Woven Narratives

Sofi Papamarko’s short story collection, Radium Girl, and Harold R. Johnson’s novel, The Bjorkan Sagas, share little in form, theme, or subject. However, the authors do share a distinct and formidable set of skills in delicacy and deftness of weaving. Sometimes they are weaving storylines together, other times they are finessing the ups and downs of characters’ narrative threads, and most consistently, they weave vastly diverse, and seemingly disparate, themes together with similar deft skill and delicate artistry. In each of these books, it is undeniably clear how Papamarko and Johnson have each sat at their pen and paper looms and created something entirely new and entirely wonderful.

Is The Bjorkan Sagas a mainstream novel? Absolutely not. Unless you consider a mix of aliens, dragons, storytellers, medicine-women, and Valkyries all under the umbrella of Cree and Swedish influences, mainstream. If that is the case, I’d love to see your reading list. It is this novel’s definitive commitment to itself, and assertion of what it exists as and believes in, that makes it so remarkable, and so very unlike anything else in similar genres. The Bjorkan Sagas, published in 2021, is broken into three sagas which tell of Juha the storyteller’s journey with a few fellow Bjorkans exploring  the world beyond their home valley. Along the way they encounter Anthony de Marchand, a cunning story-trader, Lilly the medicine woman, and forceful aliens with guns pushing the words of their Book of God in search of wealth and Heaven. Juha and his friends must protect the people of their valleys from the aliens’ attempts to exploit the sacred riches within the Bjorkan trees, with help from Lilly and the Valkyries she calls upon for aid. In telling this story, Johnson blends storylines exploring questions of human relationships and responsibility to the land, as well as questions of Indigeneity and colonization. This novel creates a central tension between the invader aliens, more than willing to murder in the quest for their goal of Heaven and riches, and the Bjorkans, inhabitants of their valley for eons, highly in tune with the land, whose job it is to protect the Bjorkan trees. Underneath layers of otherworldly settings and characters, the novel uses this relationship to ask ever-green questions about settler contact and colonization. Johnson’s narrator often feels dream-like, and his writing style throughout is self-described as “minimalist,” giving readers only what they need to know in order to allow their imaginations to take the reins in regard to the details. While Juha’s physical appearance likely looks much different in my head than yours, his actions, choices, and ethics remain the same. This style is influenced by Johnson’s mother’s Cree culture and the way that she told trickster stories. The story’s form—prose interspersed with poetry—resembles that of ancient Icelandic and other Scandinavian sagas. The writing as a whole is straightforward and engaging, giving the reader enough room to play within the bounds of the story itself, and leaving them meditating on questions about who, in our world, plays the roles of aliens, Bjorkans, and story-traders.

Sofi Papamarko’s debut short story collection explores death, joy, love, ethics, and justice in twelve short stories. While each piece details separate characters and settings, they are loosely tied together by their thematically dark similarities. From one family’s involuntary entrapment in a doomsday bunker, to a pair of conjoined twins navigating teenage experiences, to a doll-collector’s pedophilic son, each story contains a purity and innocence of character and narrative that is heavily outlined with a resonance of death. Sometimes the deathly element feels imminent, sometimes it’s planned, and sometimes it remains looming with a strong potential to arrive after the story’s end. This, however, does not negate the collection’s overarching humor and lightness.  Even more, this mixing of dark and light displays Papamarko’s masterful ability to warp and weft threads and themes of macabre and playfulness into a uniquely beautiful tapestry. Her writing is clear and self-aware, without being obvious about her authorial goals, leaving room for readers to linger in the minute moments and details. Papamarko gives her characters great agency and respect, allowing them to make their own choices (occasionally this means murdering their husbands or consuming toxic radium paint) and honoring what comes next for them as a consequence. Clearly, the author is intimately familiar with the inner lives and workings of each of her characters. Each one is an anchor for their respective story, keeping the pieces grounded, and giving the stories unshakeable foundations from which to dynamically flourish. The narrative perspective changes in each piece to best accommodate readers knowing and understanding the characters, whether that be a story told from their own narration, their diary entries, or a third person telling. The genuine care and detail with which each narrative is crafted is part of Papamarko’s great artistry, and a central reason for her collection’s deep emotional effect on readers—that, of course, and the shock endings in most of the stories, generally both unexpected and well-delivered. It’s easy, as a reader, to end up with a racing heart. Sofi Papamarko has mastered the art of the short story, and if this debut collection says anything about what is to come for her future published works, readers should be excitedly awaiting everything she has to offer.

Harold R. Johnson’s writing weaves a tapestry that blends threads of colonization, aliens, stories, myths, sagas, dragons, and landscapes, while Sofi Papamarko’s loom warps and wefts humor, joy, death, decisions, and relationships. While these books appear disparate on the surface, they share an incredible level of authorial craftsmanship, delicacy, and dedication.