Right from the arrivals level of Stockholm's Arlanda airport, the visitors' desk offers to sell you maps of Stieg Larsson Walks. His fans come from all over - Germans, Dutch, Spaniards, French, Americans, Canadians, Japanese - even in minus-18 weather, when they have to don special boots to walk the icy sidewalks. (Swedes don't use salt.)
The frenzy is no surprise: At last estimate, there were 45 million readers of Larson's Millennium novels, which have also been made into two hit movies, with a third, starring Daniel Craig and Christopher Plummer, in the works. In the wake of Larsson's sudden death from a heart attack in 2004, his father and brother have raked in an eye-popping $40-million from the rights to the author's trilogy.
Publishers, movie studios, blood relatives: Larsson left behind a financial bonanza - for everyone except the woman who shared his life for 32 years. Her name is Eva Gabrielsson. And, as if inspired by Lisbeth Salander, the fearless heroine of Larsson's darkly turbulent novels, she has been fighting an intrepid battle to secure what she sees as a stolen inheritance and to establish herself as more than just a bit player in the evolution of Larsson's fiction.
Her obstacles have been many (for one, Larsson left no will naming her as his heir). Her critics (some of whom question the depth of her role in Larsson's creative process) have been less than generous. But recently, after years of playing her cards close to her chest, and giving only brief - and rare - interviews, Gabrielsson agreed to sit down with The Globe and Mail for a revealing face-to-face chat.
I meet her on neutral ground: a room in the International Press Centre in downtown Stockholm. Leather chairs, hardwood floor, low coffee table but no coffee. Uncharacteristic for a Swedish press club - Gabrielsson, as did Larsson, (as does Blomqvist) loves coffee - the centre's coffee machine is broken.
It is as if my identity has been erased Eva Gabrielsson
It's a cold, blustery day in Stockholm, but it is warm inside. A soft-spoken woman of around 50, she has dark blond hair and warm brown eyes. She speaks very correct English with a mild Swedish accent and British upper-class overtones. Gabrielsson's beige raincoat, its belt tightened, stays wrapped around her during our long conversation. She does not allow people into the apartment she used to share with Larsson, nor had she wished to meet near her workplace. She's an architect with a challenging job in the city and she does not want that part of her life interrupted by the part that has to do with "the books."
She guards her privacy.
Gabrielsson says she has more than 30 years of practice being on guard. Larsson (whom she met at a demonstration against the Vietnam War in 1972) was an investigative journalist with a natural tendency to get under the skin of those he investigated: neo-Nazis with big-business connections - not unlike those featured in The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. He had been threatened. Skinheads haunted the sidewalks outside his office, and at least one of his acquaintances was murdered.
Larsson and Gabrielsson were cautious - the only name on their apartment was always hers - but undaunted by the danger. Larsson's latest posthumously published work is a handbook for journalists on dangerous assignments.
Gabrielsson, too, has just published a book. Hers is about the arcane Swedish law that does not recognize common-law marriage - thus legally negating the decades they had been together. As for a will: He was 50; he was not supposed to die so young.
The first books in a series of 10 that Larsson had planned - with Gabrielsson at his side - were just getting ready to be published when he had his heart attack. The first three, they hoped, would finally give them the means to live a little better, to spend more on themselves, take holidays, enjoy their time together.
How could they be so sure the books would be successful? The advance was beyond their expectations; the first meetings at their Swedish publisher, Norstedts, were promising. And, as Larsson's editor, Eva Gedin, told me, the author knew a great deal about police procedurals, mysteries, crime stories. He had been writing about the best crime novels for years, and he knew what made them succeed. "But he wanted to do something different, something no one else had ever done before," Gedin says.
It was Gedin who first determined that the big plastic bag that Larsson (she had never heard of him before) had delivered to her building contained two potential bestsellers. "We offered him the biggest advance we had ever offered a first-time writer," she says. Gedin's brightly lit office now displays a wall full of Larsson books.
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