I read my first book by Bodil Malmsten in 2006. I can’t say that her texts were what made me decide to start a blog, but she was definitely in the mix of all the influences that finally made me take the step. Inspired by Bodil, and the newness of it all, I launched into a winter and spring of intense, voluminous blog post writing – a period only barely surpassed in volume by the three travel writing episodes that I’ve had (from Bolivia, North America and Europe, respectively).
Ever since that spring, when I’ve not been on the road, I’ve never really managed to muster up that energy again. I’ve had university and all the intellectual drainage that that entails – I’ve simply prioritized other things.
I’ve not read Bodil Malmsten either. She started annoying me a little, her anger and irritation, the very statement-like way of her writing. Also, once I’d read all her blog and essay books, going on to her novels and poetry didn’t really tempt me. I moved on to new literary discoveries.
Some time ago, though, I went to the library to browse the shelves (an activity that always gives me so much pleasure), and found a new blog book of hers. I decided to borrow it. What a reawakening! I could still see those flaws, they were not gone, but not having read her for such a long time made me enjoy the good parts way more than the bad parts annoyed me. It is easy reading, but smart, and in no way simple. It is concise, prosaic and detailed. She has the ability to make you feel you know her, with very few words. It is brilliant, and I love it.
In “Och en månad går fortare nu än ett hjärtslag”, she writes:
But I am not going anywhere, I am going to write.
Why I write, I do not know more now than when I learned how to write, I suffer when I write but if I don’t write I suffer even more. When I write I have writing panic, when I don’t write the life panic roams freely.
The writing is somewhere to go to, I feel more at home by a keyboard and a screen than anywhere else.
And it makes me think, considering the amounts of text that I’ve been producing these last two months, that maybe I’m the same. I’m not saying that I’ve been happier, not by far, but there has been a feeling of contentment lately. A feeling of relief.
I’m rarely as content and my heart rarely as light as when I’ve just finished a blog post. Finishing a paper for university is not at all the same, because once turned in, I start worrying about what I forgot to include, and journal writing is just a way to gather my thoughts.
No, blog writing and exercise+sauna. Those are my feel-good-activities.
And Bodil Malmsten is now (again) the writer that I’ve read the largest number of books by: a total of 14. That’s four more than by the writer that comes in on second place, Tove Jansson.
Katja Malmborg 