Stieg Larsson's heroine is an utterly original literary character.
A huge number of beachgoers, many of whom don’t identify as feminists, will be carrying a book with overtly feminist content in their tote bags this summer – in the guise of an absorbing thriller.
The book behind this bait-and-switch? “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo” and its sequels, properly known as the “Millennium Trilogy,” a Swedish series which has taken the trade, mass-market, and hardcover bestseller lists by storm. In between scenes of getting out of danger and chasing bad guys, the series critiques Swedish society with an agenda that mirrors late author Stieg Larsson’s journalistic targets: neo-Nazi vestiges, corruption –and the media that abets it, and the scourge of violence against women.
The wild success of the books – “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo,” “The Girl Who Played with Fire” and “The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest” – arises from their blending of classic detective-story tropes, a moody Swedish locale, and espionage done with ultra-modern technology.
But none of this would matter if it weren’t for Lisbeth Salander, the series’ heroine and titular “girl,” who makes it a point to personally exact vigilante retribution against rapists, sex traffickers, and other “men who hate women” (the phrase was the Swedish title for the first book).
Salander is a controversial figure; feminists and other observers are divided over the message she sends to women today. That debate, while valid, misses a key point: We should all celebrate the emergence of an utterly original female literary character. In an action-story landscape where women are too often relegated to girlfriend, sidekick or prey in need of defending, Salander grabs the spotlight and refuses to let it go.
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