The Summer Book arrived in the dead of winter.
Tove Jansson’s novel is a series of short vignettes about the prickly relationship between a young girl, Sophia, and her grandmother. Over the course of a summer—really a composite summer that stretches across many years—they care for each other on a remote Finnish island while getting on each other’s nerves.
There is a deliberate economy to the book: one setting, one season, a small group of characters. Their world is pared down to water, land, sky, weather, and the occasional visitor, whose arrival is always an event.
“When are you going to die?” Sophia asks Grandmother.
Sophia’s bluntness is precipitated by loss. Her mother has recently died. Without being able to articulate it, she is frightened of losing her grandmother too. Grandmother, aware of that fear, does not rush to comfort her. Instead, she demonstrates her alertness and mobility.
Sophia and Grandmother seem to be old and young at the same time. Sophia can be bossy and scolding; her grandmother often sneaks off alone to play. While Sophia’s father appears in many of the stories, we never hear him speak. They are usually left to their own devices.
When the pair paddles to a neighboring island to inspect a house under construction, Grandmother says, “No well-bred person goes ashore on someone else’s island when there’s no one home. But if they put up a sign, then you do it anyway, because it’s a slap in the face.” “‘Naturally,’” Sophia replies, “increasing her knowledge of life considerably.”
In another story, Sophia, eager to spend her first night in a tent, asks Grandmother about her own childhood. Grandmother tries and gives up, shooing her away. “That’s strange,” she thinks. “I can’t describe things anymore. I can’t find the words. It was such a long time ago. No one here was even born, and unless I tell it because I want to, it’s as if it never happened.”
The natural world is treated with the same matter-of-factness. “One evening in August you have an errand outdoors, and all of a sudden, it’s pitch black. A great warm silence surrounds the house. It is still summer, but the summer is no longer alive.”
I kept the book open on my chest after finishing. Outside, the ground was still covered with snow. I kept seeing an island, and a girl and her grandmother scrambling across the rocks.
