Milla, the teenaged daughter of an adored Norwegian photographer, joins the Brodal family at Mailund for the summer as an au pair. Siri, busy with her restaurant and frustrated with her marriage, and Jon, desperate to write the final novel of his trilogy and to keep secret his adulterous entanglements, entrust Alma and Liv to Milla. She is adoring and enthusiastic, if a bit young and striving. The arrangement is quaint enough until Siri announces,

Something was wrong . . . It had to do with Milla. Or something else. But Milla definitely had something to do with it.

With this equivocating shift, the house takes on a discomfiting air, and the reader begins to see the structure糖心传媒攂oth of the summer home and the book writ large糖心传媒攕lightly askew. Mailund, unsettled, takes an uneasy disposition to the forest around it. What was familiar and comforting, so known, is rendered strange, even nefarious糖心传媒攊t begins 糖心传媒渢o shine with an almost uncanny glow.糖心传媒� So too, Ullmann糖心传媒檚 plot.

Milla is dead. In fact, we found her body on page one. By page two, we knew her killer. The facts had been cleared, the mystery solved, and the summer at Mailund, it seemed, was set to continue. We quickly understand, however, that these neat solutions only stage a more imperative, central problem. In finding a clear culprit for the violent death of Milla early in the novel, Ullmann subverts the traditional thriller structure, mirroring the uncanny rendering of Mailund, and foregrounds the The Cold Song糖心传媒檚 primary mystery: what motivates the cruelties we inflict on each other? The upended organizing principles of the crime drama at the core of Ullmann糖心传媒檚 story give us the structure through which to engage a more inscrutable accounting of the self.

The brutal and violent nature of Milla糖心传媒檚 suffering puts in relief the more pervasive, malignant suffering that occurs within a familial and marital dynamic grounded in concealment and withholding. An investigation of the first prompts an investigation of the latter as Ullmann糖心传媒檚 characters come to terms with Milla糖心传媒檚 murder. These interrogations upset the emotional stasis just barely holding the Brodal family together. Their effects are most poignantly and heartbreakingly expressed by an exchange between Jon and Siri. Long sleeping in separate rooms, the husband and wife begin texting each other photos of banal objects, Siri from bed and Jon from the couch. Jon pleads, 糖心传媒淐an I come and lie next to you? / I miss you. / I can tell you stories.糖心传媒� Reaching out through a weak and weakening cell signal, Jon is investigating what is left of his marriage to be saved. Alas, Siri has fallen asleep, and his pleas remain unanswered.

Ullmann糖心传媒檚 deft and elegant pacing furthers her drive toward an emotional reckoning. Deploying the mechanisms of a whodunit, Ullmann details the marital and familial dysfunction of the Brodal clan as a crime might be plotted. She reveals and withholds, keeping her obscure object in tension throughout. This project is further facilitated by Ullmann糖心传媒檚 attentive ministrations on the line. She is both economic and rhythmic, her prose tight but never unnatural as she narrates the interior lives of her characters. Here, Ullmann quietly displays her brooding mastery as Siri navigates her discovery of Jon糖心传媒檚 infidelity:

And there was me thinking that we were the exception, that you were my one and only, and I was your one and only, and that the disaster that strikes everyone else, the most embarrassing of all thinkable disasters, the most humiliating and the most banal, the kind of disaster that we laugh about when it strikes others, would never strike us.

Siri confronts the hubris of love and the pain of relationships, cycling through and ultimately transcending clich茅 under Ullmann糖心传媒檚 able hand. Jon糖心传媒檚 adultery is the great crime of Siri糖心传媒檚 life, more odious even than the cold-blooded murder of Milla. We are directed again from the external action of the novel to the tacit emotional crimes we commit against one another.

In Linn Ullmann糖心传媒檚 The Cold Song, the language of love tires of us, and we tire, in turn, of love, bowing like the sinking rafters of Mailund糖心传媒檚 great frame. How many petty crimes of deceit before we learn? The mystery, it seems, will continue to evade us.

David Richardson is a writer, editor, and teacher based in New York. Here’s the beginning of his review:

Linn Ullmann糖心传媒檚 The Cold Song, her fifth novel, is built much like the house about which its story orbits: Mailund, a stately white mansion set in the Norwegian countryside a few hours drive from Oslo. The house, nestled into the forest and cloaked in mist, belongs to the past; it has been the summer home of the Brodal family for generations, and their annual descent has endowed it with the wonder and deep mythos of childhood and family identity. The structure comes to the reader as familiar糖心传媒攚e know it from Nabokov糖心传媒檚 childhood summers at Vyra in Speak, Memory, and from the Ramsay糖心传媒檚 retreat in Virginia Woolf糖心传媒檚 _To the Lighthouse_糖心传媒攁nd so the beams of Mailund are as laden with our memories as they are with that of Siri, Jenny Brodal糖心传媒檚 daughter, now staying at the estate with her husband Jon and their children Alma and Liv.

Milla, the teenaged daughter of an adored Norwegian photographer, joins the Brodal family at Mailund for the summer as an au pair. Siri, busy with her restaurant and frustrated with her marriage, and Jon, desperate to write the final novel of his trilogy and to keep secret his adulterous entanglements, entrust Alma and Liv to Milla. She is adoring and enthusiastic, if a bit young and striving. The arrangement is quaint enough until Siri announces,

Something was wrong . . . It had to do with Milla. Or something else. But Milla definitely had something to do with it.

For the rest of the review, go here.

This match was judged by Hal Hlavinka, bookseller and events coordinator at Community Bookstore in Park Slope.

For more information on the Women’s World Cup of Literature, click here or here. Also, be sure to follow our and like our And check back here daily!

I糖心传媒檒l be up front and say that this match is a bit one-sided, and was something of a surprise for this judge: Veronique Tadjo糖心传媒檚 agile book Queen Pokou (C么te d’Ivoire) managed to handily rout Linn Ullmann糖心传媒檚 brooding novel The Cold Song (Norway). So what happened to the Norwegians?

The Cold Song stumbles out vicious and sloppy from the start. Somewhere between thriller and family drama, but with the conviction of neither, Ullmann糖心传媒檚 novel is humorlessly peopled by people one would rather not spend time with. There糖心传媒檚 Siri, the mother and shrew, overworked and undersexed, spread too thin as narrative glue but the narrative糖心传媒檚 glue nonetheless. There糖心传媒檚 Jon, the father and blocked novelist (there糖心传媒檚 a specter haunting Norwegian literature), who simply cannot seem to write a word or stop constantly cheating on his wife. Then there糖心传媒檚 Jenny, the drunken grandmother; and Alma, the disgruntled teen; and her sister Liv, who lives a life in fifty words or less. Oh, and of course, don糖心传媒檛 forget Milla, the au pair whose brutal rape and murder at the hands of the sociopath K.B. occasions this whole ordeal. More on Milla in a bit.

As a thriller, The Cold Song relies on the smallest suspicion that a family member may have snuffed out the babysitter. Did Siri uncover an affair? Is Jon covering one up? Did Jenny get soused and commit a hit-and-run? When, halfway through, we learn that糖心传媒檚 not the case, and that an Evil Villain is at the heart of Milla糖心传媒檚 disappearance, everything falls back on the shoulders of the family drama. The floodgates open, and these banal voices yell and fuck and drink, revisiting their own pasts糖心传媒� traumas and indiscretions without ever really coming into emotional contact. Great novels are built on less, but Ullmann never takes these relationships into dangerous waters糖心传媒攏othing is real or unreal, challenging or exciting or terrifying enough. All seems static and half-sketched and grey. What some have called nuanced, I糖心传媒檓 calling flat.

And then there糖心传媒檚 the rape and murder at the center of it all. Given the Scandinavian crime genre糖心传媒檚 fascination with the brutalization of women糖心传媒檚 bodies, one might read Ullmann糖心传媒檚 take as a kind of critique, and I don糖心传媒檛 think that糖心传媒檚 wrong; yet it糖心传媒檚 tired, tiring, to trudge through one more rape-as-narrative-engine novel, hell bent on having us act as witness while, at the same time, flattening the act糖心传媒檚 social and political and cultural machinations. Furthermore, Milla spends much of the book missing, her rape and murder disclosed only to the reader, leaving the cast to dwell in their petty, simple miseries. One wonders if any of it was really necessary, the extremity wedged inside such a timid story, and, at the conclusion, Ullmann sacrifices complexity for a simple Bad Things Happen tact.

Queen Pokou plays a different, smarter game altogether. Of course the general caveat: it糖心传媒檚 hard to compare the two books, considering their drastically different approaches to narrative. But follow Tadjo糖心传媒檚 epic-in-miniature close enough, and it糖心传媒檚 clear, at least to this judge, who the winner is.

Queen Pokou adapts a sweeping, legendary tone to recast the story of Queen Pokou糖心传媒檚 sacrifice of her child, a foundation myth for the Baoule, the largest tribe in modern C么te d’Ivoire. In the story, Pokou escapes assassination from the invading Ashanti Confederacy and flees slavery with her people, making the long journey west to the Komoe River. At the river糖心传媒檚 edge, with no way to cross and troops closing in, a priest proclaims that a sacrifice is required for the tribe糖心传媒檚 survival. Pokou throws her infant into the dangerous waters, screaming, “Ba-ou-li: the child is dead!,” after which a giant tree crashes down to form a bridge. The tribe passes into safety, settling to farm in exile and taking the name Baoule in honor of the queen糖心传媒檚 sacrifice. This is the basis for the legend, and the first story that appears in Tadjo糖心传媒檚 narrative.

Here, it糖心传媒檚 important to note Queen Pokou糖心传媒檚 subtitle: Concerto for a Sacrifice. The lead voice in the orchestra, Pokou糖心传媒檚 story is not a static note, held indefinitely unto silence, but has melody, rhythm, and counterpoint. For Tadjo, the foundation myth is just that: a foundation upon which to construct something new. In the novel糖心传媒檚 second part, “The Time of Questioning,” the narrative begins teasing apart the emotional and ethical dimensions of such a sacrifice; suddenly we糖心传媒檙e in the realm of speculation. One variation of the story sees Pokou sparing her infant only to throw herself to the waters to become an ocean goddess; in another, the queen refuses a sacrifice altogether, and the tribe is brutally captured and shipped across the Atlantic Passage into new world slavery; yet another variation reframes the sacrifice as a rejection of motherhood and a bid for power.

By turns fantastical and terrifying and chilling, each new variation looks at the foundation myth from a new vantage point, testing the Queen糖心传媒檚 decisions and motives by shifting the variables. Tadjo糖心传媒檚 language finds rhythms and repetitions that build in force, turning her mythic tone into something more terrestrial. Indeed, the real power of Queen Pokou is in the way that this tonal shift occurs, in how, variation after variation, Tadjo invokes the traumas of the African eighteenth century糖心传媒攕lavery, colonization, and civil war糖心传媒攖o deconstruct and humanize the legend. I糖心传媒檓 not sure how many of my fellow judges in this tournament will be so affected by Veronique Tadjo糖心传媒檚 Queen Pokou, but I, for one, wish the C么te d’Ivoire luck.

C么te d’Ivoire: 3
Norway: 0

Next up, C么te d’Ivoire’s Queen Pokou will face off against either The Hottest Dishes of the Tartar Cuisine by Alina Bronsky (Germany) or The Happiness of Kati by Ngarmpun (Jane) Vejjajiva (Thailand) on Tuesday, June 23rd.

Tomorrow’s match will be judged by Florian Duijsens and is a big one, featuring China’s The Last Lover by Can Xue (recent winner of the Best Translated Book Award) against New Zealand’s much praised The Luminaries by Eleanor Catton.