Popular Music from Vittula - #43

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I distinctly remember starting this book. I was on a plane home from Japan, finally from our sudden month in the UK. They had just turned the lights out after meals and drinks so that people could sleep. It was about 12am at night Japanese time, so 1am Aussie time. I was already feeling self conscious as my light was on, but Lexx and my brother were on either side of me. Lexx had taken a sleeping tablet and my brother still hadn't got the hang of sleeping on planes. And I was desperately trying not to piss myself laughing at this book.

This book isn't really a book of short stories, but it kind of is. It's probably better described as a collection of vignettes of the author's childhood. How many of them are true? God knows. He probably doesn't know entirely himself. This is what is the most gripping part of this book. It tells stories of his childhood growing up on the far northern border of Sweden and Finland above the Arctic Circle, where they speak their own language which isn't quiet Swedish, but not quite Finnish, and considered a bastard kind of area by both Finland and Sweden. With all this in the background, he tells you these stories as absolute truths that just sort of get carried away on a child's imagination until they are fantastical in nature and far too big to be true. But you can imagine little Mikael swearing black and blue that's exactly what happened.

This element diminishes slightly as he gets older, and the fantastic, almost magical realism of the book settles back into a more measured reality. But was it is replaced by is a humour and a heartbreaking assessment of the reality of the town that only teenagers can really give.

That's the thing that sucks you in really. It's the brutal honesty of this book. Whether it's him telling you a story at 5 or 15 or 25. You believe his complete sincerity. In a world that undervalues honestly so much, this is a very rare gift.

The Summer Book - #36

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I started reading this book before The Gardens of Evening Mists. I put it down for 2 weeks to read Evening Mists, and then came back to it. Because of this, I had two different reactions to this book.

When I started reading it, I loved the feel of the book. It read like a lazy, hazy summer day. Where you relax and do what you please, or whatever the day lead you to do. This made some sense, as the book tells the stories of Sophia, who is around 7, and her Grandmother at and around their summer cabin on an island in the Gulf of Finland. Sophia's Papa is around too but he doesn't really say much. But that was the feeling of the book, the relaxing and calm summer holiday.

Coming back to it from Evening Mists, the elements of calm and peace seemed to have gone from the book. I am not sure if that is because the stories changed, or that coming back from serene Japanese gardens in the Malaysian rainforest without any children had changed my threshold for calm.

I loved Grandmother. I found her rather fun. A complete smart arse but also knew exactly what to do to placate Sophia. The stories were well constructed and just the right length. And for someone who hasn't made it to Scandinavia yet (my 5 year old self is so upset about this. She's been waiting so many years to go find Vikings!), I really had no trouble imagining this little, quiet island.

The problem I had when I came back to the book was that Sophia seemed more spoilt and indulged. And I got so annoyed with her tantrums. Although objectively, she was stuck on an island with only two adults who sometimes didn't pay her any attention at all. Maybe I can understand her slightly. However, I had to take one star off because of Sophia though.

But it's just a bit like life I guess. No matter how much of a relaxing summer holiday it is, someone always has a kid that will come in, throw a tantrum and ruin it just a little bit for every one else.