A seasoned tech writer and digital strategist with over a decade of experience in helping businesses innovate and grow online.
In the late night of the 7th of April 1990, a devastating blaze broke out on board the ferry Scandinavian Star, a passenger ferry operating between Frederikshavn and Oslo. Insufficient staff training along with jammed fire doors accelerated the propagation of the flames, while deadly cyanide gas released from burning laminates led to the deaths of 159 people. At first, the tragedy was blamed to a traveler—a lorry driver with a history of fire-setting. Since this individual too perished in the incident and was unable to refute the accusations, the full facts regarding the disaster stayed concealed for a long time. Only in 2020 that a comprehensive documentary revealed the blaze was likely started deliberately as part of an fraud scheme.
Within the first volume of Asta Olivia Nordenhof's Scandinavian Star series, the preceding volume, an unidentified protagonist is riding on a public transport through Copenhagen when she notices an elderly man on the street. As the vehicle moves away, she experiences an “eerie sense” that she is carrying a piece of him with her. Driven to retrace the route in search of him, the character enters a setting that is both unfamiliar and strangely known. She presents us to a couple named Maggie and Kurt, whose connection is strained by the pressures of their troubled histories. In the concluding section of that book, it is suggested that the source of Kurt's discontent may stem from a poor investment made on his behalf by a man known as T.
The Devil Book opens with an lengthy prose poem in which the narrator explains her challenge to compose T's story. “Within this volume, two,” she writes, “we were meant / to trace him / from youth up until / the night / when he sat anticipating for / the report that / the fire / on the Scandinavian Star / had successfully been / set.” Overwhelmed by the undertaking she has assigned herself and disrupted by the pandemic, she approaches the tale indirectly, as a form of parable. “I came to think / that I / can do / anything I want / so this / is my work / this is / for you / this is / an erotic thriller / about entrepreneurs and / the dark force.”
A narrative gradually emerges of a female character who spends lockdown in the UK capital with a virtual stranger and during those weeks relates to him what occurred to her a ten years earlier, when she agreed to an proposal from a figure who professed to be the evil entity to fulfill all her wishes, so long as she didn't doubt his motives. As the threads of the dual narratives become more intertwined, we start to believe that they are identical—or at minimum that the identity of T is legion, for there are demonic forces everywhere.
Another blaze is present: a passionate, magnetic commitment to literature as a form of activism
Classic stories instruct us that it is the dark figure who makes deals, not God, and that we enter into them at our risk. But suppose the narrator herself is the malevolent force? A additional narrative comes finally to light—the account of a young woman whose childhood was scarred by abuse and who spent time in a psychiatric hospital, under duress to comply with societal norms or endure more of the same. “[This entity] understands that in the game you've set for it, there are two outcomes: surrender or remain a beast.” A third way out is finally unveiled through a collection of poems to the night that are also a call to arms against the influences of wealth and power.
Many British audience members of the author's series books will think immediately of the Grenfell Tower fire, which, though unintentional in origin, bears parallels in that the resulting tragedy and loss of life can be linked at least partly to the dangerous trade-off of putting financial gain over human lives. In these initial books of what is projected to be a multi-volume sequence, the fire aboard the ship and the chain of deceptive transactions that culminated in mass murder are a sinister background element, showing themselves only in fleeting glimpses of detail or implication yet projecting a growing influence over everything that occurs. Certain individuals may doubt how far it is possible to read The Devil Book as a independent work, when its aim and significance are so intricately bound into a broader narrative whose ultimate shape, at this stage, is uncertain.
Some individuals—and I count myself as among them—who will fall in love with the author's project purely as written art, as properly experimental writing whose moral and creative purpose are so profoundly interlinked as to make them inextricable. “Write poems / for we need / that as well.” Another kind of blaze exists: an intense, attractive commitment to the craft as a statement. I will persist to follow this series, wherever it goes.
A seasoned tech writer and digital strategist with over a decade of experience in helping businesses innovate and grow online.