From fever dreams to fiction: the unscripted world of Ia Genberg

The critically acclaimed Swedish author Ia Genberg talks memory, money, and the quiet craft of storytelling

BENJAMIN CREMEL / AFP

Swedish author Ia Genberg poses on the red carpet upon arrival for the 2024 International Booker Prize 2024 award announcement ceremony, at Tate Modern in central London, on 21 May 2024.

From fever dreams to fiction: the unscripted world of Ia Genberg

Nesrein El-Bakhshawangy

last update on 13 Apr 2026

Two years ago, the Swedish novelist Ia Genberg’s The Details was shortlisted for the International Booker Prize. Earlier this year, her latest work, Small Comfort, a collection of five interconnected short stories, was long-listed for the same award. Such recognition has not only raised her international profile but also cemented her reputation as a distinctive voice in contemporary European fiction.

Born in Stockholm in 1967, Genberg began her career as a journalist before turning to fiction in 2012 with her debut novel, Sweet Friday. A handful of works have followed since, including the critically acclaimed The Details, which traces a feverish narrator’s recollections of four formative relationships.

Al Majalla caught up with her, discussing everything from memory and the nature of storytelling to money, language, and the art of translation.

You published your first novel, Sweet Friday, after a long career in journalism. What led you to start writing?

I had worked as a journalist for about 10 years and was a bit tired of it. I had also made documentary films and worked in communications. When I was at home with my young children, I finally had the peace and quiet to think about what I wanted to do. I had a few ideas and short stories drifting around in my head, and based on some of them, I started writing.

What unites your work, and why do you return so often to memory and human relationships?

Unfortunately, I don’t have any grand vision for writing at all. I write one book at a time, and when I’m finished, there are a hundred more or less bad ideas waiting in line. There’s no big plan, no carefully thought-out overarching themes or anything like that. But when I’m sitting there writing, it has happened more than once that I’ve written about memory and people.

In your novel, The Details, to what extent does the narrator experience memory as something lived rather than recalled?

I wanted to find a way for the narrator to reach beyond herself, beyond her own ‘I’, to speak honestly about other people, not to be self-absorbed or constantly reflecting on herself. At the same time, inevitably, the story is about her as well. That’s what happens when we tell things about others, or about the weather, the world, history: we are also telling something about ourselves.

Letting the memories surface during a fever was a good way to avoid having to make the story whole, with a beginning, a middle, and an end. That’s not how we remember things, is it? Our memory is all jumbled up—bits here and there—with long stretches of erased everyday life in between.

The idea for this novel came to you while you were suffering from Covid, opened a book, and discovered an old letter. How did that grow into a novel?

That’s often how novels begin—with a small idea that then grows. It’s not easy to explain exactly how. For me, one character after another appeared, and the voice telling their story was the same. I wrote the first portrait and then set it aside without knowing what it was. Then the next portrait emerged, and as I wrote, the tone felt somehow familiar. So I kept writing, and it turned into a kind of novel.

It's interesting how our language is invaded by economic terms—how we talk about investing in a relationship, or having 'cred' in certain situations.

Swedish author Ia Genberg

What inspired the novel's four-part, multi-voiced structure, and how did you develop each voice—through observation or imagination?

I didn't do any research at all, except asking a few friends whether it snowed in Stockholm on New Year's 1999 or what year people stopped using pagers. If I write that spring came early in 2000, I want that to be accurate. In my opinion, that's the internet's greatest advantage for writers—that you can very quickly check whether corduroy jeans existed in the 1920s, whether Soto Zen or Rinzai Zen is the older tradition, whether cucumber contains protein, and what the most common symptoms of emotionally unstable personality disorder are. Details like that should be correct, in my view.

The division into four chapters, each about a different person, came very naturally. We rarely tell things from A to Z; instead, we jump around and tell what matters most. Since it's the same person narrating, it's one and the same voice that resonates throughout the novel. The voice itself is what holds the stories together.

In Small Comfort, five interconnected short stories use recurring themes such as injustice, truth, and revolution to reveal the characters' conflicts. Tell us more...

I wanted to write a book about money, and I considered different ways of approaching the subject. In the end, I wrote several stories that revolved around money. For this book, I did much more research—read books and talked to people. For example, I tried to understand what money actually is, unfortunately without succeeding. I don't think that value when it comes to money and value when it comes to people are the same thing, except in a purely semantic sense.

But it's interesting how our language is invaded by economic terms—how we talk about investing in a relationship, or having 'cred' in certain situations. It's also strange that we measure time in terms of money and let these two units circulate together, even though our time is very limited and money is something that's essentially made up.

What does the short story offer you that the novel cannot—and is it more challenging or more freeing?

It's harder to write a novel than short stories. A short story is a walk, or a quick sprint. A novel is a marathon—at least for me. But in Small Comfort, the stories are connected in a way that resembles a novel; they lead into one another and reflect one another. In that sense, it was quite similar to a novel in terms of the work itself.

I cannot emphasise enough how important translators are. They are living bridges and absolutely essential in our world right now.

Swedish author Ia Genberg

The Details was shortlisted for the International Booker Prize in 2024, and Small Comfort was long-listed for the same prize this year. What was your reaction?

I was very surprised both times. Truly astonished. But, of course, this is about translations, so the credit really goes to Kira Josefsson, my translator into English. She's an absolutely incredible translator.

To what extent is translation a hidden partner?

I cannot emphasise enough how important translators are. In recent years, I've had the pleasure of meeting quite a few. They are all wonderful people. Geniuses, of course, but also the work they do is crucial for openness in a society. Translations increase transparency, permeability, and transnational understanding. They are living bridges and absolutely essential in our world right now.

Does repeated nomination for a prize as prestigious as the Booker Prize make a writer more aware of their place on the global stage?

Nominations and awards have nothing to do with me or my writing. Everyone knows that, to a large extent, it's just luck whether a buzz or hype arises around a book, just as much luck as when some really great books are ignored or forgotten. There are a few more novels I would like to write. It's a job, a daily task, and that's where I try to focus my attention.

What project are you currently working on?

I'm working on a new novel, but I don't know much about it yet. I mostly keep rewriting the first two pages—adding a few things, taking most of it away. There's a clear idea of the novel's tone and energy, but not much beyond that. Hopefully, it will be different from what I've written before. I try to write in a new way every time.

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