Nordic Noir

The Pocket Essential Guide to Scandinavian Crime Fiction, Film & TV

Barry Forshaw

• Publisher: Pocket Essentials
• Year: 2013
• ISBN:
  9781842439883
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Literary Criticism
• Index: Literature

Nordic Noir: The Pocket Essential Guide to Scandinavian Crime Fiction, Film and TV by Britain's leading expert on crime fiction, Barry Forshaw, is a compact and authoritative guide to the phenomenally popular genre.

The information-packed study examines and celebrates books, films and TV adaptations, from Sjöwall & Wahlöö's highly influential Martin Beck series through Henning Mankell's Wallander (subject of three separate TV series) to Stieg Larsson's groundbreaking The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, cult TV hits such as the Danish The Killing, The Bridge, and the political thriller Borgen, up to the massively successful books and films of the current king of the field, Norway's Jo Nesbo. Nordic Noir anatomises the nigh-obsessive appeal of the subject and highlights every key book, film and TV show. For both the beginner and the aficionado, this is a hugely informative, highly accessible guide (and shopping list) for an essential crime genre.

'Entertaining and informative companion... written by the person who probably knows more than anyone alive about the subject' - The Times

'Readers wanting to get into Scandinavian crime fiction should start with Forshaw's pocket guide to the genre' - Financial Times

Look out for the other books in Barry Forshaw's Noir series Euro Noir, Brit Noir, American Noir and Historical Noir, and for his latest book, Crime Fiction: A Reader's Guide.

1: Beginnings: Sjöwall & Wahlöö’s Martin Beck Series

The Scandinavian Agatha Christie

There is no argument about it. Two writers started the Scandicrime boom, and remain the key influence on most of their successors: Maj Sjöwall and Per Wahlöö. But they were not the first. It is perhaps unfair to draw attention to the fact that one of the earlier writers in Swedish crime fiction, Maria Lang (her real name was Dagmar Langer and she died in 1991) was part of the old guard which younger crime writers felt the need to react against, despite the considerable success she enjoyed in her day with such books as The Murderer Does Not Tell Lies Alone, 1949. Lang’s model was (unsurprisingly) the English ‘Queen of Crime’, Agatha Christie, and Lang was undoubtedly enjoyed by many readers because she presented a similarly unrealistic picture of her country, where crime is not the deeply destabilising force it is for later writers.

The First Stieg

Lang had been preceded by another important Nordic writer, Stieg Trenter, who also enjoyed great commercial success in his day, but Lang enjoyed a second readership in Great Britain, with her uncomplicated prose style echoing that of the creator of Jane Marple. Lang, however, was never quite accorded the respect and esteem granted to other foreign writers in translation such as Georges Simenon. The latter was quickly perceived to be an acute social commentator along with his status as a canny entertainer in his books featuring pipe-smoking inspector Jules Maigret. Lang’s memory survives more than her influence, with many readers in the Nordic countries cherishing fond memories of her books, avidly consumed in their youth. But after Sjöwall & Wahlöö, it seemed that there was to be no revisiting of the less confrontational, more comforting crime fiction of the Lang era – although, interestingly, the contemporary writer Camilla Läckberg has utilised Christie-like elements (notably the small-town murder) in her work.

Leading with the Left

While themselves avid consumers of the detective story form, Sjöwall & Wahlöö were nevertheless impatient with what they perceived as the bourgeois accoutrements of the genre. They became convinced that a radical shake-up (as adumbrated in the lean and efficient novels of the American writer Ed McBain, a clear inspiration) could benefit the form, by removing its more retrograde elements and allowing it to function as a laser-like, unsparing examination of society. And while the S and W approach was specifically Marxist, the duo were canny enough to realise that an undigested leavening of agitprop would hardly be conducive to their books having any kind of commercial success. Their approach (in this regard at least) was more indirect: painting a picture of a compromised, unequal society and pointing the reader in a direction which he or she might move to ameliorate it.

Hidden Agendas

One element of their then-innovative approach (now, like so many things in their work, overfamiliar from endless imitation) was the cold-eyed analysis of corruption within both the police force and various strata of society. (The corruption is at all levels – unlike, say, the English filmmaker Ken Loach, they did not posit an antithesis between unfeeling middle-class social institutions and essentially noble working people.) Those readers spotting the critique of the ‘totalitarian’ aspects of Western society may consider that the duo were discreetly closing their eyes (as so many did) to the reality of the application of Marxist politics in other countries where totalitarianism quickly – and inexorably – replaced optimistic ideals. Over the years they have been accused of naivety in their approach – the same accusations were later also levelled at Stieg Larsson, but more for his political activity than for the hidden agenda of his books. Interestingly, later writers have criticised the blinkered approach of left-wing thinkers towards the growing iniquities within the Soviet system. This is a motif to be found, for example, in the work of the Icelandic writer Arnaldur Indridason. But such considerations aside, The Story of a Crime, the collective title for ten perfectly formed books by Sjöwall & Wahlöö, hardly seems dated at all when read in the twenty-first century. The duo allowed their detective Martin Beck to investigate a variety of crimes which (in their range) cast a spotlight on many aspects of Scandinavian society. And the plot potentialities afforded the duo were considerable.

Not Just Sweden

It’s not just Sweden. In recent years, the notion that Scandinavian crime fiction largely consisted of work produced in Sweden has been opened up and redefined, as non-Nordic countries (such as Britain) began slowly but surely to discern the differentiation between, say, Finland and Norway. But Sweden inevitably (and annoyingly for the other Nordic countries) remains the principal focus in terms of its market share – and the fact that the country is the largest geographically when measured against its Scandinavian neighbours. (It is, in fact, twice as big as Great Britain.)

Sjöwall & Wahlöö were well aware of the image fondly held by foreigners of Sweden: the intoxicating physical beauty of the country with its exquisite lakes and massive forests, along with a notion that Sweden represented the perfect encapsulation of the social democratic ideal. But S and W were keen to point out the cracks in this roseate picture and (along with such subsequent writers as Henning Mankell) began to draw attention to the social problems of their country, including such thorny issues as immigration. This is a recurrent theme in the genre – and a theme of particular concern to writers on the left who saw such issues as the difficulties of integrating immigrant populations into the host country as perfect fodder for the far right. Recent developments in the Scandinavian countries, such as the Breivik massacre in Norway in 2011, have perhaps suggested that the attention paid by left-wing crime writers to this worm in the bud of social democracy was, in fact, all too prescient. Significantly, the ideologically-inspired creators of the Martin Beck books had, perhaps without knowing it, lit a blue touch paper and the subsequent explosion was to bear the name of the writer Henning Mankell.

2: Sweden’s Trojan Horse:
Kurt Wallander

Wallander’s Creator: Henning Mankell

Worldwide cultural domination of crime fiction by Scandinavian writers may finally have been achieved by the all-conquering success of Stieg Larsson and those who followed him. The groundwork for the Nordic Noir boom may have been laid down by the highly influential duo of Sjöwall & Wahlöö. However, there is one writer whose contribution can be called the most solid and far-reaching in terms of establishing the long-term popularity of the genre: the Swede Henning Mankell. The astringent vision of his country presented in his highly accomplished (and admirably consistent) series of books is not one that might initially have appealed to the Swedish tourist board. Mankell unflinchingly exposes the deep divisions in the society of that country, along with a variety of seemingly ineradicable social problems and the darker recesses of the psyches of his fellow countrymen and women. His copper, of course, is the troubled, middle-aged Kurt Wallander, the most celebrated of the fictional Scandinavian detectives, and the character’s appeal is such that he has now been incarnated in a variety of TV series by no less than three actors: Rolf Lassgård (initially), Krister Henriksson, and, in a highly successful series made in Sweden but with British personnel, Kenneth Branagh. (All three series are discussed separately.)

Raising the Game

The series of Wallander books by Henning Mankell (now brought to a decisive end by their creator, as we shall see) is notable for a variety of elements, apart from its sheer readability: its impeccable plotting and nuanced characterisation (the latter as adroit as anything in the crime fiction genre), and its distinguished literary qualities. In the superlative translations by Laurie Thompson, the doyen of the translation field, the books have long enjoyed a keen literary reputation; like PD James, Mankell is frequently applauded for elevating the status of the once-disregarded crime novel into more rarefied realms. But perhaps the ingredient that is most crucial to the celebrity of the books is the infusion of the writer’s own energetic social conscience, part and parcel of his desire to right the egregious wrongs of society. (Mankell’s social conscience, like that of many another crime writer, has been shaped by the left-wing views of the 1960s. His political trajectory is in accord with that of many intellectuals born in the late 1940s.)

The issues addressed in the various books – from the corrupt influence of Big Pharma and the ruthless prerogatives of multinationals, to people trafficking and his country’s barely disguised racism – are clearly powered by the author’s own social engagement. (He is known for his theatre work in the continent in which he spends so much time, Africa, attempting to ameliorate the lot of ordinary Africans.) Surprisingly under-reported (in the context of the author’s own activism) was the fact that he was present on the ships that attempted to break the Israeli blockade of the Gaza Strip. Quite simply, there is no gainsaying Mankell’s dedication to changing people’s lives for the better, as important to him as his literary activities. Readers, however, can be forgiven for preferring the time he spent on the latter discipline.

Breaking the Language Barrier

Crime fiction from a variety of foreign countries translated into English has long enjoyed a certain currency, but earlier writers such as Simenon were often regarded almost as British writers manqués; despite the clear disadvantage of being Belgian and having written in a language other than English. They had now been safely rendered into the language (it was felt) in which they clearly always belonged, by translators whose profile was far lower than that enjoyed by the profession today. Henning Mankell, however, was one of the writers who changed this ethos, not least because of the specifically Scandinavian tone of his work, markedly different in myriad ways from the kind of writing appearing in either Britain or America in the 1990s. The reviews for his first Kurt Wallander book, Faceless Killers (1991, appearing in the UK in 2000) were almost all favourable, remarking on a highly individual new voice in the genre, one whose writing had real heft and intelligence. Readers quickly took to the taciturn, difficult protagonist – not in the best of health, impatient, uncomfortable with his superiors (the latter, of course, being de rigueur for literary coppers) and struggling to cope with a variety of family issues. (As the series progressed, we saw Wallander attempting to cope with a father in the early stages of Alzheimer’s and with a resentful daughter who felt neglected and betrayed by him.) But such was the richness of Wallander’s characterisation – a richness shared with characters in many a more prestigious ‘literary’ novel – that Mankell quickly achieved pole position in the crime fiction genre. Faceless Killers, too, established the author’s readiness to take on his country’s fractious relationship with its then-undiscussed immigrant problem – and the non-assimilation of the incomers. In fact, it is a casually dropped observation by Wallander himself that throws suspicion on immigrants for the murder that launches the book – and although the detective passionately argues against fanning the flames of racism, he realises (in one of the very human moments that his creator frequently allows him) that there is, perhaps, a mote in his own eye in this regard.

The White Lioness (1998) is one of Mankell’s most original and distinctive books, weighing in at a hefty 565 pages, but justifying its considerable length. A young housewife, well known for her work at the local Methodist church, has disappeared, and it falls to Kurt Wallander and his team to investigate. The detective quickly discovers that the events leading to the woman’s disappearance have tendrils that stretch to far-away South Africa, and what comes to light is a tangled skein of malign human behaviour involving a murderous ex-KGB agent and renegade operatives of the South African Secret Service. What’s more, the stakes are of the highest: nothing less than a plot to stop the rise to power of Nelson Mandela. Even before the reader reaches the epilogue, written by Henning Mankell in the Mozambique in which he spends so much time, The White Lioness (as will be apparent to even the most casual reader) is one of the writer’s most political novels, with personal testimony and the experiences of people he has met in Africa having a radical effect on the text here. But as so often with the writer’s work, there is no sense of a doctrinaire agenda at work – whatever else readers choose to take from the book in terms of what it says about developments in modern South Africa, the crucial imperative here remains the solving of the mystery by the implacable Kurt Wallander. And on the straightforward level of a page-turning narrative, the novel remains utterly persuasive – even though readers may fear that international terrorism, as pictured in the novel, has few limits and few boundaries.

Wallander = Mankell?

Mankell may not like it, but there are those who have drawn parallels between the saturnine Wallander and his serious-minded creator. That, however, is a congruence that he himself has always fought shy of. In such novels as Sidetracked (2000) and Firewall (2004), the reach extends beyond the memorable protagonist, dealing cogently with many of the key issues that affect Scandinavian society. Of course, one of the reasons that his books have had such resonance beyond the Nordic countries is that (despite their scene-specific qualities), Mankell – more than most writers of crime fiction – is well aware that we all live in what Marshall McLuhan once identified as the ‘Global Village’. Many of the issues that transform society (for better or worse) are common to us all, such as the dangers inherent in cyberspace, one of the key themes in Firewall. In the latter novel, Wallander is actually used (ignoring for the moment his disputed qualities as a surrogate for the author) as a conduit into a world which for those of us who are not technophiles is terra incognita: we learn, along with the detective, just how our lives will be changed by the Internet.

Swedish Stereotypes

There are, of course, lazy stereotypes about the Swedes when it comes to the serious arts. (Let’s leave Abba and football managers out of the discussion.) The Swedish intellectual is seen as a dyspeptic, over-philosophising soul, and the fact, now relatively well known, that Mankell was the son-in-law of the great Swedish director Ingmar Bergman (widely considered to be the most profound artist ever to work in the medium of film), lent itself to this kind of facile stereotyping. People were only too keen to say, in effect: ‘Of course these books are bleak and downbeat – Mankell, Bergman’s son-in-law, is keeping such gloomy philosophising in the family.’ But leaving aside the fact that the intellectual underpinnings of the Wallander novels are richer and more complex than those to be found in most popular fiction, the basis for such an assertion is slim – serious though the books are, they are, in fact, told with a quiet storytelling panache that is utterly rigorous: the art that conceals art. For many readers, the tiny detonations set off in the reader’s mind during the course of these books only become apparent some time after the reading.

Like many a creator, Mankell gave signs of wishing to move on from his signature character, and looked for ways in which he might usefully extend his fictional canvas. One of these involved the relatively brief use of Wallander’s alienated daughter, Linda, now a policewoman herself, as protagonist in Before the Frost (2004). Here it was made clear that the detective’s daughter was an example of the apple that did not fall far from the tree – Linda, unsurprisingly, turns out to be quite as bolshie and difficult as her father. Needless to say, Before the Frost was not received with quite the enthusiasm that had greeted the Wallander novels, but the reason Linda was sidelined as a character was not a result of this. It was because of the deep emotional impact that the suicide of the actress Johanna Sällström (who had so affectingly played Linda Wallander in the Krister Henriksson TV series) had on Henning Mankell. He found himself unable to continue to write about the character. In the final Wallander book, Mankell’s equivalent of a Reichenbach Falls termination for his hero was to bring about a sapping of his mental faculties (in much the same way that disease had affected the mind of the policeman’s father), and the last book, The Troubled Man (2012) had a genuinely valedictory air. But Henning Mankell had already demonstrated that he had many more fish to fry in which Kurt Wallander was not to be involved.

Shadows beyond the Crime

Hard-core Mankell aficionados know – and appreciate the fact – that there is more to him than his crime novels. In interviews, the Swedish crime master is always eminently cordial and polite – but in the past, interviewers have learned to their cost that he expects his interlocutors to be well prepared. He is, however, patient with those who do not realise that his crime fiction is only one element of his output. ‘There are countries,’ he has said, smiling...