The endeavor of assembling a Swedish cultural canon, entrusted to history professor Lars Trägårdh, appeared daunting from the outset, and has only grown more complex with time. Trägårdh himself seems to acknowledge this escalating difficulty, as the scope of the canon broadens daily, blurring the very definition of ”culture.” His initial vision for the project appears to be in constant flux, and he has preemptively questioned the feasibility of the August deadline. In a move characteristic of his individualistic approach, Trägårdh has invited public submissions, transforming the process into a collaborative, almost crowdsourced endeavor.
This invitation to public participation is not merely a balancing act between the left’s emphasis on diversity and the right’s aversion to consensual culture. It’s a ”show, don’t tell” strategy that highlights the inherently subjective and personal nature of defining a cultural canon. The resulting influx of suggestions, ranging from loose candy and a local football club to role-playing games, pastry shapes, comic strips, childhood pastimes, and a contemporary rapper, underscores the vast and disparate interpretations of ”Swedishness.” The sheer diversity of submissions begs the question: who is right, and about what? The emerging answer seems to be: everyone, about everything.
This open-ended approach, embracing the multitude of perspectives and contributions, points towards a canon that is less a definitive list and more a dynamic reflection of a nation’s evolving identity. The very notion of a fixed, unchanging cultural canon seems antithetical to the fluid nature of culture itself. A canon, by definition, should be a living entity, constantly reshaped by the people and their practices. It cannot be confined to a static list, as there is no singular, authentic, or immutable original to preserve.
The criticism directed at the canon project often frames it as a performance art piece, a question to which the answer increasingly appears to be affirmative. Given the trajectory of the project, it wouldn’t be surprising if Trägårdh ultimately declares everything to be part of the canon, effectively democratizing the process and declaring everyone a winner. Such a conclusion, though unconventional, would be a fitting culmination of this evolving experiment in cultural definition. It would acknowledge the impossibility of encapsulating a nation’s culture within a prescribed set of artifacts or practices.
The ongoing development of the Swedish cultural canon provides a fascinating case study in the challenges of defining national identity in a complex, ever-changing world. Trägårdh’s approach, though seemingly chaotic, embraces the inherent subjectivity of cultural value and allows for a broader, more inclusive representation of Swedishness. It moves beyond the traditional notion of a canon as a static list of masterpieces and embraces the dynamic and evolving relationship between a nation and its culture.
The ultimate success of this project will not be measured by the creation of a definitive list, but by its ability to spark dialogue and reflection on the meaning of Swedish culture. The diverse range of submissions, from the mundane to the profound, highlights the richness and complexity of this cultural landscape. By embracing the fluidity of culture and inviting public participation, Trägårdh has transformed the canon project into a dynamic and evolving conversation, a performance piece that reflects the ongoing negotiation of national identity in the 21st century. It remains to be seen what the final outcome will be, but the journey itself has already proven to be a valuable exploration of the elusive concept of ”Swedishness.”
