Pussikaljaromaani
Finished Mikko Rimminen’sPussikaljaromaani the other day. It’s quite unlike any book I’ve read in a long time, and as such deserves further examination.
Nothing much happens in the book. People walk and talk, and meet characters even odder than themselves, but in the end it’s just another day in the life - nothing spectacular, and clearly nothing to get enthusiastic about.
So it’s not the story that makes the book, but the language. And considering that this is the author’s first novel, that’s quite an accomplishment. The language indeed flows, twisting as it goes - most sentences containing some element that slightly pokes out, but does not annoy. Adjectives are seen in unorthodox places and uses, the colloquial speech is peppered with unnaturally fitting agrarian and academic terms, and nouns are mercilessly verbed to maintain a tone that never gets stuck on an inappropriately chosen word.
Indeed, this is art, and art that could me interested in poetry - if Rimminen can write prose this well, his poems (two collections published thus far) are bound to get out of the left field.
The book was a contender for the annual Finlandia-award, but did not win. It was also overshadowed by another debut of a novel, Helsinki 12, but beats that in comparison by a mile. This is literature, the other merely pulp carefully packaged into a branded wrapping.
Recommended, without hesitation. Translation of the title? Brown-bag novel comes close, but does not fully hit the mark. Pussikalja means beer that’s bought from a store and drunk outside (usually in a park or other public location).
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