Q: Why do you think a story that is so deeply rooted in Scandinavian history found such huge appeal in the international community? MF: I received an answer to that question from a Korean publisher. He said that the issues and conflicts addressed in Hanna's Daughters were, to a wide extent, of current interest in his country--in particular the development from a primitive farming society to an industrial society and then to an information-based society. As far as I know, both research and literary works that examine what this "revolution" has meant for women have been scarce.
Q: Is it your aim, then, to address women's place in this societal evolution?
MF: I view all of my books as a kind of voyage of discovery. With Hanna's Daughters, I wanted to investigate why women in our western society aren't able to help themselves to the rights they have received. Women today have the same educational opportunities as men. Most have their own jobs, make their own money, and have legal rights their grandmothers didn't even dream about. Yet, most of them continue the tradition of thousands of years of humble serving: taking care of their homes, putting their children first, loving their husbands as well as possible, doing the dishes and the laundry, caring for everything and everybody.
With Hanna's Daughters, I wanted to examine the possibility that this was a social inheritance, a pattern that is passed on from generation to generation.
That was the starting point. The answer I thought I could sniff out during the course of the journey was that women are so incredibly dedicated in their love. That was a bit sad, I thought, because what the world needs most of all is precisely that--love.
And then we come to the question of where the line between real love and self-obliteration begins. I should mention that I've written another book with the title If Women Were Wise, the World Would Stop.
Q: For you as a woman writing at the close of the twentieth century, it must have been a challenge to tell Hanna's story. How did you become that character--this woman of such a dramatically different era and mind-set?
MF: Working with Hanna wasn't hard at all. Since her life and experiences were the most distant from mine, she gave me the greatest freedom to invent.
Q: Hanna's story is narrated in the third person, while Johanna's is told in the first. This shift in narration seems very natural as the story progresses through time and history. Although each woman has her own story, there is a subtle sense of a collective voice speaking. When the narrative moves from third to first person, it's as if that collective voice grows louder and surer of itself as it traverses the generations. Can you share your insights regarding this?
MF: I am happy with the way you put it: "a subtle sense of a collective voice speaking." That's exactly what I wanted to achieve by changing storytellers; sometimes in the first person, sometimes in the form of a diary, and so on. I should also mention that the similarity of the women's names is an expression of the collective voice as well. In the Swedish, Finnish, Norwegian, and Dutch editions the title is Anna, Hanna and Johanna.
Q: In many ways, Johanna seemed to be the most objective of all the women regarding her feelings toward her mother, her children, and her spouse. Is this, perhaps, a result of her growing up during such a pivotal period in history, in the flux between the old world and the new? Did she gain a keener sense of empathy because of this?
MF: That's an interesting observation. I haven't seen this phenomenon myself. Perhaps there's some truth to what you say--that people in a time of flux become more objective. And maybe the spirit of the time matters. The time after the war gave birth to a strong belief in the future and a conviction about social improvements.
Q: Can you talk a bit about the element of magic and mysticism in the novel? Does any of this derive from Scandinavian folklore? What about the recurring theme of extraordinary "coincidence"? For example, both Broman and Ragnar died within a week of their mothers, and Ragnar died in the same way as his father. Likewise, Sophia's husband and sons also died under similarly tragic circumstances. What is symbolized by these uncanny occurrences? Is this something you have experienced in your own life?
MF: Naturally, I read most of the research in Sweden on the subject of ethnology (a science that deals with the division of human beings into races and their origin, distribution, relations, and characteristics). This knowledge was put to great use in Hanna's Daughters--in addressing the idea of magic (what we call superstition) and in the patterns of expulsion in what are called cultures of shame, which still exist in smaller communities. In the modern anonymous society, we are kept on a leash out of guilt, not out of shame.
The second part of your question is more interesting, regarding that which you call "extraordinary coincidence." I don't believe in chance. I'm actually childish enough to believe there is a reason for whatever happens to us, that there are connections we can never perceive. You call it mysticism. That's okay by me; I believe life is mystical, filled with riddles science can never explain. You mention that Ragnar's death resembles his father's. One can imagine that Ragnar, like many happy and easygoing people, was carrying a great melancholy. And because of that sorrow he unconsciously chose to get in the way of his friend's bullet when his mother died. His tie to his mother was also extremely strong. But these are psychological explanations, and what good are they?
Q: Hanna's beloved Varmland sofa seems to be a metaphor for Hanna herself, as it travels through generations and homes, always intact, and is incorporated into each new environment. Does Anna's nostalgia for the sofa symbolize an acknowledgment of her grandmother's strength and adaptability, despite her "old" ways and ideas?
MF: The Varmland sofa is a symbol of immense importance to Hanna. It represents the advancement of the poor people from living in cottages to achieving gentry status--in other words, a journey in class. Anna suspected this, and perhaps her decision to keep the old couch was an expression of tenderness and understanding of her grandmother's struggles.
Q: In the Dutch newspaper De Telegraaf, you stated that you studied your family origins to get to know yourself better. By delving into her family's past, Anna says she was looking for home and didn't find it. How does your experience differ from Anna's, and how is it similar?
MF: I haven't read De Telegraaf, since I can't read Dutch, but obviously I didn't make myself clear. What I meant is that every human being eventually reaches a point where he or she wants to know more about his or her childhood: How did I think? What did I grieve? Why was I afraid, angry, happy? What shaped me? This has nothing to do with my personal background.
Q: Do you think that this kind of psychological probe into family history speaks more to women than men? Why or why not?
MF: I don't know. If you visit one of the big family archives in Sweden--as a lot of Americans who originally emigrated from Sweden do--you find just as many men as women there. But if you look at the psychological aspects, it seems to me that women are more interested in the private, the personal, the relationships. Are these patterns that are inherited related to the biology of the woman? I'm not sure.
Q: While we're on this subject, did you discover any interesting stories or facts in your own family history?
MF: In fact, I have a book being published in the United States next year that has autobiographical elements. It's titled Simon's Family.
Q: Broman had an extraordinary love for Ragnar. How was Broman able to rise above the rigid morality of his time and love and embrace Ragnar, a bastard child, as his own?
MF: Broman was a man breaking with a conservative farming society. He did the impossible: as a sole heir he left a big family estate. In other words, he was an exceptionally free person in his time--also free to love a child that wasn't his.
Q: Broman, Arne, and Rickard all ponder the "mystery" of their wives, believing them to be full of secrets that they will never understand. Why do you think these women were so mysterious to their husbands?
MF: But that was the way it was--and is--in our culture. The woman is either a whore or a madonna; she is a riddle that can never be solved; she is seductive and dangerous--the witch and the great good mother.
It's true that it's getting better; today there are some female life partners.
Beneath everything it's probably about sexual fear, the man's fear of being absorbed. Personally, I sometimes find it's the other way around--in my world it's the men who are mysterious (laughs).
Q: Was Johanna and Hanna's lack of true enthusiasm for sex simply a product of the times, or did they not, perhaps, find the true loves of their life?
MF: Sure, it's a question of the times. Women's sexual desire was often shameful. True love seldom reached down to the depths of the people and was probably rare in the upper classes, too. It existed in songs or plays.
Did it have its breakthrough with the movie, the movie kiss? I don't know.
And has this domineering myth made marriages any happier? Is it perhaps even a projection, a dream about him or her filling all my needs, giving me what I never had? I'm sorry, I keep asking questions. I haven't got any answers.
Q: Anna writes that her mother and grandmother had no "language" to free themselves. Aside from financial independence, in what ways do you feel Anna's relationship with Rickard reflects a freedom that was missing in Hanna and Johanna's marriages?
MF: Your question about Anna's relationship to Rickard is interesting. Despite professional and economic independence, intelligence and good education, she's not much freer than her mother and grandmother. If her lack of freedom is a result of her love for Rickard, maybe I was right with my earlier conclusion: Women love too much.
Q: Your honest, unsentimental prose has a beautiful quality of restraint. Was this a conscious attempt to mirror, through language, the mystery and reserve of these three women?
MF: Thank you. I don't know how I do it. I don't work consciously on my language. But I have received many letters from my readers saying the same thing--that there's something in the language that takes them to another world.
Q: Is there any anxiety and expectation surrounding the translation of one of your novels into languages that you do not speak fluently?
MF: I'm not anxious about the translations. You have to rely on translators and publishers to do their best. I stare in surprise at Hanna when she performs in Turkish and Hebrew, and still more when she appears in Chinese and Japanese.
Q: Since Hanna's Daughters is such a worldwide success, do you think that in the future you will write with an international audience in mind?
MF: I don't write for the audience. Maybe it sounds terrible, but I write for the sake of my own joy. And because of my agony. And because of my curiosity about life and the human being.
Q: Do you have any favorite American novels or authors?
MF: Oh, I have many. You have a wealth of good authors. For example, Kurt Vonnegut and Toni Morrison, to mention just a few. Right now I've fallen in love with James Salter's books.
© Copyright 2009 by Marianne Fredriksson. Reprinted with permission by Ballantine. All rights reserved.
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