This article was originally published by The Mennonite

Journalism and that tattooed girl

Mediaculture: Reflections on the effect of media and culture on our faith

What does a bestselling murder mystery series from Sweden have to teach us about the importance of journalism to a democratic society? Quite a bit.

The late Stieg Larsson’s Millennium trilogy—The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Played with Fire and The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest—have already sold more than 50 million copies. In addition, three Swedish films have been made, based on the books, and last December, David Fincher’s film of the first book came out to much acclaim, including five Oscar nominations.

The books, though overwritten and implausible, are arresting, and what carries them is the character of Lisbeth Salander, who has a photographic memory and can hack into almost any computer. She also takes vengeance on men who have tortured her and who torture other women. (The Swedish title of the first book translates, “Men Who Hate Women.”)

The other main character of the series is Mikael Blomkvist, who is a journalist working for Millennium, an investigative business magazine with a conscience. He is also not very plausible, but that often goes with the territory of murder mysteries.

Nevertheless, as Eric Alterman writes in the January/February issue of Columbia Journalism Review, “what makes the trilogy so valuable to the cause of journalism are the things it gets right.”

Alterman, who is Distinguished Professor of English and Journalism at Brooklyn College and the CUNY School of Journalism, argues that the profession of journalism has failed “to make a compelling case for itself, at least in the eyes of the readers, viewers and listeners who do not appear to be concerning themselves terribly much with its rapid disappearance.”

But readers or viewers who go to these stories to find out what happens next will also be exposed to basic issues of journalism and to its importance in bringing justice to a corrupt society, in this case one that supports and protects men who do horrible things to women.

For example, Erika Berger, Blomkvist’s lover, best friend and editor, tells him: “Your job description as a journalist is to question and scrutinize critically—never to repeat claims uncritically, no matter how highly placed the sources in the bureaucracy.”
Imagine how different things might be if we lived in a society that valued such critical thinking.

Alterman points out ways the trilogy shows the frustrating details of journalism. It acknowledges that “media organizations are rarely honest about themselves.” It portrays “the psychological vulnerability that journalists feel when they try to travel independent of the pack.”

And Larsson is true-to-life in his treatment of the role money plays in the profession. Alterman writes: “Journalists, few people understand, are awfully poorly paid.” And Larsson has an editor attempt to balance the monetary cost of a story against its societal value. This attention to money is practically invisible in most journalism-based entertainment.

While many of these details are “peripheral to the story of Salander’s struggle against the murderously evil genius she is battling,” Alterman writes, “without Blomkvist, the (really) bad guys would win.”

Although it shouldn’t take a popular murder mystery series to wake us up to the importance of journalism, I’m glad if it helps.

Gordon Houser is associate editor of The Mennonite.

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