Review: Att komma hem ska vara en schlager

Swedish author Per Hagman is probably still best known for his 1991 debut Cigarett, a book that earned him something resembling cult status. His latest novel, Att komma hem ska vara en schlager, follows a young man stumbling through a world of decadence, hangovers, expensive places and broken dreams. Imagine a Lustans Lakejer song stretched to novel length, with more passport stamps and considerably worse judgment.

The presumably autobiographical protagonist illegally raises a falcon in Cairo, reminisces about a youthful excursion to Monaco and repeatedly goes looking for love in precisely the sort of places where any sensible person would know better. It is frequently funny, occasionally absurd and surprisingly engaging.

I’m never entirely sure what Hagman wants us to see when we look at his alter ego. An international playboy? A melancholy romantic? A glamorous refugee from ordinary life? Mostly, he comes across as an urban nomad. A man permanently convinced that happiness is somewhere else, preferably somewhere with palm trees, cheap cigarettes and a bar that stays open until breakfast.

In some ways the narrator reminds me of the Swedish comic Rocky. Both are underdogs with an impressive talent for making dubious decisions, wrecking their own lives and then turning around to tell everyone about it. The disasters become the material. Humiliation becomes anecdote. Given enough time, apparently, even catastrophe makes decent copy.

Some episodes feel exaggerated. Others border on juvenile. Occasionally you want to grab the narrator by the shoulders and suggest that perhaps, just once, he might try staying home, drinking some water and making a sensible decision. But that would rather defeat the point. Because despite all the self-inflicted chaos, I kept turning the pages. There’s something seductive about Hagman’s restless universe of failed romance, nocturnal wandering and the stubborn belief that the next city might finally provide whatever the last one didn’t.

Most likely not a book for everyone, but I enjoyed it. Unfortunately, Att komma hem ska vara en schlager doesn’t appear to be available in English translation. Which is a shame. Then again, translating this particular cocktail of Swedish melancholy, romantic self-destruction and continental posing might require its own warning label.