Italian Shoes by Henning Mankell

Italian Shoes by Henning Mankell

Italian Shoes sounded like an intriguing title for a Henning Mankell novel, a departure from the police procedurals he is best known for, so I embarked on it as a sort of neutral “palate cleanser” between other more controversial books. It defied my expectations. The protagonist is an aging, misanthropic former surgeon, Frederick Welin, who self-isolates on a rocky outcrop of Sweden’s remote northern archipelago after a disastrous surgery mistake. For twelve years his only regular contact with the world is the postman who comes on his hydrocopter every week. In winter the ice is so thick even the sea is frozen, and he can walk across to the mainland. The day by day, hour by hour shifts in the weather; the turning of the seasons; the details of every rock and inlet of this barren islet, form not the backdrop but an essential, active agent in the story.

One day, the hermit’s self-imposed isolation is invaded by a woman he brutally abandoned thirtyfive years ago, announcing she is dying of cancer and that he has a daughter he knew nothing about. Now he must face his ugly past, not only with them, but with the patient whose life he ruined on the operating table.

The characters are typically unforthcoming, but when they do engage in long expositions of their feelings, they sound stilted and totally unconvincing. No one speaks like that, not even in Swedish. Also, Mankell spells out every metaphor, even the most glaringly obvious. Finally, a caveat: the book can affect you with its Scandinavian gloom—even on a sunny Carolina day.