“One of Us: The Story of Anders Breivik and the Massacre in Norway” by Åsne Seierstad

As is the case for me with most good books, I found myself frequently trying to talk to people about One of Us: The Story of Anders Breivik and the Massacre in Norway by Åsne Seierstad while I was reading it. The most difficult thing about this was not, in fact, explaining why I would willingly be putting myself through 500+ pages of trauma, but figuring out how to label the event itself. Since listening to the podcast My Favorite Murder, it has occurred to me that the names we give to our stories are just as telling as the stories themselves sometimes. For example, how the media consistently uses the phrase “The Amanda Knox Story” to refer to the murder of Meredith Kercher. I don’t know if other people feel differently, but I’m putting it here in public record that if I am ever murdered, please don’t refer to my narrative by the name of the person who took my life. Not even if it’s something funny sounding like Bob Loblaw or a name I wish I had like Fancy Boburg. Names are so important and so easily forgotten and it seems disrespectful and unfair to give attention and brain power to referring to murderers and abusers who may not deserve to be remembered. So every time I wanted to tell someone about the book I was reading, I was unsure what to call the subject matter. I’m reading a book about the terrorist attack in Oslo? I’m reading a book about the slaughter of over sixty Norwegian teenagers in 2011?

The title of the book explicitly calls it the story of Anders Breivik, and while I would agree that it is initially the story of Anders Breivik, it is primarily the story of Norway. With an eye for finding the small details of people’s lives that evoke the most meaning and empathy, Åsne Seierstad begins by making the reader feel pity for Anders Breivik by bringing us with him through his childhood, leaving the reader the uncomfortable feeling that while Breivik is certainly unlikable, it is hard to deny that it seems somewhere along the line he was robbed of something basic, like love and acceptance. Seierstad pulls on testimonies from people who knew Anders as well as the extensive documentation kept by Norway’s social services to paint a portrait of a boy who is continually rejected by every circle he tries to ingratiate himself into. First it’s his birth family, most particularly his biological father, followed by the adolescent world of tagging (spray-painting), hip hop, youth politics, the Freemasons, business, online gaming, and conservative/white nationalist blogging. It is most telling that the world where he gained the most acclaim and acceptance (World of Warcraft) was one in which he proved himself through killing. And each time, Anders’s lack of social skills and his unearned hubris prove to be his downfall.

But throughout the story of Anders’s life and his increasing radicalization, isolation, and decent into what Norwegian psychiatrists decided was paranoid schizophrenia, Seierstad also paints a portrait of the fluctuations of politics and immigration in Norway in the 1980’s, 1990’s, and 2000’s. Young Anders is juxtaposed by Simon and Bano, both beloved Norwegian children who, at very early ages, take their civic duties to better the lives of those around them seriously and become activists in the Norwegian Labor Party. Simon and Bano represent everything Anders grows to hate. Especially Bano, whose family fled war-torn Syria when she was only a child. Simon and Bano (as well as the other youths who eventually find themselves at the UAF camp on Utøya on July 22^nd, 2011) are so full of hope, compassion, and promise of a better future, that as I read their narratives I felt sicker and sicker, knowing what was to come.

Which lead me to the worst 60 pages I have ever read in my life. And by worst, I mean the hardest to read. I can honestly say it took me about a week to read what happened on that island, because I kept having to stop to cry, which would lead me to shrink back when I’d go to pick the book up again. And after reading in explicit detail what Anders Breivik did and about the last moments of so many children, I almost didn’t want to write anything about this book, because to give any more attention to Anders Breivik felt disgusting. I can’t even imagine how Åsne Seierstad felt writing this book, as in order to do so, she sat in court every single day of Anders Breivik’s trial, met with him, met with his mother, read his entire hateful and deluded “manifesto”, and met with families whose lives were shattered by the loss of their precious children.

In the end, I decided to write this post because Netflix is about to release in the United States the film “22 July” and I am a little worried. I listened to My Favorite Murder’s run down of what happened on Utøya and I have seen how the American public consumes crime dramas and makes them trendy. I am just as guilty as everyone else. Maybe it’s the scale of the death that makes my stomach churn. Or maybe it’s the thought that there’s no way that that the filmmakers will be able to do in 2 hours what it took 530 pages for Åsne Seierstad to express. What I have no hope of doing in this inadequate blog post. What Jens Stoltenberg tried valiantly to do in his press conference following the massacre, when he said, “In the midst of this tragedy I am proud to live in a land that has been able to stand upright at a critical time. I am impressed by all the dignity, consideration and determination I have encountered. We are a small country, but we are a proud people. We are still shaken by what has happened to us, but we will never relinquish our values. Our answer is more democracy, more openness and more humanity. But never naivety.”

I have hope that if Americans do watch “22 July” when it comes out on Netflix, that they’ll consider reading this book. And I hope that not only do they read in the hateful speech of Anders Behring Breivik the same divisive, selfish, damaged and damaging vitriol frequently spewed by our own president, but they also see the Norwegian people’s commitment to answer terrorism perpetrated by “one of us” with more democracy, more openness, more humanity, but never naivety.