At the Edge of Light

At our planet's extremities, light and dark affect the soul like nowhere else on earth. Bitter, dark winters thaw slowly into brief, flowering summers, see-sawing the inhabitants' emotions to and fro, from manic excitement to suicidal depression and back again.
Maria Peura's captivating novel, infused by the power of the seasons and the force of nature, is a primal story of adolescence set in a remote village in northern Finland. It is angry and it is harsh and it is visceral, but the darkness is punctuated by moments of pure light and radiant optimism.

Through the heart of the village - and the novel - threads a river. Deeply frozen in winter, it slowly and dangerously cracks in the spring; as the water begins to flow, life returns to the landscape, but every year the river takes its share of careless and depressed lives. It takes strength to ward off the enervating winter, which villagers cope with in different ways or escape from by killing themselves.
Kristina's small world revolves around her dysfunctional parents. Her mother sobs all the time and steals pills from the hospital where she works; her father drinks and sleeps with other women. Kristina escapes this atmosphere by eating huge quantities of food, then not eating. She spends time with other teenagers sniffing acetone, riding motorbikes, having sex and flirting with death. The omnipresent railway is, like the river, a magnet for Kristina and her sort-of boyfriend Kari, who plays dare with the thundering locomotive, willing it to take his life.

Despite the atmosphere in her home and her unconventional friends, Kristina's life force is strong. Like any teenager, she is unnerved by the changes affecting her adolescent body; the harsh climate exacerbates her tendency to exaggerate and the intensity of her dreams. This is the end of childhood and the start of adult life in an uncompromising landscape.

Peura is particularly good at conveying the sense in which dignity is important in remote and isolated communities, even though it is almost impossible to keep secrets. Kristina's mother insists that she smiles in public: 'Raising your eyebrows was a sophisticated gesture that magically made your look happy and gently raised the corners of your mouth. People liked you if you smiled.'

Despite the reckless nature of Kristina's life and her father's philandering, the family unit remains intact, a refuge of sorts against a greater madness. This is the touching element in a harsh yet almost mystical tale of survival at the end of the world.