A different Oslo, or - Novels as historical remnants

 

For several years, I have appreciated the value of novels as windows into the periods in which they were written. By referencing a world known to their contemporary readers but not their future readers, novels are what we might call historical vestiges or remnants, in that they can be used as reliable historical sources if we seek for the right kind of information. 

One example of this function of novels, which I recently came across, is Michael Grundt Spang's Operasjon V for vanvidd ('vanvidd' meaning madness in Norwegian.) Spang (1931-2003) was a crime journalist and wrote several novels. Operasjon V for vanvidd was published in 1968. Although it was turned into a film in 1970, the novel did not make a long-lasting impact in the Norwegian cultural sphere, and Spang is not considered a canonical crime author. Consequently, I am not entirely sure why the novel's title has stayed in my brain ever since I first became aware of it around twenty years ago. Likewise, I do not quite understand what prompted me to borrow this book, although I guess it might have had something to do with my urge to read more Norwegian books. I had only a vague notion of the plot, so I more or less came blind to the novel. It turned out to be a fortuitous choice. 

As I am currently living in Oslo, I want to read as many Oslo-based novels as I can squeeze in among the numerous other books I aim to read in the course of a given years. Luckily, Operasjon V is set in Oslo, and describes a city very far removed from the one with which I have become increasingly familiar in the past two years. The novel contains several familiar place names, but since I have no long-term memory of the city's past and its changes, a lot of the routes described in the book appeared very odd to me, as these are routes that do not appear very logical for someone recently moved to twenty-first-century Oslo. 

The best example of this time-shock, or whatever to call it, came within the first few pages of the book, when describing a Christmas party in a villa near Maridalsvann. This name refers to a lake to the northeast of Oslo, which is the main source of the city's drinking water, and which lies quite a long way away from the city centre. As the clock is nearing half past 8, the host reflects to himself that in about an hour he will have to call a taxi so that some of his guest will be able to catch a plane at 11 in the evening. My first reaction to this detail was disbelief, as I could not imagine how anyone could get from that part of town to the airport in so little time. I was then reminded that not only was the general traffic and the number of passengers on a considerably lower scale in 1968 than what they are today, but the airport was elsewhere, namely very close to the city centre. Nowadays, the Oslo airport is Gardermoen, located around 45 minutes by train from the city centre, and to get there by car will require more time, especially in winter. In 1968, however, the airport was Fornebu, located by the shore of the Oslo fjord, and not a very long way from the main part of the city. I was, in other words, reminded that despite my two years - and counting - in this city, I have not yet begun to understand it, because I have not lived through its changes. Thanks to novels, however, I am gradually getting a better sense of what is currently my home city.