In
the autumn of 2008 a special crime case was all over the news in Norway. It
concerned several well-known persons from my hometown: the coastal city of
Stavanger, the oil capital of Norway, the city I, somewhat exaggeratingly, have
labelled ‘the richest city in the world’; an untrue phrase that feels true.
The
case came to be known as The Baasland Case.
In short it went like this: Bjarte Baasland, the son of the respected Stavanger
bishop Ernst Baasland, had a debt amounting to more than 60 million Norwegian
kroners (6 million GBP). Over the last few years he had been gambling on the
internet and, operating with false identities, he had swindled his mother, his
father, his family and the whole Christian community. And suddenly this strange
prince of internet darkness went down. His bubble burst, the lies became too
many to handle; it became dangerous.
Now,
See You Tomorrow, the novel I had begun
writing, does not deal with the problems of the religious upper class. But what
was interesting to me was that just when this case emerged, I was writing a
novel about a little man from the huge Norwegian middle class who was about to
ruin his – and his daughters’ – life as a result of internet gambling. My
character, Pål, was a man like you and me.
But
still, the chillingly fascinating and gruesomely dark tale of the lonely son of
a bishop and his fall into colossal debt inspired me as it covered page after
page in the papers during those months. It was as if my emerging novel had a
twin, or a shadow; it was almost like an assurance that what I was dealing with
could really happen, and my Pål became something of a twin brother to Bjarte
Baasland. All of the parallels made me confident that I was writing about something
real, something strong and acute.
For
me it started with that damned internet. I love it, like everyone else, and I
enjoy the new pace of life it brings. I am glad that I can get instant access
to the new songs by my favourite bands, even though I sometimes get nostalgic
for the times when I had to wait for weeks before the 7’ arrived in my local
record store. But I also hate it. Really, really hate it. And there’s one thing
in particular that has bothered me for years, which I am sure has inspired See You Tomorrow in a way that I cannot
fully cover. Gambling is as old as the hills; novels have been written about
the subject for ages, even good old Dostoyevsky wrote one (himself also a
considerable gambler). But these days it is something else. You do not enter a
saloon or a gambling hall. All you need is that one click.
The
loneliness of the internet.
We’re all sitting there. It’s such a bleak situation.
Gambling in the night.
Man and machine. Access to everything. And nothing.
I do not have the right
words for this, not even now, after six years of writing a novel about a man
who destroys everything with the aid of that damned internet. But I think everybody
knows what I mean. It’s addictive. It gives us the feeling of being there, all the time.
But we’re not.
It just feels that way.
It’s all loneliness. It’s all lies.
It’s all crap.
And – Pål and Bjarte – you do not
get rich from it.
It just feels that way.
It drags you by the hair to hell.
I
have a friend in my novel. I will admit that. Rudi, the petty criminal with
ADHD and a pounding heart for heavy metal is the strongest enemy the internet
has out there. He calls it ‘The Black
Death of the Modern Age’. In one scene in the book he is approached by our
sorry hero, Pål, who contacts him for help with his desperate debt. Here is Rudi’s
reply:
‘Remember:
the internet is the root of all evil. So don’t you go turning on that computer
now, dude! Set aside a little time with a few good records instead. The Number of the Beast! Overkill! Sabbath Bloody Sabbath! Or what do I know; maybe you listen to
Coldplay when nobody’s around? … Okay, brother. See you tomorrow!’
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