Everything must be named, or “marked,” iteratively, or else it dissolves into a “thick paste.” If the inhabitants of this world get careless, if something of theirs turns to “scrap,” it’s at least shameful and at worst, a sign that they just don’t fit in. Medical supplies factory”), and often they also touch the thing, as if to underline.Įven as Tidbeck sets up a world rife with mystery, she establishes its rules. Vanja and the others take time to identify things aloud (“Vegetable refinery. Even the most run-of-the-mill objects bear labels (“WASHBASIN, PANTRY, TABLE”). “Sevenday,” wouldn’t you know it, is set aside for “wholesome fun with family and friends.” But by the novel’s first Sabbath, “wholesome fun” itself seems suspect, and with it, the very act of naming. Granted, most of the time this young woman is referred to simply as “Vanja.” Still, everyone around her turns out to wear a likewise complicated coat of arms.Įach brief chapter of Amatka occupies a successive day-the whole unfolds over a month, ever more disruptive-yet this calendar reads differently from our own: “Firstday,” “Seconday,” and so on. Her first novel in English, termed “speculative fiction” in its publicity materials, sets off speculation with the name of the protagonist alone: Brilars’ Vanja Essre Two.
The work of Swedish fiction writer Karin Tidbeck compels reading for several reasons, not least the intriguing things she does with names.
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