70 pages • 2-hour read
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Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of death, sexual violence, rape, child abuse, physical abuse, bullying, gender discrimination, antigay bias, and cursing.
In the previous novel, Lisbeth’s personal history is unknown, but the traumatic sexual assault that Bjurman perpetrates against Lisbeth is vividly described. Upon dealing with Martin Vanger, Lisbeth finds that her trauma sparks a greater desire to take down a known rapist and murderer. In The Girl Who Played With Fire, Lisbeth’s extensive history of dealing with men who hate women becomes the dominant factor in her own inner development, showing that a life of consistent disregard, disdain, and outright violence has dissuaded Lisbeth from participating in social systems at all. From her father, Zala, and her psychiatrist, Teleborian, to every police officer and social worker she has met along the way, Lisbeth has only learned to better internalize her feelings and shut out others. As a result, even in her direst straits, she isolates herself from the people who are best suited to help her, like Blomkvist.
When she was a child, teachers ignored Lisbeth, while other children bullied her and never suffered any consequences. At home, Lisbeth periodically witnessed Zalachenko beat Agneta, and he ignored his daughters completely. When Lisbeth finally acted, social workers, paramedics, and police officers all disregarded her cries for help, and she was subjected to extended periods in a sensory deprivation room with Teleborian. Lisbeth notes that “she decided never again to exchange a word with Teleborian or any other psychiatrist or shrink” after this experience (310). This vow of silence extended to police and social workers, creating the enigma that surrounds Lisbeth during the investigation. However, this approach also cuts Lisbeth off from other people, leaving her traumatic experiences unhealed and festering.
As the search for Lisbeth progresses, Blomkvist is constantly reaching out to her, reassuring her of his support and desire to help her. However, her past trauma compels her to ignore him until she sees his message detailing the information he found on her life, after which he still wants to help her solve the situation. She criticizes herself, thinking, “Salander in love. What a fucking joke” (437), but she is finally admitting that she wants another person in her life. At the end of the novel, Blomkvist arrives and finds Lisbeth injured, and she whispers, “Kalle Fucking Blomkvist” before she “close[s] her eyes and let[s] go of the gun” (490). In this moment, Lisbeth lets down her guard completely. By dropping the gun and closing her eyes, she symbolically puts her full trust in Blomkvist to care for her and bring her to safety. While this trust is not a complete healing of Lisbeth’s past, it is the necessary beginning to that process.
A dominant theme in Larsson’s works is the ability of journalism to bring out issues and injustices that would otherwise be ignored by typical investigative and punitive institutions. However, Larsson understood that most forms of mass media are less interested in justice than in selling news, and Millennium is intended to be an example of a morally upright, ideal news organization. In The Girl Who Played With Fire, this trend is established early on with Dag’s book, which exposes journalists, politicians, and even police officers who have evaded justice for their participation in sex trafficking. Throughout the novel, Millennium maintains the stance that sex traffickers are responsible for Dag’s, Mia’s, and Bjurman’s murders and for the creation of a system of violence and abuse. Still, other journalists ignore the truth, often actively pursuing false information to create sensationalist headlines that quickly influence the public and the official investigation into the case.
When Dag presents his book to Millennium, Berger notes the existing legal system and the strict laws surrounding sex trafficking. Dag responds, “We have a government that introduced a tough sex-trade law, we have police who are supposed to see to it that the law is obeyed, and we have courts that are supposed to convict sex criminals […] and we have the media, which write indignant articles about the subject” (73), and yet Sweden is still importing record numbers of sex workers from other countries. Dag’s position is that the system, while maintaining the appearance of justice and integrity, is complicit in furthering the aims of criminal organizations that are trafficking women into the country. The “indignant articles” of the media do nothing to stem this tide, and Dag wants his book, like Blomkvist’s work on Wennerstrom, to force the hands of all the other systems he mentions, bringing real justice to the forefront. With this built-in diatribe, Larsson uses the positions of certain characters to advance his own critique on real-world problems in Sweden.
Dag and Blomkvist consistently appear in the novel as ideal journalists, looking only for the truth and accumulating sufficient evidence to back up their claims. They are foils to Tony Scala and the other journalists in Sweden, who jump on any idea that might be transformed into an attention-grabbing headline. The most notable headline to come from Scala’s half-baked journalism is the damaging phrase “Police Tracking Lesbian Satanist Cult” (293), which later becomes Faste’s reason for fixating on Lisbeth as the prime suspect. Simply put, there is no “lesbian satanist cult” in the novel at all, though the band Evil Fingers jokingly endorses satanism and happens to be composed of lesbian musicians. Scala extrapolates from Mimmi’s statement that Lisbeth, too, is part of Evil Fingers and then exaggerates the situation to make a catchy headline. The appearance of guilt then becomes the potential for criminal proceedings, as Faste actively tries to blame Lisbeth for murders she did not commit. With this complex interplay, Larsson portrays the media as both a possible avenue to justice and a dangerous weapon that can be deployed against anyone.
The direct issue of Lisbeth’s life is that the system is orchestrated to keep her subjugated to the government, preventing her from exposing the crimes of her father, Zala. When Lisbeth was a child, Zala’s abuses were covered up by Sapo, who saw Zala as an asset, making him more important than Agneta, Camilla, or Lisbeth. After the event that Lisbeth labels “All The Evil,” Bjorck and Teleborian conspired to frame her as an incompetent, violent woman, destroying her credibility. Although she avoided permanent confinement to a psychiatric hospital with the help of Palmgren, Lisbeth was still regarded as a second-class citizen because of her guardianship. By the opening of The Girl Who Played With Fire, Lisbeth has no means of defending herself to the police or the public since they have already judged her based on her supposed background, which is entirely fabricated by Bjorck, Teleborian, and Zala. Her story is largely driven by society’s tendency to predetermine judgments against women by suppressing their ability to participate in society. To fight against this injustice on her own terms, she takes actions that are themselves extralegal and sometimes ruthless, willingly making herself a vigilante and embracing even more compromising situations.
The theme is also illustrated throughout the chapters that focus on the murder investigations and the hardened criminals. Larsson explains the misogyny of Swedish society through side comments from characters like Bjurman, Faste, and Zala, whose attitudes reflect those of real-world men who hate women as a general rule. Bjurman always refers to Lisbeth with derogatory terms such as “whore” or “bitch,” degrading her image in his mind to make up for the fact that she outsmarted him and took control of his life. However, the most potent example of misogyny in degrading women’s roles in society comes from Zala, who tells Lisbeth, “You can have whatever fantasies you want about her. But I know that she was a whore […] As if I’d marry a whore” (467). Zala’s repetition of the word “whore,” paired with the idea of “fantasizing” that Agneta was a full person with desires and goals, undermines any effort made by women to succeed in the world. To Zala and to many men in Larsson’s works, women are only useful as sex objects, and any actions that they take to refute this narrow, oppressive definition make them either “whores” or “bitches” in these men’s eyes.
Perhaps most tellingly, however, is Larsson’s portrayal of the ingrained sexism that impacts the very dynamics of investigations, and Faste stands as an avatar of toxic masculinity, actively undermining women’s efforts and degrading both Mimmi and Modig. As Modig observes, “It was obvious that Faste felt threatened by a beautiful, intelligent, and outspoken lesbian” (281). Throughout the novel, his extensive prejudices lead him to warp Mimmi’s testimony and accuse Modig of trying to sleep with Mimmi. In each case, Faste uses his position of power to undermine the professional integrity of the women he confronts, and only Bublanski’s interference prevents Faste from destroying Mimmi’s and Modig’s reputations. Likewise, when Modig challenges Faste as a police officer, he responds, “But I think you’re unprofessional and don’t have any business being a police officer. At least not at this level” (348). Faste’s assertion that Modig, as a woman, should not be in a position of power mirrors other characters’ assumptions that Lisbeth could only have been useful for cleaning or getting coffee at Milton Security. These frequent examples are collectively portrayed as an amalgamation of the systemic, sexist discrimination that dominates Swedish society.



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