Lisbeth Salander's story, about a 23 year old hacker chic, haunted by a nasty past, in its various renditions, has had electric success for about a decade now. Hey, if you can land Daniel Craig for the U.S. film, you know you're on the money train.
Brainy, Goth chic though only explains part of the appeal of this pop culture cottage industry - three books, with a fourth on the way, films in both Swedish and English, TV miniseries and graphic novels. The franchise, widely identified as The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo series (or, in some circles, the Millennium trilogy), has an additional cultural cache in the strange back story of Lisbeth's creator: Stieg Larsson.
Larsson's story is a tale pregnant with the ironies of, just before. Just before he became a successful novelist, he was a notorious crusader against what he identified as the dark sources of Fascism and plutocracy in Swedish society. And, just before his novelist success produced a rather large personal fortune, he died.
These facts seem to press upon us at least two pertinent questions. One question is: what if he had not died? Might his great wealth, generated by people freely purchasing his books (and tickets for the movies made from his books), have resulted in a revision of his apparent assumption that great wealth was a reliable marker of dissipation and evil? And, the second question: might the two facts from the previous paragraph be related?
On this latter question, there has been some considerable speculation. Larsson seems earlyish in life to have embraced Communism and that creed has always had something of the conspiratorial about it. So it isn't surprising that much of the 80s and 90s for him were dedicated to uncovering the cabal of right wing plotters and crypto-Aryans.
The institutional legacy of all this was Larsson's establishment of a foundation and magazine, which he eventually edited, named Expo. These were pledged to exposing Swedish society's dark forces, its blackguards and villains. Now, don't mistake my tone here; it's not a matter of doubting the existence of such plotters and fantasists. It's just that fantasists are exactly what I think they are. They, no less than their arch enemies, like Larsson, exaggerate their relevance and influence all out of proportion to reality so as to make themselves and their titanic struggle seem of epic consequence. (I feel confident in saying that when barbarism next descends upon Western civilization, it won't be wearing jackboots and swastikas.)
And, for the record, I certainly do not accept that Larsson's death by "heart attack" (as some insist on putting it) on the "anniversary" (my scare quotes) of Kristallnacht means anything. This is just the conspiratorial mind out of control. Now, I grant you, if they'd waited to whack him in 2008; that would have been 70 years since the original night of broken glass. I mean, 70s years. Now, that would be meaningful, right? I mean, it must mean something? Right? Excuse my sarcasm; perhaps you get my point?
Despite my disregard for conspiracy theory, though, strictly from the vantage point of entertainment marketing, Larsson's obsession with extreme right plotters enabled his literary legacy to cash-in big time, providing the sinister milieu for his bestselling and cinematically adapted books. Weirdly, this political paranoia seems to have at least as much currency in America.
It is the conspiracies and debauchery of these right wing Satanist that are exposed by the exploits of super-girl Lisbeth Salander - with the photographic memory, chess-like strategic mind, mathematical skills to make Fermat weep, and the ability to hack into the computers of banks and police departments more or less at will - alongside her journalist sidekick, Mikael Blomkvist. Indeed, in one of the sequels, it appears that maybe coming back from the dead may be added to her list of super hero qualities.
Okay, it is all a bit far-fetched. But whatever stretches of suspended disbelief (or plausible deniability) Larsson may ask of us, the protagonists and their virtuous mission makes for fun reading and viewing. And, hey, there's no success like market success.
Perhaps there's a lesson in this (perhaps even one from which Larsson might have benefited): even a paranoid old commie can tickle the zeitgeist and crack open the jackpot. Though it may be wise for the rest of us to not ponder too carefully what the popularity of such paranoia says about us.
Brainy, Goth chic though only explains part of the appeal of this pop culture cottage industry - three books, with a fourth on the way, films in both Swedish and English, TV miniseries and graphic novels. The franchise, widely identified as The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo series (or, in some circles, the Millennium trilogy), has an additional cultural cache in the strange back story of Lisbeth's creator: Stieg Larsson.
Larsson's story is a tale pregnant with the ironies of, just before. Just before he became a successful novelist, he was a notorious crusader against what he identified as the dark sources of Fascism and plutocracy in Swedish society. And, just before his novelist success produced a rather large personal fortune, he died.
These facts seem to press upon us at least two pertinent questions. One question is: what if he had not died? Might his great wealth, generated by people freely purchasing his books (and tickets for the movies made from his books), have resulted in a revision of his apparent assumption that great wealth was a reliable marker of dissipation and evil? And, the second question: might the two facts from the previous paragraph be related?
On this latter question, there has been some considerable speculation. Larsson seems earlyish in life to have embraced Communism and that creed has always had something of the conspiratorial about it. So it isn't surprising that much of the 80s and 90s for him were dedicated to uncovering the cabal of right wing plotters and crypto-Aryans.
The institutional legacy of all this was Larsson's establishment of a foundation and magazine, which he eventually edited, named Expo. These were pledged to exposing Swedish society's dark forces, its blackguards and villains. Now, don't mistake my tone here; it's not a matter of doubting the existence of such plotters and fantasists. It's just that fantasists are exactly what I think they are. They, no less than their arch enemies, like Larsson, exaggerate their relevance and influence all out of proportion to reality so as to make themselves and their titanic struggle seem of epic consequence. (I feel confident in saying that when barbarism next descends upon Western civilization, it won't be wearing jackboots and swastikas.)
And, for the record, I certainly do not accept that Larsson's death by "heart attack" (as some insist on putting it) on the "anniversary" (my scare quotes) of Kristallnacht means anything. This is just the conspiratorial mind out of control. Now, I grant you, if they'd waited to whack him in 2008; that would have been 70 years since the original night of broken glass. I mean, 70s years. Now, that would be meaningful, right? I mean, it must mean something? Right? Excuse my sarcasm; perhaps you get my point?
Despite my disregard for conspiracy theory, though, strictly from the vantage point of entertainment marketing, Larsson's obsession with extreme right plotters enabled his literary legacy to cash-in big time, providing the sinister milieu for his bestselling and cinematically adapted books. Weirdly, this political paranoia seems to have at least as much currency in America.
It is the conspiracies and debauchery of these right wing Satanist that are exposed by the exploits of super-girl Lisbeth Salander - with the photographic memory, chess-like strategic mind, mathematical skills to make Fermat weep, and the ability to hack into the computers of banks and police departments more or less at will - alongside her journalist sidekick, Mikael Blomkvist. Indeed, in one of the sequels, it appears that maybe coming back from the dead may be added to her list of super hero qualities.
Okay, it is all a bit far-fetched. But whatever stretches of suspended disbelief (or plausible deniability) Larsson may ask of us, the protagonists and their virtuous mission makes for fun reading and viewing. And, hey, there's no success like market success.
Perhaps there's a lesson in this (perhaps even one from which Larsson might have benefited): even a paranoid old commie can tickle the zeitgeist and crack open the jackpot. Though it may be wise for the rest of us to not ponder too carefully what the popularity of such paranoia says about us.
About the Author:
To keep taps on developments in the Stieg Larsson posthumous empire, you need to read Mickey Jhonny on the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo site. Mickey's latest writing includes an insightful review of the Michael Apted's remarkable 7 Up documentary series for Best Documentaries on Netflix -- you don't want to miss it!
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