Dead Weight

Dead Weight is a novella that is weighty in subject matter but reads like the literary equivalent of a perfectly prepared airy souffle. The reader will consume the book quickly and with appreciation. Icelandic writer Hildur Knútsdóttir has a dark sense of humor that melds well into this psychological thriller which contains elements of horror. The story centers on the relationship of two women who are in different kinds of abusive relationships. Benefitting from the popularity of Feminine Rage, Knútsdóttir and her outstanding translator, American author Mary Robinette Kowal, craft an absorbing page-turner. Like the two female characters who are central to the plot, Knútsdóttir and Kowal function harmoniously in tandem.

The story is narrated by Unnur, a career woman in her 30s. Her long-term lover is married and has young children, but Unnur has convinced herself that someday he will divorce his wife. She keeps finding reasons to believe and to continue with the status quo: “There was a point when I would get angry and impatient, and once I even broke things off with him after he had to cancel one of our trips while I was already on my way to the airport. I had felt free for about a week. But then, as the days passed, the memories of all the beautiful places we had visited, all the nights that we had spent together, those intimate moments when nothing existed in the world but the two of us, started to crowd in on my mind, like a ceiling getting lower every day.” The image of a lowering ceiling is terrific since it implies a sense of claustrophobic unease that rather negates the earlier positive sentiments. Unnur subconsciously knows that the relationship is unsustainable despite the years and good times. She needs a shift in perspective, which comes in the form of a cat with an innate sense of self-preservation.

When the feline works its way into Unnur’s apartment, a dynamic occurs. Unnur tracks down Ásta, the cat’s beautiful owner, who makes an unusual plea: she asks Unnur to let the cat remain in the apartment until some domestic difficulties can be sorted out. It’s clear that Ásta loves Io, the cat, and is distraught about the circumstances that make it necessary to be apart. Needless to say, Unnur bonds with Io, a female kitty who can discern a toxic relationship, and Ásta.

In terms of the book being set in the author’s native Iceland, there’s the inevitable mentions of cold weather and the Northern Lights. What I found interesting was how Unnur feels isolated by the culture: “I had felt invisible for a long time. I had worked hard in college, more focused on getting good grades than making friends. It had been a mistake. I miscalculated how much of this country is based on relationships. Who you know matters more than anything. No one bothers to ask what your transcript looks like if you have a friend recommending you for the job.” Unnur achieves a promotion at work, due to the grave illness of the male employee currently holding the position. She is informed that she is worthy, yet the compliment comes with the inevitable sexist jab about gender equality being a factor in the decision. When she was under consideration for the post, Unnur prepared for her interview by adopting facial expressions and demeanor that are reputed secrets to success adapted, of course, to gender specifics.

As an astute observer of behavior, Unnur has learned many things, acquiring a singular knowledge of unusual skills. Her deftness comes in handy when a reckoning occurs. She discovers she has latent reserves that can be tapped into even when thrown a curve: “This is how life keeps surprising you. There are always unknowable, unseen forces at work. You make your careful plans, but at the same time the universe is hatching others.” Indeed, Unnur and Ásta are abruptly compelled to respond to a situation of horrific proportions. Their graphically depicted unsavory undertakings are zany, in a deranged sort of way. In a brilliant display of wacky wit, the entirety of Chapter 23 consists solely of this line: “I pour the tea.” It succinctly encompasses the action of the previous chapter in a sardonic manner, while relaying more insight into Unnur’s unusual state of mind.

While the novella is slanted to a female readership, males who appreciate the 1991 film Thelma and Louise may also enjoy Dead Weight. For cat lovers, Io will likely become an icon in a Felines in Fiction Hall of Fame. She displays shrewdness, determination, and a strong survival instinct. A furry four-legged feminist that can be embraced by any gender. As to the women in the narrative who rightfully appreciate Io, they too are highly memorable. Unnur is the more complex of the two, blatantly stating in the prologue: “I have thought long and hard about how I would dispose of a dead body.” Great hook for this cathartic and defiant book.