A certified wellness coach and nutritionist passionate about helping others live their best lives through sustainable health practices.
During the late night of April 7 1990, a catastrophic fire broke out aboard the ferry Scandinavian Star, a car and passenger ferry traveling between Frederikshavn and Oslo. Insufficient crew training along with jammed safety doors accelerated the spread of the flames, while toxic hydrogen cyanide gas emitted from burning laminates led to the deaths of 159 individuals. Initially, the disaster was blamed to a passenger—a truck driver with a history of fire-setting. Given that this individual too perished in the fire and was unable to defend the accusations, the full facts about the disaster stayed concealed for a long time. Only in 2020 that a comprehensive investigation revealed the blaze was probably started deliberately as part of an fraud scheme.
Within the first volume of Asta Olivia Nordenhof's epic sequence, Money to Burn, an unidentified narrator is traveling on a public transport through the Danish capital when she notices an elderly man on the sidewalk. As the bus drives away, she experiences an “eerie sense” that she is taking a part of him with her. Driven to repeat the route in search of him, the character finds herself in a setting that is both unfamiliar and deeply familiar. She presents readers to a couple named Maggie and Kurt, whose relationship is strained by the burdens of their troubled histories. In the final pages of that book, it is suggested that the root of Kurt's discontent may originate in a disastrous investment made on his account by a individual referred to as T.
The Devil Book begins with an extended poetic passage in which the narrator explains her challenge to write T's narrative. “In this second volume,” she states, “we were supposed / to trace him / from youth up until / the evening / when he sat anticipating for / the news that / the fire / on the Scandinavian Star / had successfully been / set.” Overwhelmed by the task she has assigned herself and derailed by the pandemic, she approaches the tale indirectly, as a type of parable. “It occurred to me / that I / can do / anything I want / so this / is my work / this is / for you / this is / an erotic thriller / about businessmen and / the dark force.”
A narrative gradually unfolds of a woman who spends lockdown in the UK capital with a near-unknown person and during those weeks tells to him what occurred to her a decade earlier, when she accepted an proposal from a figure who professed to be the evil entity to grant all her desires, so long as she didn't question his intentions. As the elements of the dual narratives become more interwoven, we begin to suspect that they are identical—or at the very least that the nature of T is legion, for there are demonic forces everywhere.
There is another fire here: a passionate, magnetic commitment to writing as a form of activism
Classic stories teach us that it is the devil who makes deals, not a divine being, and that we engage in them at our risk. But suppose the protagonist herself is the devil? A additional storyline comes finally to light—the story of a young woman whose childhood was scarred by mistreatment and who spent time in a psychiatric hospital, under duress to comply with societal norms or endure more of the same. “[This entity] knows that in the game you've set for it, there are two outcomes: submit or stay a monster.” A third way out is ultimately unveiled through a collection of poems to the night that are also a rallying cry against the forces of wealth and power.
Many British audience members of Nordenhof's Scandinavian Star books will think right away of the London tower fire, which, though accidental in origin, shares similarities in that the ensuing disaster and fatalities can be attributed at in part to the dangerous trade-off of prioritizing financial gain over people. In these initial volumes of what is projected to be a multi-volume series, the blaze on board the ship and the chain of fraudulent transactions that culminated in multiple deaths are a sinister background element, showing themselves only in fleeting glimpses of detail or implication yet casting a growing influence over all that occurs. Certain readers may question how far it is feasible to interpret The Devil Book as a independent piece, when its aim and significance are so intricately bound into a broader whole whose final form, at this stage, is uncertain.
There will be others—and I count myself as one of them—who will fall in love with the author's endeavor purely as text, as properly experimental writing whose ethical and artistic intent are so profoundly interlinked as to make them inextricable. “Compose verses / for we need / that as well.” Another kind of blaze exists: a passionate, magnetic commitment to writing as a political act. I intend to persist to follow this literary journey, wherever it goes.
A certified wellness coach and nutritionist passionate about helping others live their best lives through sustainable health practices.