In the article “Yes, to authors wanting to narrate” in a local newspaper here in Sweden you can read that last Saturday seven younger authors came with a manifest saying that they wanted to make alive and speed up the Swedish prose. They promise that they won’t write detective stories, chic lit-books or do language laboratory experiments for a small circle of language and form interested readers.
Their models were listed in a quite long list of Swedish authors like Selma Lagerlöf, Moa Martinsson, Vilhem Moberg, Karin Boye, Stig Dagerman, Eyvind Johnson, Kerstin Ekman, Elsie Johansson and Inger Alfvén.
They are trying to start a debate about imaginative (pure) literature.
The author of the article writes that he thinks the monstrous boom, lacking all portions, of the detective story literature in Sweden coincides with that the welfare in its original form is dissolved today.
The need for heroes and heroines has never been greater he thinks. And he writes that the evil is always the unknown (concerning the enormous interest in detective stories, see earlier postings on evilness; Miller's and Ingeborg Bosch's view on this for instance). Each new screen version of Beck and Wallander is adding to the prejudices about scoundrels from Balkan and East Europe.
The publishing firms are governed foremost by economies demanding fast profits. The number of serious authors has decreased. There is no longer any room for gentle author souls to slowly mature for bearing fruit in, let’s say, ten years. But so far as to criticizing the publishers’ publication policy no one of the authors of the manifest wants to stretch her/himself. Or even discuss the commercialism’s deep injurious effects on the art of literature.
The quality literature you find in the small publishers…
Yes, why do we need heroes or heroines and scoundrels? Somebody to look up on and somebody to have as scapegoat?
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