of Southold, is retired from Oxford University Press. He can be reached at [email protected]