In the early hours of the 7th of April 1990, a devastating blaze erupted aboard the ferry Scandinavian Star, a passenger ferry operating between Frederikshavn and Oslo. Inadequate staff training along with jammed fire doors accelerated the propagation of the fire, while toxic hydrogen cyanide gas released from combusting materials led to the deaths of 159 individuals. Initially, the disaster was blamed to a passenger—a lorry driver with a history of arson. Given that this individual too died in the incident and was not able to refute the accusations, the full truth about the event stayed hidden for a long time. Only in 2020 that a detailed documentary disclosed the blaze was probably started deliberately as part of an fraud scheme.
Within the initial book of Asta Olivia Nordenhof's epic series, the preceding volume, an unidentified narrator is traveling on a bus through Copenhagen when she observes an elderly man on the street. As the vehicle moves away, she feels an “eerie sense” that she is carrying a piece of him with her. Compelled to retrace the journey in search of him, the narrator 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 pasts. In the concluding section of that volume, it is suggested that the root of the character's discontent may originate in a disastrous investment made on his behalf by a man known as T.
This second installment begins with an lengthy poetic passage in which the writer describes her challenge to compose T's story. “In this volume, two,” she writes, “we were supposed / to follow him / from childhood up until / the evening / when he sat anticipating for / the report that / the blaze / on the Scandinavian Star / had effectively been / set.” Overwhelmed by the undertaking she has assigned herself and derailed by the pandemic, she tackles the story obliquely, 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 businessmen and / the devil.”
A tale gradually emerges of a woman who spends lockdown in the UK capital with a near-unknown person and over the course of those weeks relates to him what occurred to her a ten years earlier, when she agreed to an offer from a man who claimed to be the devil to fulfill all her wishes, so long as she didn't doubt his motives. As the threads of the two stories become more intertwined, we begin to believe that they are identical—or at the very least that the nature of T is legion, for there are devils all around.
There is another fire here: a passionate, magnetic commitment to literature as a political act
Literature teach us that it is the dark figure who does deals, not a divine being, and that we enter into them at our peril. But what if the protagonist herself is the devil? A additional storyline comes finally to light—the account of a young woman whose childhood was marred by abuse and who was placed in a psychiatric hospital, under duress to conform with social expectations or suffer more of the same. “[The devil] knows that in the scenario you've set for it, there are two results: submit or remain a monster.” A third way out is ultimately revealed through a series of poems to the darkness that are also a rallying cry against the forces of capital.
Many British readers of Nordenhof's series books will reflect right away of the London tower fire, which, though unintentional in origin, shares parallels in that the ensuing tragedy and fatalities can be linked at in part to the devil's bargain of prioritizing financial gain over people. In these first two volumes of what is planned to be a seven-book sequence, the fire on board the ferry and the chain of fraudulent transactions that culminated in multiple deaths are a sinister background element, showing themselves only in brief flashes of information or inference yet casting a growing shadow over all that occurs. Some readers may doubt how far it is possible to interpret The Devil Book as a stand-alone work, when its purpose and meaning are so deeply tied into a larger narrative whose ultimate shape, at this stage, is uncertain.
Some individuals—and I include myself as one of them—who will fall in love with Nordenhof's project purely as text, as truly experimental writing whose ethical and artistic intent are so deeply interlinked as to make them inextricable. “Write poems / for we require / that as well.” Another kind of blaze exists: a passionate, magnetic devotion to writing as a statement. I will persist to pursue this literary journey, no matter where it leads.