Lisbeth Salander, My Mother
by tristero
For fans of Stieg Larsson’s wonderful Millennium novels, this Times Magazine piece contains very little information we don’t already know. Easily the most interesting nugget I hadn’t heard before (the dispute over the estate interests me not at all) is that the English translations were prettified (and a character’s name changed over a petty squabble with Larsson’s father and brother). Perhaps one day we’ll get the original translations, or re-translations – the perfect excuse to re-read the novels.
Apparently, sanitized translations of modern novels get released with nary a peep from just about anyone. For example, there is an exceptionally gritty, and very interesting, noir novelist from Japan, Natsuo Kirino, whose book Grotesque was apparently seriously bowdlerized, mostly by eliminating a lot of rough gay sex towards the end. I doubt if the Larsson novels were changed as drastically, but it would be nice to know we’re reading a translation that captures the flavor of the original as closely as possible.
There’s been much talk about the curious appeal of Larsson’s books but I don’t think there’s anything curious about it at all. Much has been made, rightly, of Lisbeth Salander – a truly wonderful character – but I’ve yet to see anyone put their finger on the most extraordinary aspect of our attraction to her.
This is one seriously damaged, withdrawn, sullen, and violent girl… yet somehow Larsson manages to evoke all sorts of paternal/maternal instincts. We want to protect her from harm – ironic feelings, given that Lisbeth is more than capable of protecting herself – and do a far more thorough job than we can imagine. Larsson seems almost deliberately to toy with the notion of paternalism, perhaps even turn it on its head. He insisted that the first novel, the one we know as The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, be titled Men Who Hate Women in Swedish. And…well, I cant say much more other than the men who are seemingly committed to Salander’s welfare turn out, shall we say, not to be acting in her best interests.
There is another, even less remarked, appeal to these books. That is their unambiguous, and unpretentious assertion of liberal values, from the easygoing attitude the protagonists show towards their love affairs to the depictions of the personal and political horrors of corporatism and rightwing extremism. Larsson, whatever his faults may have been – certainly not caring a whit for his health was his major one – was one helluva heroic writer. While these thrillers are clearly meant simpy to be enjoyable reads first and foremost, it is clear that they were written by a very intelligent and thoughtful progressive.
For some reason, Larsson’s progressivism is given short shrift, at least in America. Now, why is that, I wonder…
NOTE: Post title with apologies to Kathy Acker.