“A window opens, and I hear the cranes gathering to fly south.”
“At dinner one day, I snapped and asked what the hell the point of life was if I was too old for a dog.”
If you’ve ever had to say goodbye when death is not a thief but a friend who comes in and warms himself by the fire before leaving with a loved one, this novel will crack open your grief like a jar that holds the scarf of a loved one kept so as to maintain the smell. But what it then does with that grief is what makes this novel a heart hug.
Blurbed by Fredrik Backman, Lisa Ridzén’s debut novel, When the Cranes Fly South (English translation: Vintage 2025, translated from the Swedish by Alice Menzies), was a bit of an anticipated novel for me; Backman has never steered be wrong, and there is something about Swedish literature that claims a part of my heart. In short, the novel exceeded my expectations – it got in my blood, the words beating in rhythm with my heart and swimming in salt water. Even now, my throat is getting tight.
Eighty-nine-year-old Bo lives alone with his elkhound, Sixten. His beloved wife, Fredrika, lives in a memory care center where dementia has stolen her memories of him. His days are broken up by visits from carers, who feed, bathe, and give him his medicine. (The novel is broken up by their log entries.) They also walk Sixten when they can. Bo’s son, Hans, has decided that Sixten needs to be rehomed because Bo cannot care for him and it is not the carers’s responsibility. Bo is livid over this decision, even threatening suicide should they take his dog.
The novel takes us from May 18 – October 13, and we watch Bo fading. His memories blur with the present, and we become privy to difficult memories of his father, sweet memories of his wife, complicated memories of his relationship with his son, and the friendship with Ture. As the novel progresses and Bo fades, his memories become more vibrant. While the novel is told from Bo’s POV, with the brief entries by his carers and occasionally Hans, we see so clearly Hans’s quiet desperation, fear, and anticipatory grief.
The carers know what’s coming. Hans knows what’s coming. We know what’s coming. That doesn’t mean it hurts any less.
Ridzén’s idea for the novel came upon discovering notes left by the carers for her grandfather during his final days; his memory and her loss sit tight to you while you read, like a hound leaning into you.
Read this book.
A Girl Named Tommi 