First published in Sweden in 2024, Liza Ridzen’s debut novel has been a runaway, word-of-mouth success. The English translation landed in mid 2025 and it is now translated into 34 languages. I think its power lies in its simple humanity. Most of us will have experienced, from some angle, at least a bit of what Ridzen presents here.
Bo is an ordinary man of northern Sweden (where Rizden lives). His adored wife, Fredrika is in a care home, so far afflicted with dementia that she no longer recognises him. Having worked for fifty years in a sawmill, Bo now wants to live independently with his beloved elkhound, Sixten. The trouble is that he’s 89 and his health is failing rapidly. It is not safe for him to take Sexten out into the woods, as he always has done, although he tries to repeatedly. At one point Sexten spots an elk and hares off in an attempt to do what he’s bred to do and there’s a tense 24 hours when the dog is missing. Bo is visited four times each day by carers.
The narrative runs on dates like a diary – with third person, quasi stream of consciousness passages in which Bo shares thoughts, memories, views and worries as if he were speaking to Fredrika. Interspersed with that are comments left by carers in the record book. Apparently, that is where the inspiration for this moving novel came from: the written entries left by carers in the report book as Rizden’s grandfather’s approached the end of his life.
Bo is often understandably angry. Who are these people to keep telling him what to do? He won’t shower if he doesn’t want to. Why should he eat if he’s not hungry? And of course he can take his own dog out. He’s been doing it all his life. But, in fact he is powerless as, increasingly his son, Hans, make decisions for him. Bo, inevitably, detests this role reversal and uses sullenness to object because it’s the only strategy he has left.
One of the issues is Sexten who gives Bo huge amounts of comfort as they sleep together on the antique day bed in the kitchen. But of course, the reader knows, that tragic as it is, Hans is right. This is no life for an active dog and he needs to be rehomed with a family who can look after him properly. On the other hand, we also feel Bo’s grief at the prospect of being dogless. Then there’s the issue of the day bed to which he has become attached. Bo refuses to use the bed he formerly shared with Fredrika. Now his son and carers decree that he must have an “adaptable” hospital style bed and, of course, he doesn’t want that either. “This isn’t just about you, Dad” Hans tells him tersely. Bo wonders sardonically why it isn’t – it’s his life and comfort, after all.
Hans is an interesting character whom we meet only through Bo’s eyes, including many memories of his childhood. Bo was always determined to be a much better father than his own bullying father had been. Nonetheless he and Hans have always struggled to talk to each other freely. The reader can see past Bo and recognise that the younger man is doing his best in a difficult situation – especially when they visit Fredrika or attend the funeral of Bo’s best friend, Ture. He can be tactless, bossy or exasperating but he’s a good man and very worried about his ailing father.
We also get a vivid impression of Ingrid, Bo’s favourite carer. She takes the time to talk to him. She jollies him along without being patronising. She even takes Sexten out briefly which is definitely not part of her job.
It’s a beautiful, intensely thoughtful book which I found so riveting that I read it in twenty-four hours.
Next week on Susan’s Bookshelves: Glasgow Boys by Margaret McDonald.
