Norwegian, but Wooden

Linn Ullmann, the author of Grace, is Norwegian, which, it goes without saying, means her writing is a little bit weird. There's something slightly disconcerting about reading an almost-sentimental meditation on death peppered with names like Odd Karlsen and Ole Torjoussen. If readers can get beyond these, though, as well as the occasional non-sequitur dialogue, they will find a penetrating work that does exactly what a novella can do, but nothing more.

This is both good and bad. Ullmann doesn't over-reach­-something far too many authors of novellas do. Ullmann's book knows its boundaries. It tackles the last weeks of protagonist Johan Sletten's life, beginning with the disclosure of his terminal illness. From here, Ullmann employs flashbacks to the plot points of Johan's life, meager and few: his father's death, his miserable first marriage to Alice, his happy second one to Mai, and the unfortunate estrangement from his son Andreas. Johan is not an honorable man; he is often so timid and neurotic that he borders on pathetic. But when his end comes, someone loves Johan enough not to want to see him suffer. This, Ullmann seems to suggest, is what really matters.

Thankfully, she doesn't milk this point for melodrama-Grace is not Tuesdays with Morrie. Without too much schmaltz, Ullman comments on the great equalizer at a level of universality that makes her story interesting, but she refuses to glibly tie up knots that transcend the specific. The narrative is divided into three thematic sections instead of chapters: "The Window," "The Mirror," and "The Door." All three, as should be expected, are symbolic, relating to central motifs of each part. Yet, their backs are not broken by the weight of their content. As with all the imagery, there is no forced one-to-one symbolic correspondence. No strained metaphors. No implied progression from one to the other. There are simply striking images that heighten the emotions surrounding death.

It's a shame, then, that much of Grace feels stale and tired. In writing about the process of dying, Ullmann has chosen an oft-trodden road. The novella's sentiments are genuine, but-with the exception of its off-kilter Norwegian-ness-Grace just isn't very original. It does attempt to treat the problem of assisted suicide, but that treatment is muddled and confusing. It is at once irrelevant to the story and the groundwork for a cheap political plug. As topical as euthanasia is, it's already been tackled by Million Dollar Baby, and Grace doesn't have the fancy footwork that is necessary to live outside of the other work's shadow.

Beneath the plot quirks and the generally crisp prose, Grace is a short but tedious moment of deja vu.