A chilling tale of murder satiates a fondness for mystery.
by Joanna Demkiewicz
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I’m a sick freak, and that’s ok.
I go bleary-eyed for “Law & Order” reruns. I can’t blink during “Forensic Files” reenactments: the blood splatters, the twisted sheets, the abandoned pomegranate-dipped machete. I want to know it all. Life is gross, grisly and often unreasonable, and I want to know it all. I even went through a bit of withdrawal when Season 1 of “True Detective” concluded. Gender analysis aside, I religiously watched the HBO drama for the chill factor. After the finale, my boyfriend and I–finger-biting and nervous from the “murder drama” lull–sought out “The Fall,” the BBC crime drama that has been most captivating of all. Its captivation is in the mundanity of the serial killer’s life (whom you immediately meet): he pours cereal for his children; he jogs.
When there were no episodes left, I turned my eye away from the glowing screen and picked up Norwegian writer Linn Ullmann’s The Cold Song. The novel was released in 2011 in Norway, but was translated to English and released by Other Press on April 8 of this year.
On page five, we meet Milla, a nanny and newcomer to the secluded coastal summer community. But let me be clear–we meet her via Simen, an 11-year-old townie who is trekking through the idyllic forest:
“Milla, or what was left of her, was found by Simen and two of his friends when they were digging for buried treasure in the woods.”
And with that, Ullmann has communicated with us that there will be no symbolic clues; there will only be shocking, mundane fact.
She also flits back and forth from character to character with cinematic ease. (Perhaps this writing style is not so surprising, as Ullmann’s father was filmmaker Ingmar Bergman.)
In a recent Vogue interview, Ullmann says these transitions are deliberate:
“I also wanted to write about the different members of a family–different genders, different generations and perspectives–and the way in which small acts of betrayal and negligence can metamorphose into something far more dangerous and unpredictable. Many times I’ve caught myself thinking: ‘Oh this is a small thing, it won’t matter…’–but, then, usually it does. People get hurt. People break.”
The way she transitions and observes each character as if she is a silent neighbor, invisible and frank, while being that character, allows for some very self-actualized, albeit flawed, men, women and children. We see the acute observations of the 11-year-old-boy: his mother hides her diamond necklace in a blue bowl; his neighbor, the once-famous writer, is having an affair with a dentist. The once-famous writer experiences his writer’s block secluded in an attic, and he watches as Milla, the nanny his wife hired for the summer, picks flowers with his daughters. He notices that she has a good body. Later, his eldest daughter notices him noticing Milla’s body. The wife, Siri–a well-known chef–is troubled by her eldest daughter’s bizarre behavior and annoyed by Milla’s giggles.
And Milla–how did she end up buried in the woods, under the same tree Simen and his friends thought they had buried their brotherhood treasure? First, Ullmann wants us to marinate with each character and watch as they interact, inevitably crossing paths and connecting, standing next to each other in the road but thinking very different things, thinking about themselves, justifying their flaws, judging, reminiscing, making up their own stories, and manufacturing fairy tales.
The Cold Song’s palpability chilled and captivated me in a way no blood splatter could. I didn’t blink.
Author: Linn Ullmann
Translated by: Barbara J. Haveland
Published by: Other Press
Page count: 328
Price: $10.09, Paperback, Amazon
Joanna Demkiewicz is The Riveter‘s co-founder and co-editor.
