Book Review: When the Cranes Fly South by Lisa Ridzén
There’s something profoundly haunting about the title When the Cranes Fly South that beckons readers to explore the fragility of life and the interplay of memory and loss. As a book blogger, I find myself drawn to stories that subtly resonate with my own experiences, and Lisa Ridzén’s debut novel, touted as a “sensationell debut” and sold in seventeen countries, certainly piqued my curiosity. While it has won many hearts, I must admit, my enchantment with it didn’t quite match the widespread acclaim.
At its core, the story revolves around Bo, an elderly man grappling with the twilight of his life. Living with his dog, Sixten, and periodically visited by his son, Hans, and friends, Bo’s world is increasingly marked by solitude since his wife Fredrika has been placed in a dementia care facility. Addressed to her, Bo’s reflections are woven with a meditative quality, straddling nostalgia and regret, that many readers can relate to—especially those navigating the complexities of aging and familial dynamics.
Ridzén’s writing style captures the physicality of aging with raw honesty—Bo’s moments of vulnerability are explicit, from incontinence to the disintegration of his health. Yet, despite these unvarnished depictions, I felt that Bo’s introspections often leaned into a realm that felt contrived. His thoughts on past relationships and missed opportunities seemed idealized, as if he were channeling an emotional vocabulary that doesn’t resonate with the authentic voice of an elderly man. It’s as if Ridzén’s portrayal of Bo is colored by a younger perspective, one that might romanticize the introspective journey of the elderly instead of presenting them as genuine individuals wrestling with their own complexities.
This brings me to another point worth noting—while the book is peppered with sincere attempts to dive into emotional depth, I found the characters somewhat stereotypical. Bo’s wife and mother represent the perfect matriarchs of a bygone era, eliciting a kind of sentimental nostalgia that feels like a fairytale rather than a reality. There’s a certain charm in these portrayals, but they risk flattening the characters into mere archetypes. Additionally, the supporting cast, from the idealized home care aides to the casually diverse family members, often felt glossed over, leaving you yearning for more nuanced interactions.
One of the most striking comparisons made by the publisher suggests a correlation between When the Cranes Fly South and Kerstin Ekman’s Löpa varg. While Ekman’s seasoned storytelling delves deep into the human psyche, Ridzén’s narrative feels like it’s skimming the surface, making me long for deeper explorations. Perhaps it’s my own journey with grief and loss that makes me less tolerant of the tidy emotional resolutions frequently found in literature. Like you, I want to believe in the beauty of honesty, in the quiet understanding that sometimes, words fall short in expressing love and loss.
That said, I can see this book resonating with readers who appreciate a “feel-good” narrative that leans towards the comforting yet sugar-coated. Ridzén’s prose may not steer one into profound emotional territory as beautifully as other authors like Ingvar Carlsson, but it certainly delivers a reflective journey filled with moments of levity and warmth.
Ultimately, When the Cranes Fly South might appeal to those searching for a glimpse into an alternative reality—one that echoes truths about love, loss, and the complex tapestry of human connection. While it didn’t reach the depths I had hoped for, it did remind me of the profound nature of storytelling: even the simplest narratives can offer shades of understanding, however imperfectly they portray life’s intricacies.
Discover more about When the Cranes Fly South on GoodReads >>