'The Unpredictability of Being Human', by Linni Ingemundsen: Blog Tour & Guest Piece.
You readers may have seen on here recently that I read a wonderful selection of YA, all with incredibly strong voices. This book, 'The Unpredictability of Being Human', was definitely one of the absolute best of that bunch.
'Meet Malin, a fourteen-year-old who sees the world differently. Malin knows she couldn’t change much about her life, even if she got to play God. Her dad would still yell all the time – especially as Malin is still friends with Hanna, the girl she met shoplifting. Her mum would still say a glass of wine is good for her heart – and Mum needs it, with Malin’s brother, Sigve, getting into trouble all the time.
If she were God for a day, Malin wouldn’t imagine changing much. Because stuff's okay, mostly. And if He could fix the world, wouldn't he have done it already?
And Malin would still be Malin. Because she can’t be anybody else.
In a voice bursting with immediacy and truth, Malin shares the absurdities of growing up and fitting in as her family struggles with the buried pain of mistakes made and secrets kept.
Profound, compassionate and as funny as it is dark, Malin’s story is an offbeat examination and celebration of the brutal, bizarre and beautiful unpredictability of being human.'
***
Also, this book contains the best opening sentence I think I have ever read:
'If I got to be God for one day, the first thing I’d do would be to microwave a bag of popcorn to perfection.' https://t.co/DCzxCgcgcB— Grace Latter (@_gracelatter) January 14, 2018
***
Linni
Ingemundsen is the author of 'The Unpredictability of Being Human' (Usborne). A story for the outsider in every one of us. A portrait
of small-town Norway, a community that sings with pain, humour,
and a whole lot of nothingness, told through the eyes of a
unique teenage girl.
Here
is Linni’s intro to her favourite part of the story:
After
a session at my MA Creative Writing course at Oxford Brookes some of
my coursemates suggested that there might be some sort of sexual
tension between Malin and her cousin Magnus. (WHAT?) This completely
freaked me out, because that was obviously never my intention. (I
mean, WHAT?) Malin’s love interest is clearly Ruben! In chapter
nine Malin has interactions with both of these characters. The reason
I added the bit about the ornaments was an attempt to make it clear
who Malin really likes. It’s okay for one of them to mess with
Mom’s precious porcelain figurines. It is not okay for the other. I
like this part because it didn’t feel like I was trying too hard
when writing it and I wasn’t trying to please anyone. Everything
just came together naturally and I felt that I achieved what I wanted
the to do.
We don’t get much snow here in Haasund during
wintertime. Mostly we just get a lot of rain. And frost.
So I was excited when it started snowing the other day.
I watched it from my bedroom window. It came down
slow and gentle and covered Thorstein Street like a white
blanket. I hoped that it would stay for a while, but I knew
that it wouldn’t, because Sigve had already told me that it
would melt the next day and he’s always right about
everything.
At 2.47 p.m., Magnus came over. He was carrying his
Converse messenger bag, so I guessed he’d come straight
from class. I showed him into the living room but he didn’t
sit down. He just went around the room picking things up and looking at them for a little while, before putting them
back in place. He acted like it was the first time he had
been to our house.
“How’s it going?” he said as he picked up one of my
mom’s porcelain birds from the shelf above the TV.
“Fine,” I said.
He fiddled with the bird in his hand and I was nervous
that he would break it. My mom loves her porcelain
figurines.
“Will you stop messing with that?” I took the bird
from his hand and put it back between the giraffe and the
polar bear.
“Hey, thanks for not dying the other day,” Magnus said.
“Don’t mention it.”
Magnus laughed. “Seriously though, I am glad you
are okay.” He shrugged. “You’re like a little sister to me,
you know.”
I just smiled, because I’m really glad Magnus isn’t my
brother. If he was, he would hate me.
“Hey, check this out.” Magnus took out his phone and
showed me a photo of a really old-looking orange moped.
“It’s a Vespa Bravo. An original one from 1982. Isn’t
it cool?”
It looked like a piece of junk.
I shrugged. “I guess.”
“My mom said I could have it. As an early birthday
present.”
“But you already have a bike.”
“But I want another one.”
Then Sigve came in. He said a quick hello to Magnus
before turning to me. “I know that you know,” he said.
“When are you going to tell Mom and Dad?”
As usual, I had no idea what he was talking about. So I
kept my mouth shut, hoping the mystery would be
revealed if I just let him keep talking.
“If you are planning on telling them, why don’t you
just do it? What do you want? Money?”
I kept staring at him. His icy blue eyes were locked
on mine. He didn’t blink. Neither did I. Then Sigve
reached into the back pocket of his jeans and took out his
wallet. He fished out a hundred-kroner note and held it
out to me.
“This is it. I am not giving you any more. Take it or
leave it.”
I didn’t know what I was leaving, so I took it. Then
Sigve said a quick “See you later” to Magnus, before going
back down to the basement.
“What was that about?” Magnus asked.
“I couldn’t tell you.”
“Secret?”
I nodded. It was so secret that I didn’t even know
myself.
“What is he up to these days anyway?” Magnus wanted
to know. “I hardly ever see him any more. I haven’t even
seen him around school or on the train in weeks.”
Magnus and Sigve both attend upper secondary school
in Bryne, which is the closest city, and they have to take
the train to get there. They are not in the same class
though, because they are doing different courses.
I shrugged. “I don’t know.” Like anyone tells me
anything.
Magnus stuck around for a while, and we watched TV
and drank blueberry squash. My cat Oscar was playing
with some dead flies on the window sill. “That’s the only
type of fly that cat will ever catch,” Magnus said. “Man,
he’s fat!”
At 3.29 p.m. Magnus got up from his chair and said,
“I better get going.” Before leaving the room he turned
and did a two-finger salute, like a scout or something.
“Catch ya later.” He can be really corny sometimes.
Shortly after he left, the doorbell rang. I sighed to
myself as I got up to open the door. What did Magnus
forget this time?
But when I opened the door it wasn’t Magnus who
stood on my doorstep.
It was Ruben.
“Hello, Malin,” he said.
“Hello,” I said.
Ruben didn’t say anything else; he just stood with his
hands in his pockets and looked at his shoes while he
kicked a little stone around.
“Do you want to come in?” I said.
Ruben looked at me and smiled, revealing his crooked
front tooth.
“Okay,” he said.
We went into the living room and Ruben took a quick
look around. He walked over to the side table and picked
up a candlestick. He weighed it in his hand a little before
putting it back.
What is up with people and their need to pick stuff up
and put it down?
Ruben moved over to the shelf where my mom keeps
her porcelain figurines and picked up the giraffe.
“You’ve got your sling off,” he said.
“Yes,” I said.
“That must be nice.”
“Yes.”
Ruben turned the giraffe upside down like he was in
a shop, checking its price or something.
“Hey, Malin, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Okay.”
Ruben was turning the giraffe around and around. It
looked like it was performing somersaults in Ruben’s hands.
“I’m just curious, you know. You don’t have to answer
if you don’t want to…”
But he didn’t get to finish his sentence, because
suddenly the giraffe slipped out of Ruben’s hands. It
plunged to the floor, and hit the parquet with a thud.
The neck broke in half as soon as it hit the floor.
Ruben looked at me. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, it wasn’t really important or anything.”
“Maybe we could glue it back together?”
We went into the kitchen and I got the tube of glue
from the big drawer with all the junk. Then we sat down
at the table and I put a little glue on each piece of the
giraffe. It was a pretty clean break so it was easy to stick
the two pieces together, but when I let go, the top part
started to slide off the bottom part so I had to grab hold
of it. “Guess I have to wait until the glue dries before
letting go,” I said as I held the two pieces together.
“Maybe it needs more pressure,” Ruben said and gently
put two of his fingers on top of mine. His skin was warm
and my hands started to tremble a little and I was worried
that we would drop the giraffe again.
“Try now,” Ruben said after a couple of seconds and removed his fingers. I let go of the giraffe and the pieces
seemed to stay together.
“I think I will leave it on the table until I’m sure that
the glue is completely dry,” I said. “Do you want a glass of
blueberry squash?” My mom always offers drinks to her
guests.
“Okay,” Ruben said.
I poured two glasses of squash and then we drank it
while watching the glue dry. The giraffe didn’t look half
bad, but I noticed that I had used a little too much glue.
It lay around its neck like a transparent life preserver.
Maybe it wouldn’t be noticeable from a distance?
“Is there any more squash?” Ruben said.
After we finished our drinks, I put the giraffe back on
the shelf. I pushed it a little further to the back and moved
some of the other figurines in front, hoping the giraffe
would be less noticeable. Then we watched a couple of
episodes of The Ranch, and we both laughed in the same
places. At 4.48 p.m. my dad came home and wondered
who the hell had finished all the blueberry squash.
Ruben looked a little nervous and said, “I think I
better go.”
I said he didn’t have to, and explained that my dad
yelling is no big deal at all, really. But Ruben wanted to go
anyway so I showed him to the door.
As he was about to leave he suddenly paused for a
minute. “Malin,” he said. “The thing that I wanted to ask
you earlier…”
“Yes?”
“Why did you shoplift at Holberg’s? I mean, you seem
nice. Not like some of the other girls in your class. So I
was just wondering… Why did you do it?”
“Frida Berg tricked me into it,” I said. “She can be a bit
mean sometimes.”
“A bit mean?” Ruben laughed. “She is the Devil.”
I think I was around nine years old the first time I said
that I was going to be an author – and I said it with the
utmost confidence. Because back then writing was so
easy. Obviously not because I was better at it, but because
I never questioned myself. I just trusted that everything I
wrote was a true masterpiece.
One of my first stories was about a mouse named
Robinson who was looking for his hat. He found it halfway
through and then the story ended up being about him
trying to get a hold of some cheese without being caught
by Lurifaks, the cat. Plot twist! It didn’t make much sense,
but to me that didn’t matter. Because I didn’t know.
I remember very clearly when I first started writing,
but I don’t remember when I stopped.
I might have been around sixteen when it started to
play less and less of a part in my life. None of my friends
were into writing, it seemed like a strange hobby to have
and I guess I just got busy doing things that seemed more
important at the time.
To me it doesn’t really matter why I spent so many
years of my life not writing. The most important thing is
that I found my way back to it.
When I started my MA course I was very surprised
when I ended up writing stories that took place in small
Norwegian towns. After all, this was an environment
that I had felt I so desperately needed to escape.
I think there has always been a small part of me that
felt like I didn’t belong in my home town. That I was
different from everyone else. And didn’t fit in. And I am
pretty sure people thought I was different too. The thing
about small towns is that it doesn’t necessarily take much
for you to stand out, and if you stand out in any way,
chances are you are a weirdo.
There was also a part of me that loved my home town.
I had the best of friends and being part of a community
where everyone knew each other and felt comfortable and
safe. At one point I was 100% sure I would stay there for
ever.
I dreamed of me and my mates getting flats in the
same building and that we would hang out all the time
and visit each other on a daily basis just like one long
episode of Friends.
But like most things in my life this feeling didn’t last
too long. Around age twenty one I remember being very restless and bored and I had no clue what I wanted to do
in the future.
I strongly felt the need to go as far away as humanly
possible. So I went to Australia.
Four months before my visa expired I had run out of
money and I couldn’t afford my return ticket, so I worked
as a dishwasher every day for two months to earn enough
money to go back to Norway. I honestly thought that this
journey would solve everything. That I would find myself
and suddenly all the answers as to what I should do with
my life.
Today I am just as restless and I constantly have the
need to go somewhere else and experience something
new. The way I see it, I don’t have a home. When I go back
to my home town I am just visiting a place where I used to
live. Every time I move somewhere it feels like a place
where I live for the time being, because I know I won’t be
there for long.
I used to think that one day in the future I would be
able to settle down, but now I am not so sure. And maybe
this is the reason I am fascinated by the place I grew up.
The people who live there seem so content and happy.
And at peace. But I know that this place isn’t right for me
any more and everyone needs to find their own version
of happiness.
The Unpredictability of Being Human started with me
burning a bag of popcorn. I knew nothing about the
character or the story when I wrote the first couple of
lines and I really did not expect it to end up being a novel.
The first chapter was originally a short story and I thought
that I was done. But then I realized that there was so much
more to explore about this character and I really enjoyed
writing in her voice so I decided to see where I could take it.
The characters and Malin’s personality all came rather
spontaneously. It was a strange way to write because
normally I would at least have some sort of an idea of a
story, a scene or a character before starting. But it was a
very interesting process and I loved getting to know Malin
as I wrote it.
Today, writing is not fun and easy all the time. It is hard
and frustrating and I often find myself staring at a blank
page, scared to get started. Because getting started is often
the toughest part. The true magic for me is the moments
where everything starts to come together. I love re-writing
and editing myself and making it better. And then I’m
reminded why I love writing so much. It is kind of like the
relief you feel after finishing an exam.
Or when you dislocate your shoulder, and they pop it
back in and the pain eases up and makes you feel that it
was all worth it. (Well, not really.)
I have becomes a true master at procrastination. While
writing this author’s note I have watched numerous
YouTube videos, found out which Disney Prince is my
soulmate and what I should name my cat (I don’t even
have a cat).
But as long as you get there in the end it is okay. And
sometimes okay is enough.
For the past three years I have been a part time
cartoonist who can’t draw.
And now I am a writer. Who can’t spell.
Buy this book from...
And for your chance to win a copy of this excellent book, see the tweet below!
What's this? Another bookish #giveaway!?— Grace Latter (@_gracelatter) January 24, 2018
The fab YA read 'The Unpredictability of Being Human' by @LIngemundsen, published with @Usborne is going to be featured in my blog this week.https://t.co/npznZr9UgU
For your chance to win a copy, RT this and follow me.
UK only. Ends 27/1. pic.twitter.com/a6fKkfRqP8
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