GIRL, 1983

A woman is beset by ghosts.

Following the autofictional Unquiet (2019), evoking the death of her father, filmmaker Ingmar Bergman, award-winning novelist Ullmann meditates on memory, anxiety, and loss in a disquieting tale, gracefully translated from the Norwegian by Aitken. The haunted narrator is 55, with a 16-year-old daughter, obsessed with something that happened to her when she herself was 16, a disaffected high school junior living in New York with her actress mother. By chance, she meets a photographer, K, an urbane 44-year-old who invites her to be photographed in his Paris studio; longing “to be the object, the centre, the focus of another’s desire,” she convinces her mother to let her go. And so, in January 1983, after hastily checking into a hotel, she finds herself in a “bunker-like” studio among tall, skinny models and lecherous men. K hardly notices her, and when a few girls decide to leave, she goes along—unprepared for a decadent club scene. By the middle of the night, she’s alone, not knowing the name of her hotel, lost. The only address she has is K’s apartment, where she turns up at 2 a.m. The photograph he finally takes of her is the image that plummets her into the past. But memory is elusive: “The girl I was unravels whenever I draw near.” She struggles to distinguish “what happened and what may have happened”; she suffers recurring depression; and she is visited by an imaginary sister and the benevolent spirits of writers—Sharon Olds, Anne Sexton, Emily Dickinson—whose words she translates into Norwegian. Finding “the precise word,” she says, helps “to ease the dread." In precise, lyrical prose, Ullmann creates a captivating portrait of a woman in search of herself, caught in a spiral of fear and loneliness.

An engrossing, intimate narrative.