That said, I am a little suspicious when everyone agrees on something. It doesn’t happen very often, culturally speaking, and it makes me wonder what buttons are being pushed, what complexities are being glossed over. Which brings me to Steig Larsson and his The Girl Who…trilogy.
For anyone who has been living in a cave for the last year, Larsson’s trilogy is a phenomenally successful series of Swedish mystery novels. The first two, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo and The Girl Who Played With Fire, both managed to be #1 on the Trade ($15) and Mass Market ($8) bestseller lists simultaneously, an achievement that is truly mind-boggling. The third and final book, The Girl Who Kicked a Hornet’s Nest, has a stranglehold atop the hardcover bestseller list. The sales of the three novels are in the tens of millions, and show no sign of flagging. Publishing hasn’t seen a phenomenon like this since The DaVinci Code.
The DaVinci Code provides a good counterpoint to Larsson’s trilogy. For as enjoyable as The DaVinci Code is, very few people take it seriously as literature. The writing is pedestrian (at best), and the characters are paper thin. But it is a fantastic puzzle, with a fascinating underlying story about explosive truths repressed by the Catholic Church for 2,000 years. It’s a great read. Just don’t expect it to show up on a college syllabus anytime soon.
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, however, sets its sights a little higher. The blurb on my copy describes it as a cross between Ingmar Bergman and Thomas Harris (Silence of the Lambs). It aims at a literary audience as well as a mass one, promising the juice of a thriller with the depth of art.
So what is my problem? Well, it’s has to do with the “art” part of that equation.
Before I get any further, let me just say it’s not my intention to hang up a shingle as the anti-Steig Larsson guy. I thought both the book and the movie of Dragon Tattoo were fine, in their way. Larsson is a much better writer than Dan Brown. The book has a nice sense of atmosphere, and some very interesting characters (in the case of Lisbeth Salander, the “Girl” of the title, maybe even a great character). The film of the book is intelligently made and well acted.
There is, however, something very unsettling about the story which, as far as I know, hasn’t been remarked upon. Namely, the brutality.
Some time in the last 20 years, the world of thrillers and police procedurals changed. It is no longer compelling enough for someone simply to murder another person to incite a story. The murders have to be spectacular and grisly. Indeed, a perusal of prime time network TV these days would have you thinking the world is littered with deranged, psychopathic monsters (in truth, murder rates have never been lower).
[SPOILER ALERT –plot from The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is about to be revealed]
This tendency to Grand Guignol is vividly realized in The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. The murders which our heroes investigate are truly ghastly, involving burnings and carvings and a few things involving animals that I have conveniently repressed. The climactic scene takes place in the dungeon of one of the main supporting characters, where he has tortured and murdered dozens of runaway girls, without disturbance, for decades.
Leaving aside the plausibility of this scenario for the moment, let’s just say the world of this book is a brutal one. Maniacs abound, doing savage things. And Lisbeth’s response is savage in turn.
In one scene, we see her anally rape a man and carve words in his skin. In the end, we see a flashback where Lisbeth sets fire to her own father and watches him burn to death, seemingly with no reaction. In the theater where I saw it, people cheered.
Mind you, Lisbeth has the best possible motivation for her violence. In both incidents, she has been horribly victimized and is fighting for her very life. But justifying brutality, and cheering the painful death of the evildoer, is not the realm of art. It’s a revenge fantasy.
There’s nothing wrong with revenge fantasies, per se. They have a long history in every form of storytelling (Charles Bronson made a whole career out of them). Revenge fantasies are popular because they allow you to enjoy violence because the people who the violence is aimed at are so hateful.
In a way, revenge fantasies are like pornography. Just as pornography delivers sex with no complications (no one is ever lonely or sad, the sex is never unsatisfying), revenge fantasies deliver violence free from the ethical queasiness that accompanies actual violence. Put in a cruder way, pornography and revenge fantasies both allow you to get your rocks off without the icky complications of real life.
It is, of course, unfair to compare Larsson’s book, and the well-crafted movie made from it, to porn. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is much more subtle and thoughtful, not to mention being more interested in real people and their problems, than any pornography.
But are the book’s subtlety and thoughtfulness the reason for its staggering success? Especially when you consider the novel is very long, and the last hundred pages happen after the mystery is solved. I think the key is that the reader/viewer gets to enjoy Lisbeth’s violence, experience the kicky thrill of justified retribution, in a setting that feels like art. It’s like watching a grindhouse movie at the Ziegfield.
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo could have investigated why the man who Lisbeth sodomizes and carves up is such an animal. It could have given us some insight into how Lisbeth’s father could do such unthinkable things to his own daughter. It chooses not to. This doesn’t make it immoral, or even a bad book. But it does make it hard for me to think of it as art.
And I don’t think I’m just being contrary.
The DaVinci Code provides a good counterpoint to Larsson’s trilogy. For as enjoyable as The DaVinci Code is, very few people take it seriously as literature. The writing is pedestrian (at best), and the characters are paper thin. But it is a fantastic puzzle, with a fascinating underlying story about explosive truths repressed by the Catholic Church for 2,000 years. It’s a great read. Just don’t expect it to show up on a college syllabus anytime soon.
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, however, sets its sights a little higher. The blurb on my copy describes it as a cross between Ingmar Bergman and Thomas Harris (Silence of the Lambs). It aims at a literary audience as well as a mass one, promising the juice of a thriller with the depth of art.
So what is my problem? Well, it’s has to do with the “art” part of that equation.
Before I get any further, let me just say it’s not my intention to hang up a shingle as the anti-Steig Larsson guy. I thought both the book and the movie of Dragon Tattoo were fine, in their way. Larsson is a much better writer than Dan Brown. The book has a nice sense of atmosphere, and some very interesting characters (in the case of Lisbeth Salander, the “Girl” of the title, maybe even a great character). The film of the book is intelligently made and well acted.
There is, however, something very unsettling about the story which, as far as I know, hasn’t been remarked upon. Namely, the brutality.
Some time in the last 20 years, the world of thrillers and police procedurals changed. It is no longer compelling enough for someone simply to murder another person to incite a story. The murders have to be spectacular and grisly. Indeed, a perusal of prime time network TV these days would have you thinking the world is littered with deranged, psychopathic monsters (in truth, murder rates have never been lower).
[SPOILER ALERT –plot from The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is about to be revealed]
This tendency to Grand Guignol is vividly realized in The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. The murders which our heroes investigate are truly ghastly, involving burnings and carvings and a few things involving animals that I have conveniently repressed. The climactic scene takes place in the dungeon of one of the main supporting characters, where he has tortured and murdered dozens of runaway girls, without disturbance, for decades.
Leaving aside the plausibility of this scenario for the moment, let’s just say the world of this book is a brutal one. Maniacs abound, doing savage things. And Lisbeth’s response is savage in turn.
In one scene, we see her anally rape a man and carve words in his skin. In the end, we see a flashback where Lisbeth sets fire to her own father and watches him burn to death, seemingly with no reaction. In the theater where I saw it, people cheered.
Mind you, Lisbeth has the best possible motivation for her violence. In both incidents, she has been horribly victimized and is fighting for her very life. But justifying brutality, and cheering the painful death of the evildoer, is not the realm of art. It’s a revenge fantasy.
There’s nothing wrong with revenge fantasies, per se. They have a long history in every form of storytelling (Charles Bronson made a whole career out of them). Revenge fantasies are popular because they allow you to enjoy violence because the people who the violence is aimed at are so hateful.
In a way, revenge fantasies are like pornography. Just as pornography delivers sex with no complications (no one is ever lonely or sad, the sex is never unsatisfying), revenge fantasies deliver violence free from the ethical queasiness that accompanies actual violence. Put in a cruder way, pornography and revenge fantasies both allow you to get your rocks off without the icky complications of real life.
It is, of course, unfair to compare Larsson’s book, and the well-crafted movie made from it, to porn. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is much more subtle and thoughtful, not to mention being more interested in real people and their problems, than any pornography.
But are the book’s subtlety and thoughtfulness the reason for its staggering success? Especially when you consider the novel is very long, and the last hundred pages happen after the mystery is solved. I think the key is that the reader/viewer gets to enjoy Lisbeth’s violence, experience the kicky thrill of justified retribution, in a setting that feels like art. It’s like watching a grindhouse movie at the Ziegfield.
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo could have investigated why the man who Lisbeth sodomizes and carves up is such an animal. It could have given us some insight into how Lisbeth’s father could do such unthinkable things to his own daughter. It chooses not to. This doesn’t make it immoral, or even a bad book. But it does make it hard for me to think of it as art.
And I don’t think I’m just being contrary.