Gothenburg is to the Grebsts what Mauritius is to dodos. It
is the place where their absence hangs shamefully in the air. When I visited
the city in the spring of 2011, I expected to uncover a treasure trove of
information about them. My starting point was a quick check of the telephone
directory. This revealed not a single Grebst listed for the region. Not to
worry, I next decided to hit the antiquarian bookshops and buy up as many Willy
Andersson Grebst titles as I could get my hands on. I wrote out a list of all
the bookshops in the city, studied my map to locate them and then confidently
jumped on the tram network. I was shell-shocked to discover that not a single
bookshop owner had even heard of the name Willy Andersson Grebst. “He’s listed
in the Swedish Writers’ Lexicon,” I
pointed out. “And he wrote one of the first ever novels about the sinking of
the Titanic.” They all shook their heads. One owner, halfway through his
morning tea, even seemed annoyed at me for posing such an obscure question. “Grebst?
That’s not a Swedish name,” he snapped. He did humour me by making a call to a more
knowledgeable colleague but when it drew a blank, he grumpily went back to his
food with a dismissive wave of the hand. I returned to my hotel that day without
even having set eyes upon a single Grebst book.
Of course, Grebst isn’t
a Swedish name; it’s German like the name Engelbrecht. Germans have been migrating
to Sweden since the Middle Ages and just as the rebel Engelbrecht was one of
the great heroes of Swedish history, the Grebsts I was researching were Swedish
to the core and exceedingly proud of it. The German roots of their surname are
now lost in the mists of time.
Why was I so surprised that nobody in Gothenburg recognised
the name? To begin with, it made me feel damn silly. I had just flown halfway
around the globe expecting to dive into a pool of information only to find that
the pool was empty. Ouch. But it wasn’t just my fault, surely? I mean, both
Willy Andersson Grebst and his brother Harald Grebst were published writers.
Willy was a prolific poet and author of novels, travelogues and screenplays. He
founded the notorious boulevard newspaper, Vidi,
and was an actor in one of the earliest Swedish films. His funeral in 1920
packed out the Gustavi Cathedral. It is hard to imagine anybody living in
Gothenburg in the first two decades of the twentieth century not knowing the name Grebst. The city’s popular
local historian, Bengt Öhnander, does acknowledge Willy Grebst but describes
him in typical Swedish understatement as “a controversial gentleman.”[1]
Towards the very end of my 2011 visit to Gothenburg, I came across an article
by Anders Källgård that begins: “Today he is forgotten: Willy A:son Grebst. His
books can be found in scrapheaps in the second-hand markets and the cheapest
shelves in antiquarian bookstores.”[2]
Not even that, I thought. Even the city library disappointed me; it only held
two of his titles: Grängesberg and Bread. Gothenburg today has frostily turned
her back on the Grebst dynasty. Is there any reason for this total snub? Can one
imagine Dublin erasing all references to James Joyce? Or bookshop owners in Melbourne
saying of Peter Carey, “Nuh, never heard of him”? What, if anything, did the
Grebsts do to make their beloved home-city blush and avert her eyes at the mere
mention of their name?
Before tackling these intriguing questions, we need to cover
some basics: who were the Grebsts? The Swedish
Writers’ Lexicon records that William (Willy) Daniel August Grebst
[pseudonym: Billy Buss] was born in Gothenburg on 24 November 1875 to Consul
Axel Olof Andersson and Clara Seelig.[3]
The date of birth is probably wrong; Willy’s gravestone states 21 November
1875. Everyone agrees he died on 16 September 1920. It seems that Clara Seelig
had some Jewish blood in her veins, a sensitive issue in right-wing families
prior to World War 2 and I do not know what became of her. Consul Andersson later
married Maria Lovisa Grebst who gave birth to Sylva Teodora Grebst in
Gothenburg on 3 May 1884. Most likely Maria was also mother to Willy’s half-brother,
Harald Axel Grebst, who ultimately took over his father’s role as Consul to
Cuba. Harald married Wally Amalia Klatzö and they had two children, a daughter
Menja and a son Lars Olof born on 13 January 1906. It was Lars Olof Grebst who
would ultimately end up in Australia and change his name to Hans Erikson.
The leading light of the Grebst dynasty was undoubtedly “controversial”
Willy. And it is clear that this peculiar character had a huge impact upon his
sickly nephew, Lars Olof, an impact that would play out over the course of his
lifetime. The clash between Lars Olof Grebst and the Australian government in
1935 has Uncle Willy’s fingerprints all over it. To recognise them properly, we
need to acquaint ourselves with that flyttfågel
[migratory bird] of Swedish writing in the early twentieth century, Willy
Andersson Grebst.
 |
| W A Grebst cycling in Japan |
As I review my notes to begin writing this section, I am
stunned by how prolific a writer Grebst was. He really churned the words out
from his mid-twenties on. Some say his enormous output was at the expense of
quality and he is certainly not counted today among the greats of Swedish
literature. You won’t find him in any anthology of Swedish writing. Grebst’s
first publication was in 1900, a small collection of poetry entitled You who replenish my whole existence with
your stimulating presence [Dig som uppfyller hela min tillvaro med din
sinnena retande närvaro]. If this sounds a bit erotic, it probably was. Then
came Poems [Dikter] in 1903. The poet
then seems to have been overtaken by a desire for travel and a shift to prose. Two
titles appeared in 1908: Grängesberg: A
Tale from the Crisis Years [Grängesberg: en berättelse från krisåren] and Savage Life: South Pacific Tales [Vildt
Lif: Söderhafs Berättelser]. Grängesberg
is an account of life in Sweden at the time and Savage Life a collection of eight short stories of the author’s
travels in the South Pacific in which he describes the characters he stumbled
across, mainly European misfits “gone native” and their unusual lives. I read
the tales as being factually based and not fictional although they most
certainly contain exaggerations and embellishments.
On 28 December 1908, the city of Messina on Sicily was
devastated by a massive earthquake. About 91 per cent of its buildings
collapsed killing over 70,000 people. Grebst was engaged by the Göteborgs Posten newspaper to report
from the disaster zone and they published several of his despatches. However,
word soon reached the editor that their “foreign correspondent” was still happily
ensconced in Gothenburg – at Kungsbacka and his beloved little grey cottage at
Hindås. Grebst was confronted about this and explained that he had made a
lightning visit to Messina and written most of his despatches on the journey
home. I don’t suppose we will ever know if he did actually visit Messina or
simply “knocked up” an account from press reports and his own vivid imagination.
However, the fact that he was quite open to bending the truth makes it
difficult to interpret his other writings. Can we trust them? His full “eye
witness” account of the Messina tragedy was published in 1909 as When the World’s Foundations Move: Messina’s
Destruction: the World’s Greatest Natural Disaster in Historical Times [När
jordens grundvalar bäfva: Messinas undergång: världens största naturkatastrof i
historisk tid]. The Messina assignment soured his relationship with Göteborgs Posten, a relationship that
would become toxic in the years ahead. His other 1909 titles were Red Nights [Röda nätter] and In the Land of the Rising Sun – By Velociped
Through Japan [I soluppgångens land – på velociped genom Japan]. This last
account follows Grebst’s intrepid bicycle journey from Yokohama to the ancient
Tokaido region in which he experienced both the ancient and the modern Japan.
1910 saw the publication of Happy Days: Sunny Memories from Samoa [Lyckliga Dagar:
Solskensminnen från Samoa]. No titles were released in 1911 but this was just
the calm before the storm. In 1912, an incredible five titles appeared including
the novel for which forgotten Grebst is most remembered. It was based on the
most reported event of 1912: the loss of the Titanic on 15 April. Grebst
responded to the tragedy by churning out Fatal
Voyage: A Romanticised Account of the Loss of the Titanic [Dödsfärden: en romantiserad
skildring af Titanics undergång]. It appears to have been the world’s very
first Titanic novel and, according to Peter Björkfors, was
comprehensively plagiarised by a Finn, Esko Waltala, the following year. He
simply replaced all the Swedish characters with Finnish ones. Björkfors also writes: “one particular incident
pertaining to Grebst’s book has been documented: a Carl Eriksson from
Gothenburg reacted strongly to the novel’s vicious treatment of Bruce Ismay in
the book. Eriksson notified Grebst that he had sent Ismay a translation of
certain condemning passages from Dödsfärden,
and that, with Ismay’s consent, a lawsuit for slander would be filed against
Grebst. In all likelihood, this remained an empty threat, since nothing more
was heard about the case.”[4]
Despite
the English-speaking world’s fascination with the Titanic disaster, the novel
was never translated into English and has remained largely unknown. Part of the
reason for this may be Grebst’s Swede-centric style and focus. Björkfors quotes
from Fatal Voyage where the father of
engineer Gustav Larsson bids his son farewell entreating him to “never forget
that you are a Swede and that all around the world that stands for honour and
capability, loyalty and manliness.” Other Swedish national virtues are, it
seems, modesty, morality, faith in God, hard work and a sense of adventure. I
have no doubt that Grebst believed in this type of nationalist propaganda – he
certainly wouldn’t have been alone – and that he imparted it to his young
nephew Lars Olof to the extent that, although Lars Olof refused to ever leave
Australia and return to Sweden, he also refused to give up his Swedish
citizenship. He “never forgot” that he was a Swede.
Another of Willy Andersson Grebst’s 1912 books is one the
Swedish Foreign Office has been regretting ever since. Sadly for Swedish-Korean
diplomacy, Grebst visited Korea in 1904-1905 using a false name and wrote about
it in In Korea: Memories and Studies from
The Land of the Morning Calm [I Korea: minnen och studier från
Morgonstillhetens land]. As usual, he didn’t hold back. Tobias Hubinette (who
has done much research into the extreme Right in Sweden) writes:
On Christmas Eve 1904, Grebst boards
a ship leaving Japan and Nagasaki behind after having received permission to
visit Korea. Upon arrival in Pusan, he is surprised by the number of Chinese
and Japanese fishing boats, which for Grebst proves that the Koreans are the
“world’s laziest people” as they cannot take care of the riches of the sea
themselves. As Grebst is taking a walk through Pusan, he is struck by the
“ever-present filth”, contrasted by the cleanliness of the Japanese area: “The
expansion of the vital Japanese race makes the extinction of the Koreans almost
necessary.” The Korean women appear in the eyes of Grebst as “very ugly”.
Grebst utilizes the passenger train
to Seoul, and during the trip he spends time with a Japanese army captain who
insists that the Koreans have “no future” and thus are “doomed to extinction”.
In Seoul, he hires a room at Station Hotel, owned by an English missionary, and
is bestowed a Korean “boy” as his guide. On New Year’s Eve, he is invited to
the German Embassy where he befriends the famous Dr. Wunsch who works as a
medical doctor for emperor Kojong’s court. Through his acquaintance with Dr.
Wunsch, he is invited to the funeral of the crown princess in January of 1905
and gets permission to meet the emperor himself. The audience at Kyongbokkung
is for Grebst like a “dream”, a visit at an “Oriental court” just like in the
fairytale: “Oriental splendor and magnificence, a group of eunuchs and an army
of coolies.” Grebst pities the emperor who is on his way of losing his country
to Japan, while the crown prince is “ugly”, looking like an “evil pig”: “The
last male offspring of a degenerated house!” The struggle for independence is
ever-present in the Korean capital as Grebst witnesses several meetings on the
streets, and sometimes he even feels sympathy for the Koreans, the “childish,
stupid and lazy people”. After four weeks in Seoul, in vain he tries to get to
the theater of war north of the Yalu river, but the Japanese want him to leave
the country. At the end of January, Grebst leaves Korea with a German ship
after a last farewell dinner at the German Embassy.[5]
Grebst described the Koreans thus: “their typically Mongolian faces had a calm and indifferent expression.” The women he met were “so ugly that it would have been better if they had stayed at home.” In the Emperor’s court, the Germans loaned Grebst some medals and told him to say he was a Swedish general. When asked by the courtiers what Sweden was like and why Sweden hadn’t sent any diplomats to Seoul, Grebst blustered: “I explained that Sweden was one of the largest kingdoms in Europe and that it was so powerful that it didn’t need to send diplomats to such tiny states as Korea … Its king was the world’s wisest man and wrote better verse than the Mikado. And its history was so old that in comparison Korea’s was like a newly dictated saga.”
Fortunately, Grebst’s other 1912 books were not so
controversial. Jösses’ Adventure: After
the English Lady [Jösses äfventyr: efter engelskan] was a child’s fairy
tale. On the Ocean: Tales [På hafvet:
berättelser] contained more travel stories. A
Year on my Farm: Fortunes and Mishaps in the Wild West [Ett år på min farm:
öden och missöden i Vilda Västern] covers part of his time living in America
with his American wife (we will need to discuss that woman later).
Three new books appeared in 1913. The Adventurous Year: More Fortunes and Mishaps in the Wild West [Det
äfventyrliga året: vidare öden och missöden i Vilda Västern] continued the
story of his rural American life. A
Honeymoon in Tierra del Fuego [En bröllopsresa i Eldslandet] is a detailed
travelogue of his 1906 visit to Cape Horn with his “newlywed.” The third book
was The Girl in the Tower: An Episode [Flickan
i tornet: en episod].
1913 was a critical year in terms of the legacy of Willy
Andersson Grebst. In the autumn of that year in Gothenburg, he founded the
newspaper Vidi, its name meaning “I
saw” in Latin. He would come to cherish it as “his real life’s work” and remained
owner-editor until his death in 1920. Concerns about its future haunted his
last days. Vidi did continue after
his death, however, and today is remembered rather sadly as an anti-semitic street
rag.
Grebst’s next books did not appear until 1916. South Pacific Paradise: Tales from Tahiti
and Samoa [Söderhavets paradis: berättelser från Tahiti och Samoa] and Dreams and Fantasies [Drömmar och
fantasier] may well have been delayed by the outbreak of World War 1 and the
disruption it caused to the trade of neutral Sweden. That subject was dealt
with in 1917 with the publication of Bread:
A Cross Section through Society’s Spring [Bröd: tvärsnitt genom samhället
våren]. Other titles that year were A
Catalogue of Grunewald’s Artworks Displayed for Thinking People by W. Andersson
Grebst [Katalog öfver grunewaldianska konstverk på W. Andersson Grebsts
utställning för tänkande människor] and Leipää.
My Little Princess [Min lilla
prinsessa], a children’s book, followed in 1918.
No Grebst books were published in 1919, the penultimate year
of his life. However, three titles were released posthumously in 1920: Exotic and Erotic [Exotiskt och erotiskt],
Notes and Stories [Stämningar och
historier] and Adventures and Tales: The
Editor of Vidi narrates [Äfventyr och berättelser: vidiredaktören berättar].
In addition to this impressive twenty-year output of poetry
and prose, Grebst spent at least three years of his life involved in the
Swedish film industry. He is credited with writing four film scripts: The Rose on Tistel Island [Rosen på
Tistelön] in 1915, Imprisoned in Karlsten
Fort [Fången på Karlstens fästning] in 1916 and In Chains of Darkness [I mörkrets bojor] and For Home and Hearth [För hem och härd] both in 1917. In fact, The Rose on Tistel Island and For Home and Hearth were co-written with
Georg af Klercker whom Ingmar Bergman would later hail as one of the early
masters of Swedish film. Of For Home and
Hearth, Grebst wrote, tongue-in-cheek, in Vidi of the film’s genesis in a
drinking session at the Palace Hotel: “the thing went like this: Pelle
Wigelius wanted to have a film written to present as a fundraiser for the Crown
Princess’ Clothing Fund. So the good Pelle turned to Lieutenant af Klerker;
Lieutenant af Klerker then turned to me; then we all turned to the grog.”[6] Both
Grebst and af Klercker acted in For Home
and Hearth, Grebst playing the part of shopkeeper Gustafsson and af
Klercker playing Sven the farmhand. The film was directed by af Klercker and
its premiere in Stockholm’s Auditorium was attended by the Crown Prince, Crown
Princess and Prime Minister. According to the Swedish Film Database, Grebst
wrote a bigger role for his own character than appears in the completed film.
His character was originally to die a hero’s death on the battlefield but in
the completed film he simply disappears from the action. It is af Klercker’s Sven
who takes on the status of hero. One can imagine the battle of egos between the
two writers, a battle that Grebst lost. Could this be the reason why he made no
more films after 1917?
Grebst was certainly a prolific and varied writer but was he
a good one? I have already stated that he never made it into any anthologies of
quality Swedish literature or verse. But is that because of his writing or his
now unfashionable political views? I have read a good smattering of his work
but my Swedish is not fluent enough to accord my opinion any value. The most I
can say is that he often tends to repetition and my instincts as a novelist
mark this as a sign of fast writing. No great insight there as we already know he
was renowned for being able to churn out a manuscript. He was also famous for
the ascerbic wit he dished out freely in the pages of Vidi and elsewhere. One example is his attack upon the Christinae
church authorities for not fixing the weathervane on top of the German Church:
“The church may show the way to GOD but the weathervane on the tower points to
HELL.” He certainly had a well-developed ear for comedy and the old Viking
ability to spin out a good yarn. I can easily imagine that his travel books
were a source of great pleasure and fascination to many Swedes locked away in
their little rural parishes. Anders Källgård, who wrote his brief article about
Grebst in 1991, clearly enjoyed reading the travelogues but in the end awarded
him “a place amongst our pekoralister.”
This is a difficult word to translate succinctly in English. A pekoralist is one who writes
pretentious, bombastic trash. Was Grebst really one of those? Well … probably
yes. To support his conclusion, Källgård cites one of Grebst’s erotic poems:
Med
dina fingrars lystna egg mig rif.
With your fingers’ desirous urge
scratch me.
Enough said, don’t you think?
[2] Anders Källgård, ”Willy A:son Grebst, färgstark vagabond
och pekoralist: Lefve Reselifvet! Hurra för det! Banzai!” in Vagabond 3-4/1991 p. 117
[4]
Peter Björkfors, “The Titanic Disaster and Images of National Identity in
Scandinavian Literature” in Tim Bergfelder & Sarah Street (eds) The Titanic in Myth and Memory:
Representations in Visual and Literary Culture (I.B. Tauris & Co. Ltd.,
2004) p. 53
[5] Tobias Hubinette, “Swedish Images of Korea before
1945”, Scandinavian Studies, Journal of the Scandinavian Society of Korea, 4/2003
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