The self-confidence that spread when Beate Grimsrud debuted in 1989 with the short story collection "There are limits to what I do not understand" - it almost ran out of the book into the reader.
This is how you could write , this is how the world could be perceived, prisms in a kaleidoscope that were twisted, flashed, fell into new patterns. The author as the hand and at the same time one with the pattern of the different details. Inside the text.
There is always movement in Beate Grimsrud's writing.
Often it is girls who box, play football, ski or run, who flee the prison of femininity, and humanity, with their bodies as a tool of freedom. In the wonderful childhood portrayal "I sneak past an ax" (1999), Lydia wanted to both become the world's fastest sprinter and manage to capture the seconds taken in the existential era.
Her brothers defeated the ambition: “You can't be the fastest in the world. You can only become the world's fastest lady. " Yet Lydia became a relay runner for the future, a shred of the secret of enduring and understanding the conditions of solitude.
The Border Girl who knows that the living person takes a big risk and became the world's fastest lady through a long but too short authorship - where the last station from last year was called "I suggest we wake up", a novel about the light in an icy diagnosis of death .
The laconic titles at Grimsrud also shine: "Has anyone seen me elsewhere?" or the continuation of the family drama surrounding Lydia: "What is there in the forest child?". It is precisely the sibling that the first era has always included, as in the first novel "Continental Heaven" from 1993 (with a weak "piano bar" above the title of the cover, but only there).
The ticking of time, waiting and trembling , also echoes in the novel "A fool free", about living with schizophrenia, which embodied obsessive thoughts and abyss of author Eli so convincing that it was both widely praised and called a future standard work in psychiatry.
Beate Grimsrud was a writer who wrote the worst so it was fun; playful is a word that does not cover her grasp of the language, but if you add friction we are close to the point where the reader suddenly laughs as in shame to himself.
I think Beate Grimsrud's work is now in the same garden where Kristina Lugn and Anne-Marie Berglund also have a pasture. The fence is missing.