Another side of Lesley Riddoch

The Girl Who Played with Fire

Ive just seen the second of Stieg Larsson's films in Swedish,here in Stockholm. If you don't know who he is, remember you heard about him here first!

Stieg Larsson was a Swedish journalist, editor of an obscure left wing magazine and a leading expert on right-wing Nazi movements – he set up a Foundation Expo to challenge racism in Sweden. In 1995, at the age of just 50, he died of a heart attack.

Months later the second life of Stieg Larsson began.

The posthumous publication of his first novel, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo won him Best Nordic thriller. The second in the Millenium Trilogy (The Girl who played with fire) was tonight's film – and made him the second bestselling author in the world in 2008. The books have been translated into 40 languages and read by 12 million people – and that was before the two films were released. I'd be very interested to know if they'll appear in the UK -- demand from British and French readers for tours of locations has been so fierce this summer, Stockholm City Museum organised Millenium walking tours.

Why is Larsson so popular? For me it's a combination of the entirely unworthy approach to serious subject matter like rape and human trafficking underpinning a complex and very unconventional relationship between journalist/investigator Mikael Blomkvist and controversial female anti-hero Lisbet Salander. To say she's feisty is putting it mildly – she fights back.

I was saying to my long-suffering guide today, Eva Holmstrom of the Swedish Institute that there's a point when you know you are reading a novel by a Nordic writer, and it's the way they generally handle women characters.

Picture the scene. It's dark. It's dangerous. Our heroine thinks aloud, I'd better get back to the house. (That's a British novel)

Compare and contrast the following.

It's dark. It's dangerous. Our heroine thinks aloud, I need to find out what's going on as she inches alone into the darkness. (That's Nordic!)

Lisbeth Salander is a law onto herself but not a female Dirty Harry. She's no bitter, mindless avenger. In fact, Ive never seen a female character like her. To say much more would spoil it – just go and buy the books.

The repeats are going well.

Just a quick note to say 'thanks' for all the positive feedback about repeating 'On the Bike' over at LesleyRiddoch.com . The production team are pestering me to record a couple of wee slide shows for the coming weeks. So watch this space...

Dodgy credentials

I was looking through a lot of old pictures and letters recently and found this one of myself on Wick Gala Day (the county town of Caithness). My parents thrust me and my brother into the fray every year, dressed up in some amusing costume (I appear to be a dead Saint) to extract money from the sometimes slightly inebriated Wickers watching the Gala Week Procession, to which we travelled from Belfast every July. It was good fun – in the end – but quite a daunting prospect for teenagers (though I'm proud to say my bro Graeme and myself often got prizes for our bonzer sized collecting tins.)

Of course, it's always dangerous to make claims about the past. I notice my Wikipedia entry has been queried several times where it's suggested I was the first female and non-Conservative Sabbatical President of Oxford University Student's Union. Apparently students had already elected a lefty gal, Emily Wallace in 1971. I'm delighted to hear Oxford students had radical tendencies in the 70s, but the correction also puzzled me because it was university staff at the time of my election and the student newspaper Cherwell who suggested I was the first gal -- not myself. Ploughing further into Wikipedia, perhaps I've found the answer.

When Emily was elected, OUSU didn't yet exist but was called the OUSRC. Apparently it "adopted its contemporary constitution in 1974, changing its name to the Oxford University Student Union." So I guess both versions of history are true. I hope it's OK to say I'm proud to have been amongst the first female and non-Tory Presidents of the Oxford student body, because it was a devil of a job to get elected in what had been a "safe seat" for Tory boys for many years. I'd be very interested to know more about Emily's campaign – in the case of myself and deputy (and fellow Scot) Morag McDermott, an older group of political hacks set up the Progressives to unite all the left behind just one set of candidates, and it worked. Looking back though, it all seems very self indulgent. We took ourselves so seriously – and inevitably there was a fall. After ballot box rigging forced a rerun of the next Presidential election, my successor was the head of the Bernadista Silly Party. This President bore a striking resemblance to Bernard Levin and the main plank of his manifesto was free beer at General Meetings. Jings. After that sobering re-awakening with reality I tended to get involved in more practical politics, like the feminist magazine Lilith and a direct action group that occupied the "milk-round" recruitment interviews of companies active in apartheid South Africa and Namibia. Every Wednesday an assorted bunch of us would meet in St Anne's college and practice "non-violent-direct-action". Two leading lights were Achim Steiner who is something in the United Nations now and Alex Thompson of Channel 4 who's married to my best friend Sarah. I'd love to know what happened to another direct action stalwart Adrian. Innocent agitation. Those were the days.

 

 

A blast from the recent past...

One of my previous programmes I really enjoyed was 'Scotch Myths'. It gave me the opportunity to explore a series of perceptions, assumptions and myths about Scotland. Everything from 'the clearances' to confidence were pulled apart by a redoubtable posse of experts. To give you a flavour, here is the myth of 'business'; the reluctance of Scots to set up for themselves. Given the current economic situation, as they say on BBC2, it's an interesting listen.

Click here to listen to Scotch Myths - Business

Patrick Swayze thoughts

It's a bit after the event now, but I felt very sad about Patrick Swayze's death. I've long been teased for confessing (with a perverse pride) that Dirty Dancing is my favourite film ever. Perhaps not what you'd expect from a rather serious gal -- or perhaps precisely the colourful, escapist film you NEED when you're a rather serious gal. I don't know. I worked in hotels when I was young and identified immediately with the film's raw, crazy energy and the weird hotel environment that isn't home to anyone for long, where would be philosophy graduates are working cheek by jowl with professional kitchen porters and seasonal receptionists. All semi-knackered by long shifts, but all young enough to be able to burn the candle at both ends (and the middle) and stumble through another day.

Swayze dared to act for women, to exploit an athletic physique and, I suppose, to reveal himself on screen. Not as a major Brando-esque acting talent. But as someone taking life by the throat and grabbing the opportunities that came his way. Without embarrassment or condescension.

After the cancer diagnosis he kept trying – and apparently kept smoking. Whatever.

I don't suppose anyone really thought he could beat such an advanced form of such an aggressive cancer. But such was the force of his combined onscreen/offscreen persona that it did seem just possible. I imagine watching Ghost (which I didn't like as much) will nonetheless be a real tear-jerker, now the leading actor is really and irrevocably on the other side.

And in the end his life and death are the ultimate reminder. Life's not fair. It's there on its own terms, to be lived.

SUTHERLAND SUMMIT

I'm in Lairg, at the centre of the Northern Highlands today for the Sutherland Summit – an event organised by the volunteers who hold this northern county together to try and focus political and local minds on the problems this remote area faces.

Arriving off the train last night I saw one of them. The mighty Sutherland Arms hotel – one of those big, grand old shooting lodge-type places – has been demolished after years of decline. Despite lots of ideas nothing's been put in its place – though I hear a community buyout's underway. Good stuff. Last time I was here I took the postbus to Lochinver to do a talk about my Western Isles book at Achins Bookshop – that run is no longer subsidised to take passengers. How daft.

Foot and mouth restrictions have robbed the Lairg Sheep sale of its ancient title as the biggest one day event in Scotland. Due to worries over so many animals being brought together and dispersed, sales of lambs, ewes and tups are now held over the summer with long gaps between, so the numbers sold at each event are lower – and I think Kelso in the Borders is now the "biggest one day event". Obviously too, many Highland farmers have moved out of sheep farming – and there again the new mart at Dingwall means Highlanders can sell their animals at any time of year. So in all probability a great tradition is on its last legs.

And yet, many more remote areas in Nordic countries are managing to diversify. So today Enterprise Minister Jim Mather and Environment Minister Roseanna Cunningham are here with myself to help create a future plan. More soon...and if you're staying in Lairg, the Pip Inn accommodation and food is great!

Zante days

Chris and I are just back from two glorious weeks on Zante. Yes that is the Greek island that includes Laganas. Yes that is one of the top three Greek resorts for mindless, drunken Brit boy and girl gang action. But yes it has direct flights from Scotland (unlike our previous favourite island of Ithaca which was reluctantly ruled out for future holidays after a delayed and then disconnecting journey home from hell via Gatwick one year). And yes, you don't need to go anywhere near the southern resorts (where incredibly turtles manage to lay eggs in the sand inches away from the drunken hordes). We went flight only, picked up a hire car at 5am (why do all the flights seem to leave and arrive at such godforsaken hours) and since it was St Dionysssious Day (the patron Saint of Zaknythos) the hotels were full so we slept on a quiet beach till a room came available at 9am.

The next day Villa Askos was ready for us thirty miles up in the north of the island – and it was worth the wait. Sula and her family have painstakingly re-built an old hillside, mill house with a beautiful garden (the family spend three hours on a Sunday night watering) – and a pool. Perfection. Add to that nae phones, nae internet, nae hassle, and unbelievably nae mosquitoes – and the proximity of a wonderful swimming/snorkelling point at the foot of cliffs beside the Blue Caves – and you are laughing like a drain.

Utter luxury. We felt a bit guilty exploring the mountainous east coast to see how fires raging three days before we arrived had been stopped just 400 yards short of one village. Everyone suspected tourists, but the taverna owner in the nearly blitzed village thought cigarette ends flicked out of car windows by chain smoking locals were more likely to blame. Indeed that week, grass cutting machines were out reducing the crackling dry, bleached stubble on the verge to a smooth shave.

The weak pound made things expensive – no doubt. But the freedom in Greece to swim anytime and anywhere is still an unbeatable experience. And it's real -- it kind of breaks my heart to drive through small, traditional villages and pass old women sitting in the baking heat wearing black from head to foot, urging a stop to buy olive oil or wine. There's only so much olive oil a girl can drink – and we are both boring old teetotallers. But driving past people trying so hard to connect, communicate and sell – it just felt callous and rude (to me). Anyway, there's nothing more annoying than hearing about someone else's holiday – especially if you fell for the BBQ summer line and nearly drowned in Elgin instead. So enough already. Noses back to the grindstone. Rather tanned noses.

BACK ON THE BIKE

We decided to give another spin to the recordings I made on the Western Isles in 2006 for the radio series On the Bike. I know this will sound very self serving, but it's been absolute therapy for me hearing the folk I met all over again. It would be hard to decide who were the biggest comedians of the series, but Calum Clelland from Barra has got to be a contender. Teased about the current clamour for a mobile phone mast he responded with mock seriousness, "We may be a Catholic island, but we have no problem with the colour Orange". What a wag. We'll post a programme a week – Barra's first – right through to Stornoway itself just before Christmas. And there'll be a few new programmes – one updating what's happened in some of the main stories during the intervening years.

Because of the endless impasse with the Performing Rights Society, we can't use the music that linked the voices in these programmes – so if you want to get the full effect, buy a copy of Saltfishforty's Orkney Twister and play it in the background as you listen (yes Orcadians!) And let me know what you think. Honestly.