In the early hours of the 7th of April 1990, a catastrophic blaze broke out on board the ferry Scandinavian Star, a passenger ferry traveling between Frederikshavn and Oslo. Inadequate crew preparedness along with jammed fire doors accelerated the spread of the flames, while deadly hydrogen cyanide gas released from combusting materials caused the loss of 159 people. Initially, the tragedy was attributed to a passenger—a truck driver with a record of fire-setting. Given that this individual too died in the incident and was not able to defend himself, the complete facts regarding the disaster stayed hidden for a long time. Only in 2020 that a detailed investigation disclosed the fire was likely set deliberately as part of an fraud scheme.
Within the initial book of Nordenhof's Scandinavian Star sequence, the preceding volume, an unnamed protagonist is traveling on a bus through the Danish capital when she observes an elderly man on the street. As the vehicle drives away, she feels an “eerie sense” that she is taking a piece of him with her. Driven to retrace the journey in search of him, the character finds herself in a landscape that is both unfamiliar and deeply familiar. She introduces readers to Maggie and Kurt, whose relationship is strained by the burdens of their conflicted histories. In the final pages of that book, it is suggested that the source of the character's discontent may stem from a disastrous financial decision made on his behalf by a individual known as T.
The Devil Book opens with an lengthy poetic passage in which the narrator explains her struggle to write T's story. “Within this volume, two,” she writes, “we were supposed / to trace him / from childhood up until / the evening / when he sat waiting for / the report that / the fire / on the ferry / had effectively been / ignited.” Overwhelmed by the undertaking she has set herself and disrupted by the pandemic, she tackles the tale indirectly, as a type of parable. “I came to think / that I / can do / anything I want / so this / is my book / this is / for you / this is / an erotic thriller / about entrepreneurs and / the devil.”
A narrative slowly emerges of a female character who experiences lockdown in London with a near-unknown person and over the course of those days relates to him what happened to her a decade before, when she agreed to an offer from a figure who professed to be the devil to grant all her wishes, so long as she didn't question his motives. As the threads of the two stories become more intertwined, we start to suspect that they are one and the same—or at minimum that the nature of T is legion, for there are devils everywhere.
Another blaze is present: an ardent, compelling dedication to literature as a political act
Literature teach us that it is the devil who makes bargains, not God, and that we engage in them at our risk. But suppose the protagonist herself is the malevolent force? A additional narrative comes finally to light—the account of a young woman whose childhood was marred by mistreatment and who was placed in a psychiatric hospital, under duress to conform with social expectations or suffer more of the same. “[This entity] knows that in the scenario you've set for it, there are a pair of results: surrender or stay a beast.” A third way out is ultimately unveiled through a series of poems to the night that are simultaneously a call to arms against the forces of wealth and power.
Many British audience members of the author's Scandinavian Star books will think immediately of the London tower tragedy, which, though unintentional in origin, shares similarities in that the ensuing disaster and loss of life can be attributed at in part to the dangerous trade-off of prioritizing profit over human lives. In these initial books of what is projected to be a multi-volume sequence, the blaze on board the ship and the series of deceptive transactions that culminated in mass murder are a ominous underlying presence, showing themselves only in fleeting flashes of information or inference yet casting a growing influence over everything that transpires. Some readers may doubt how much it is possible to interpret The Devil Book as a independent piece, when its purpose and significance are so deeply bound into a broader narrative whose final form, at this stage, is unknowable.
Some individuals—and I count myself as one of them—who will fall in love with the author's project purely as text, as truly experimental literature whose moral and creative intent are so deeply entwined as to make them inextricable. “Compose verses / for we require / that too.” Another kind of blaze exists: a passionate, attractive devotion to the craft as a political act. I intend to persist to follow this series, wherever it leads.
A passionate sports journalist with over a decade of experience covering Italian football and local Turin events.