Excerpt from "That Bloody Lot"
Contextual Note
This excerpt from Chapter 1 of Helvetesgjengen mirrors the storm many of us are caught in right now. It captures the raw, messy friction between creators and critics—the weary humor, the frustration, the cynicism that bubbles up when judgment stops being a dialogue and becomes a performance. The characters argue about ratings, but beneath that surface chatter lives the deeper question at the heart of our current drama: Who gets to judge creative work, and what responsibility do they carry when they do?
This piece reflects the tension so many of us feel as writers and reviewers: the push and pull between subjectivity and responsibility, between emotional reaction and thoughtful reflection. It holds a mirror to the very dynamic at the center of the conflict—and asks us, not gently, who we become when we’re the ones rolling the dice.
Excerpt from Chapter 1 of “That Bloody Lot”
Silje leans forward. “Do we give it a dice roll?”
Anders groans. “I hate dice rolls.”
“We’re doing it anyway.” Beate laughs.
“It’s like playing Ludo with the author’s soul. No six, and you sit in the cage forever.”
Silje raises an eyebrow. “You’re making metaphors again.”
“Of course I am. The Norwegian collective soul can’t handle anything but simple judgments. Four or six. Anything in between is for weak reviewers.”
Terje nods. “Fives are politics. Never say anything controversial.”
Tone lets out a bitter laugh. “The Arts Council loves fives. Always safe.”
Beate looks around the table. “But what about the ones who really are in the middle?”
Anders leans in, fingertips pressed against the table. “They should present the work. They should give their honest assessment.”
He stops, his voice almost cracking. “And then they should, for faen, shut up.”
A drop slides off the bottle, hits the wood, and sits there like a tiny mirror. Outside, the rain has quieted, but the gutters are singing.
“Who are they, really? Who do they think they are?”
He gives a short, humorless laugh. “You know who hands out sixes?”
No one answers.
“Reviewers who get paid for it.”
He lifts his glass—a toast to the rot.
“Jørn Lier Horst gets a six. Nesbø gets a six. Every damn time.”
Vanja watches him. “Do you have proof?”
Anders turns toward her. “It’s not about what I can prove. It’s about what I can see. And honestly—of everyone here, you’re the one asking for proof?”
She doesn’t look away. “Exactly. I know what it costs to accuse someone without it.”
“Hamsun said the editors were corrupt. No one believed him either.”
Vanja nods slowly. “And maybe he was right. Or maybe it just made him a little bitter.”
Silence settles.
“If Hamsun was bitter,” Anders mutters, “then I say: long live bitterness. And long live Hamsun. Above all, beside none.”
Hell gang is due out early 2026.
Notes
“For faen” is left untranslated, as no English equivalent captures its tone. It expresses irritation without the harshness of the English f-word, and translating it would distort the emotional weight.
Also, this excerpt misses the characterizations. For reference, Vanja is a gypsy.
And further, it’s very hard to translate Helvetesgjengen so that it makes sense in english. That Bloody Lot is an attempt.