Book Review | Mikko Vienonen, who belongs to the group of literary journalists, sympathetically describes the dreams of youth – Pledge Times


In the novel, a complex young man repeats the growing painful twists of his life.


Mikko Vienonen: Shit pants. Work. 320 s.

Supplier Mikko Vienonen (b. 1963) joins a large number of literary journalists. I don’t know if he kept the finished novel script in his desk drawer for a long time – which is what is allegedly the hallmark of journalists. Well, now at least it has come out of there: Shit pants is Vienonen’s debut novel.

The main character is Harri, a complex young man who repeats the growth painful twists and turns of his life. Not a completely unshakable basic situation in novel art, and In the shorts it is tinted by a combination of the narrator’s dark-speaking state of mind and secretion-focused loose jokes. Immediately on the first pages, the ability to detain.

“I was shit pants. Why was everything so godlessly difficult for me? ”Harri witches up at the age of 18. “Why couldn’t you even dock right?”

As the main stage are (resembling Salo) a smaller agglomeration and the study city of Tampere. Harri immerses herself in unstructured artist dreams, which are sometimes struck higher by her torturous female dreams. Admission to the artist’s table as a full member would already help the artist’s path.

Girlfriend candidates young man records up meticulously.

Harri thirsts for the sweet fatal touch of art and sex – but why do they go around him from afar? It is not yet possible to go to the Moon on the merits of the local newspaper’s youth column keeper.

Meeting Johanna brings a more surprising vibe to Harr’s life. The pattern raises the hopes of Harr (and the reader as well) – but for how long.

However, the road is likely to be equally bumpy, and balance cannot be guaranteed by the presence of another person alone.

Know yourself, trust yourself, Vienone seems to whisper – before that, none of your dreams will come true.

Shit pants proves to be an unnecessarily forced performance. That may be youth, but I would have expected a fuller written expression of feelings. There is only a momentary life in the scenes.

Ordinary, even in sympathy.



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