In Every Moment We Are Still Alive, the debut novel from Swedish poet Tom Malmquist reads like a grief stricken fever dream, one where the worst thing happens to you, followed by the next worst thing and in the end it is up to you to make sense of it all. This is not a novel built on great dialogue or great characters (although they can be found within these pages) but one of great moods and set pieces. We remember scenes instead of the people within them, who are given names that are easily forgotten once they have made their presence known on the page, but the scenes are written with a furious passion that kind of stuck with me even if it never quite hits the emotional high notes you’d expect from its initial premise. I di not know if this is based on a true story, but I’d bet money that it is, because the narrator and the author shares the same first name. When the book opens up, Tom’s wife Karin’s checkup becomes a frantic battle between life and death, as it shows that she has cancer and the baby must be birthed prematurely. As the baby gets better, Karin’s health quickly declines and she eventually dies. It is a premise we have seen before, but how it drifts between the past and the present, eschewing big monumental life shifts for quiet moments that run the gamut from sweet to petty, the best of which involves the sad story Tom is turning into a book, really sets this book apart from others like it. Like I said before, the other characters even Tom’s dad who plays a big role in the book’s second half seem deliberately two-dimensional, hopefully another way Malmquist is showing the narrator’s (or his) fractured state of mind. This is an energized book that is written from a dark place, but never forgets about the blades of light that seep into our lives when we need them most.
Rating: 4/5
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