Sophie’s World.

Jostein Gaarder’s 1991 novel Sophie’s World was a global best-seller and has long ranked among my wife’s favorite books for its mixture of narrative, metafiction, and a crash course in the history of philosophy. It’s probably better at the last of those three things than it is at the first, as the prose is a little clumsy and the characterization is weak, but for the reader who has virtually no background at all in philosophy, like me, it’s a lot better than going back to school to learn the basics.

In the novel, Sophie Amundsen, a 15-year-old high school student in Norway, starts receiving mysterious letters and packages at her house that introduce her to philosophy, starting all the way back with the ancient Greeks. These letters turn into videos and face-to-face meetings with Alberto Knox, a philosophy professor of sorts who seems to have made it his mission to teach Sophie how to think about thinking. The course, such as it is, runs from the Greeks through the Romans, Jesus Christ (treated primarily as a philosopher rather than as a religious figure), St. Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, the Renaissance, the Enlightenment, the Age of Reason, and on through Marx and Freud almost to the present day. Sophie is a quick study – the book would be rather tedious if she weren’t – but still careens from one philosopher’s perspective to another as Alberto emphasizes both the differences and the common points between classic thinkers.

As their course continues, however, a second storyline emerges, a mystery of sorts regarding a girl almost exactly Sophie’s age named Hilde whose father is serving in a UN peacekeeping mission in Lebanon. Hilde’s father is sending her birthday wishes and messages by way of Sophie, even though neither Sophie nor Alberto knows who she is, and rudimentary attempts to find her prove fruitless. The resolution to this subplot takes up the second half of the novel, but almost any discussion of it would spoil it for readers. I’ll probably go too far by even saying that Gaarder delves into metafiction that reminded me of Jasper Fforde’s work – I imagine Fforde read Sophie’s World before embarking on the Thursday Next and Nursery Crimes series – and starts to blur the lines between reality and fiction in a way that further demonstrates the metaphysical questions tackled by philosophers in the last five hundred years.

Where Gaarder falls short is in characterization, as the emphasis on the novel’s didactic side detracts from development of anyone, even Sophie or Alberto or Hilde when she finally shows up in the text. Gaarder hooks the reader with the question of who’s who and what’s what, but that narrative greed is driven by the vast nature of the questions he’s asking, not by any strong reader interest in the fates of the main characters.

That flaw was significant, but I still found the book compelling because of how quickly and clearly Gaarder moves through several millennia of philosophy, even if the treatment is perforce superficial. As someone who couldn’t tell Hume from Hegel before reading Sophie’s World and who wasn’t about to head to night school to figure it out, I enjoyed getting that cursory education in a fast-moving work of fiction. As popular novels go, it’s quite erudite even if the characters are weak.

Next up: I just finished Ann Patchett’s State of Wonder, a return to form for her after her dismal last novel Run, and have started Robert Tressell’s 1914 novel The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists, an explicitly political novel arguing in favor of socialism.

Don’t Look Back.

Reader Abel Wang was kind enough to first recommend and then lend me a copy of Karin Fossum’s Don’t Look Back, a straightforward detective novel that won the Glass Key Award for the best detective novel written by an author from any of the five Nordic countries.

Don’t Look Back is a very quick read, and I knocked it off in a few subway trips over a 24-hour period in New York City. The main character, Chief Inspector Konrad Sejer, isn’t the hard-boiled type I like most (Philip Marlowe, Sam Spade), but is more of a stoic without a strong personality trait to define him. He’s a young widower and a grandfather, and both characteristics bring some touches of humanity to his approach to this particular case, but given that he’s the central character and now has appeared in a series of detective novels that followed this one, he could use something to set his character apart.

The story is set in a small Norwegian town, where a fifteen-year-old girl is found dead near a lake, her body naked except for an anorak laid on top of her. What set this novel apart from most mass-market detective books was the gradual unfolding of the back story behind the victim and behind the various suspects and witnesses Sejer and his partner Skarre interrogate. Most pulp detective novels today unfurl the story in a small number of very large discoveries, wow moments that seem more designed for a film adaptation or just to shock the reader into feeling excited. Fossum instead brings out the details slowly, in small doses, often presenting them as facts without immediate relevance, which strikes me as a lot more realistic and is definitely a lot less contrived.

Fossum also manages to fold in small details about characters who ultimately have nothing to do with the resolution of the main mystery, but whose interactions with Sejer lead to something small further down the line – for example, when he interviews a Turkish family that has had some trouble assimilating into the community, the father offers a suggestion for Sejer’s eczema … and several chapters later, in an offhand sentence, it appears that Sejer has followed his advice, implying even that Sejer went to the family’s store to pick up the folk remedy in question.

This subtle, fine-pointed approach has an obvious downside, which is that readers used to the big wow are going to find the book dull and the climax anticlimactic. That approach felt a lot more real to me than the constant crescendos of the typical detective novel and of the typical TV crime drama, and I enjoyed the way Fossum depicted Sejer slowly gaining understanding through diligence and through dialogues with his partner. While I prefer the stylings of Hammett and Chandler, for a more contemporary and straightforward detective story, Don’t Look Back was right in line with what I like to read.