When, upon leaving a cafe, Naomi realizes she has taken the wrong coat—it resembles her own—she returns it to the woman it belongs to. At the cafe on another occasion, Naomi again spots this woman, Laura, who becomes the object of Naomi’s fascination (and eventually her lover). The novel swaps third-person narration for first-person narration by an unnamed woman whose job is to transcribe recordings of women’s personal stories for a ghostwriter. “I am transformed into every woman as I type,” the narrator reflects. “We are, in the moment I listen and type, the same person.” Soon the novel switches to what seems to be a transcript of a woman’s personal story; “I’m so lonely!” it begins. The novel interweaves the three narratives, inviting the reader to wonder how they’re connected. Alas, while the book is written with marvelously cool composure, none of the three strands is especially interesting: The reader is unlikely to share Naomi’s obsession with Laura, whose ethereality seems performative. Nothing much is going on in the transcriber’s life; the transcript snippets don’t go anywhere. And the women’s musings on having or being a double ultimately leave the impression of intellectual noodling. Some readers may find the book seductively mysterious: Johansson, the Swedish author of the novel Antiquity (2024), has set her scenes in an anonymous city in an unspecified past of landlines and cassette tapes. And some readers may be intrigued by the novel’s references to unnamed suspense films presumably invented by the author (although Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo and Marnie will come to mind). The transcriber’s summaries of the movie plots are compelling; if only this novel were equally so.
