Psychiatric facilities are not welcoming places. Despite their goal of rehabilitation and healing, they are often dull, concrete-laden and washed in fluorescent light. Except, however, when it comes to Danish author Fine Gråbøl’s vulnerable portrayal in her debut novel, What Kingdom. In this striking work of fiction, Gråbøl explores the liminal space between life and death, kept afloat by nothing more than a door without locks and a spare cigarette.
The opening of the novel wakes up sleepily, allowing the reader to find their footing before any jarring action takes place. Gråbøl establishes an immediate rhythm, a consistent tone that establishes the routines the narrator believes are so important to their survival. Gråbøl’s writing style is stark and stifling, mirroring the suffocating and medicinal nature of the institution the narrator resides in: “Waheed’s at the meeting too, because it’s important for the young person to enter into communities with people their own age when they’re in need of such comprehensive social-psychiatric support, often you’re the only one under fifty in various institutional contexts, which can lead to a feeling of restricted opportunities, a dizzying horizon, resignation.” (pg. 29) However, she makes up for this unfeeling nature by providing an outlet for warmth and connection: the other residents the narrator comes to depend upon. Although the reader never learns the narrator’s name, the novel contains a range of other characters, like Waheed, whose love of 50 Cent can be heard throughout the facility as he blasts music from his speakers.
It is in these relationships that Gråbøl’s writing truly shines. Rather than providing grand gestures of human connectivity, Gråbøl teaches us that the little things in life are sometimes more rewarding. Throughout the novel, connection is found over a cigarette, a new recipe, a karaoke machine. Much like the romantic era of art asked us to consider finding the beauty in the mundane, Gråbøl paints her own picture, ultimately encouraging the reader to appreciate the ordinary in both the world she has constructed and the reality we live in.
As romanticized as Gråbøl’s style is, she uses her own experiences in the hospital as a foundation for the story to build upon. Her honesty is refreshing, as the narrator shares her discomfort with having 24 hour surveillance, a lack of resources and the ever-frustrating transition from one medical practitioner to another. What’s more, the narrator doesn’t appear to get better, which might just in fact be the point of it all: “We speak no more, hum no more, there’s only the thud now of the feet that carry us.” (pg. 146). Gråbøl examines the irony of trying to heal a permanent issue with a temporary solution, as the patients spend each day working not necessarily towards management, but rather, working to not end their own lives. As the story comes to a close, the narrator doesn’t seem to have gotten any better. Gråbøl’s use of vivid language and personable characters leave the reader feeling stuck, and what’s more, feeling content with being stuck.
Readers who enjoy engaging with the world in a metaphysical way and who find comfort in the ordinary will likely find solace in Gråbøl’s work. The eloquent fusion of abstraction and honesty in tandem with Gråbøl’s own experiences weave an intricate web that denies readers the ability to put the book down, yet supports them throughout the entire endeavor. Gråbøl extends her hand to the reader and asks them to consider what kingdom would lead a broken bird to an iron home. To purchase What Kingdom, visit Archipelago Books at archipelagobooks.org/books/.
Meet the blogger:
ALEXANDER BAILEY sits as an editor at Runestone, Hamline University’s premier literary journal. They enjoy writing fiction and examining systematic issues within the arts. They are currently pursuing degrees in Theatre Arts and English at Hamline University, and are slated to graduate in 2026.
