No disaster book

It is sometimes claimed that a novel must respond to its own premises – be perfected, so to speak – in order for it to be successful. In that case, have Liberty St. by Sindre Mekjan a little while back. The two parallel stories in this reflective debut, meet only half-heartedly in the end. And despite the fact that they both point to a climactic rendezvous from the two planes, they hit the two towers.

It's Monday, September 10, 2001, on Manhattan's upper east side. Emely is the bartender. Njål is in love with a Norwegian on the run from his wife Diane. It's getting late, way too late, before Njål gets to bed. By then, he has already intended – but not accomplished – an infidelity, been tricked around by Emely and the oldest trick in the book, fired a bean and pondered his life as a father of two. "Then he went into the bedroom, snuck under the rug and lay close to Diane's warm body."

At the same time in Washington, a jogging and morning-fresh president utters his first words: "What's wrong, Ross? Did you get too much pussy yesterday, I think you look relaxed? ” The trip goes to a primary school. There the president gets the message. It's early morning, September 11, 2001.

These are the two stories – the president is struggling to cope with the situation as a statesman while Njål tries to save the stumps of a marriage. To collect them, Mekjan resorts to a narrative twist that lets some of the air out of the balloon. He has to let a side story, with only the bartender Emily (and not the main character Njål), be the place where the rendezvous finally occurs. Emely is throwing Molotov cocktails as the president enters the New York Yankees Stadium. It's Emely and the quiet supporting character Moose who are put in irons. Njål is sitting in his usual place – at the bar.

One is forced to ask the following questions: This original move – to strip President George W. Bush of his presidential ham and bring out a man with tears, childhood memories, art experiences, a aching leg and a loss-and-guilt complex after the loss of a little sister – is it just patching?

For what function does it fulfill in relation to the problem narrative of the frame narrative? To Njål and Diane Brende's communicative breakdown? To journalist Njål Brenda's sudden work departure?

It can be tempting to answer "little", and this er a weakness of the book, however Liberty St. shall not be written off with a formalistic puritanical argument. It is daring to forge literature of the most important political event of the last decade. The daring piece tackles Mekjan with ice in his stomach. Because before we get to Yankee Stadium and Emely's Molotow cocktails, both Njål's and George's story has "put problems under debate" – at the same time as they have kept a drive that makes Liberty St. neither dull nor moralistic.

In what Mekjan mixes documentary elements with a narrative voice that looks far into the soul of the two protagonists, a reflection room is created where small people's encounters with the biggest and most brutal world events are at the center.

The first time is characterized by chaos and a sense of unreality – symptomatic enough for the hypermodern man – until you see it on TV: “For the first time, this became reality. It took a form Njål could relate to. It got the stamp of history. It was handed down to him as a categorized fact, ready for archiving under the keywords: tragedy, disaster, war, death. "

Njal rides bikes up and down Manhattan. Reports directly to NRK radio, and tries to understand all the grief reactions he sees around him. All the flags, the patriotism, the hero worship. He worries that people do not grieve as they should: "" Soon everything is back to the old way, "Njål continued and could not help but smile happily… There was no answer to this question, because nothing had changed."

However, he does not dare to be sure. As the smoke subsides, and the paranoia and suspicion grips, Njal struggles between positions and reaction patterns. At one point, the entire American society's struggle over the interpretation and reactions after the terrorist attack has taken up residence in the main character. Around him, secondary characters in the novel mark some extremes. The radical Moose, for example: “They do not understand what they are involved in. There are poor, black men down there crying because some symbols of turbo-capitalism have fallen. It's absurd… Now they suddenly stand there with the American flag in their hands and tears in their eyes. This is not their war. This is the war of the powerful. "

Or Salem, who reacts with a kind of cultural withdrawal in the face of suspicious glances and comments – because he is an Arab: He seems to be radicalized quickly. Become part of the local Muslim congregation. Wearing a beard. Arrested by police. Is he a terrorist?

Emily does not think so. She is concerned about the rights of Arab minorities in the paranoia of the "New Age". Njal is unsure. He is unsure of this, and he is unsure of his own condemnation of the grief reactions: “Njal now understood that the people around him acted as they felt they should act, based on the values ​​they wanted society and their lives to be based on. By mourning the dead, shouting their tributes to those who risked their lives, standing in long queues to volunteer, they ape the reactions that would be expected in a warm, humane society… It went up for Njål that it was not they who had been false and vain, but himself… He had not had enough strength and humility to annihilate himself and take part in the image of America that the mourners had created themselves… He was ashamed of how he, when he was not talking on the radio, had tried to rise above the grief, criticize it, explain it away, downplay everything they were now trying to create ”

This is thought-provoking reading, it is apt to provoke the sworn America-hater, and it provides an important insight into what it might have been like to be in Manhattan in the dramatic months following the terrorist attack. It's something we have a hard time imagining here at home, and it puts the reaction and development of American society in the two years that have come under a new light.

The president, in turn, reads the sport in the newspapers, is unsure of his own appearance and discovers the mysteries of the visual arts in Picassos Guernica: “George took the picture, held it in front of him with straight arms and stared at it with new interest. Out of this carnage had grown a cosmic battle between good and evil, between the bull and this lonely heroic figure who held a torch against the forces of darkness ”.

This becomes the focal point of George's reflections. He constantly returns to the picture and sees more: The woman with the torch is looking at an eye (God) in the picture and George discovers how powerless she is and how inscrutable God's ways can be. He sits up at night, gets lost in childhood memories and backs up to wife Laura. It is, on the whole, a very detailed portrait of a president in the most difficult situation of his life, drawn.

But then there was this with the function. For Diane and Njål's marital problems, the most important narrative is the engine. They argue. Often. And Njål imagines that he will write down what she says in these quarrels: “It felt good and right to document this, but it took several days before he realized that he was about to write himself out of his marriage. ” Then it's Diane who drops the bomb. She is the one who has been unfaithful. Njål goes and ends up with Emily, where he stays. He still looks after the children during the day. Drink beer at the bar in the evening. Finds little to write about. Struggling to understand the events. Put it in a meaningful context.

Needle drinks beer. Becoming uncertain again. What if Salem actually wants something. What if the paranoia is well founded? Njål goes to find out. He steps up at Salem with a revolver given to him by a fanatical abortion opponent. It goes really bad.

At the same time, George is getting ready to throw. He decides to let everything depend on this one pitch in front of New York's baseball crowd. It will be a strike. The crowd cheers:

“BUSH, BUSH, BUSH it sounded from the TV in the small apartment in Harlem where Salem was still staring at Njål and Njål at Salem… Njål felt Salem let go of his wrist. He stood amazed and looked at this man who crouched down, took a few steps back and fell backwards on the sofa, while he pressed his hands against his stomach. "

The fate of the American mentality has apparently gained a victory lord. But then things fall back into place. As if nothing had changed.