THE ANTARCTICA OF LOVE
By Sara Stridsberg
Translated by Deborah Bragan-Turner
265 pp. Farrar, Straus & Giroux. $26.
On the fringe of a forest, a anonymous girl lies bare within the black mud, her lungs stuffed with blood and her vertebrae damaged; her killer is slicing her remaining physique components into seven items, placing the remainder into white suitcases. As Stridsberg’s narrator notes within the aftermath of her personal grotesque loss of life, individuals love crime tales, “however actually the one particular person of curiosity to them is the assassin, and naturally the useless girl doesn’t characteristic. Sure, it’s often a lady and he or she is only a transient glimpse, a blur of inexperienced physique, after which she is gone, out of the image, disappearing into the depths of nothingness whence she got here.” In a superbly advised counterpoint to this phenomenon, Stridsberg writes an elegy to the murdered girl’s life, from her standpoint.
Although the crime will get coated extensively within the press (“no different information merchandise that summer time held the identical fascination because the one about my physique in white suitcases”), her id stays shrouded: The killer leaves no hint of the narrator’s physique, the individuals she loves stick with it with out her, and the primary relic of her existence is the passport picture in her homicide file. Stridsberg’s mission is to provide a voice to this girl and the slim world she inhabited, sifting by means of her recollections “as if by means of chilly, clear water” — her first syringe of heroin, the daughter she gave up at delivery, the unintentional drowning of her youthful brother when she was 12, which left her with “a disillusionment so deep, so penetrating,” that she compares it to the “freezing level of blood.”
In a translation from the unique Swedish by Bragan-Turner, Stridsberg recapitulates the picture of the useless woman: As an alternative of “loss of life’s vantage level, the hunter’s angle,” she renders the sufferer’s life in lucid photos from her posthumous perch on excessive, “fluttering up there like a trembling angel.” She writes with chilling poise, sustaining the immediacy of the occasion of loss of life all through the e-book. The narrator regards herself as a “pile of flesh,” revisiting the scene of her homicide over and over to splice it with scenes from her previous life. In the end, she takes consolation in deciding to see her personal decomposing physique as “the precursor to earth and stardust.” Someway the gore mingles with glimmers of hope, and he or she finds decision within the thought that “no matter occurs to us, it has been just one second in eternity.”