Satu Rämö: “Discipline Enables Creativity”
The Finnish author behind the popular Hildur crime novel series learned to knit because of the knitting police officer in her books.
“I don’t really take time for myself,” Satu Rämö confesses in the darkening Tampere evening.
Sunday at the book fair has been long and busy. The rush has lasted all autumn, as Rämö’s latest crime novel, Rakel, was published in November. The book has taken her all around Finland, and abroad to cities such as Paris. She has only managed brief trips home to Iceland.
“I keep myself busy so I don’t have time to miss home so terribly. I know this period will only last a short while, until life settles down again.”
Satu Rämö, an entrepreneur and author born in Finland, has lived in Iceland for more than 15 years. She previously specialised in non-fiction and articles about Iceland, its culture, history and people.
“I had always thought I could write fiction as well, but I didn’t believe I could manage it alongside a full-time job. When the coronavirus pandemic hit, all my travel and advertising work ended abruptly. I decided that if ever there was a time to try, it was now.”
The experiment paid off: in 2023, Rämö was the most popular Finnish author overall. That year, her three-part series about Hildur Rúnarsdóttir, an Icelandic police officer with a troubled past, and Hildur’s colleague, the Finnish Jakob Johanson, sold about 330,000 copies. With the fourth instalment newly published, she is likely to top the charts again for 2024. The translation rights for the Hildur series have been sold to 18 countries, and Rämö has won several book awards. Her genre has sometimes been described as “Nordic blue”, a lighter and more human version of the internationally popular Nordic noir.
Precious Limits and Routines
Rämö signed a contract with her publisher for three books and knew from the start what each of them would be about. The schedule was tight — one book per year. Rämö believes in routines: she writes every day and doesn’t wait for inspiration.
“I could be waiting until I am in my grave,” she smiles.
The author also takes care of her physical fitness: she does strength training with a coach three times a week and runs three kilometres in about 25 minutes, every day.
“My life is insanely precise. For me, discipline and boundaries enable creativity, while some see them as restrictive. I am inspired by doing and by conscious thinking. There is something similar in knitting and writing: the more you knit and understand knitting, the more you can experiment and boldly push your limits.”
Towards a Tangible Narrative
An unfinished sweater accompanies Rämö everywhere. It occupies a quarter of her suitcase and plays a big role in her daily life: knitting pushes work aside for a moment.
“I am not yet skilled enough to knit without looking at my needles. But when I knit, I focus on that moment alone and forget everything else, even if only for fifteen minutes. My favourite yarn is thick Álafosslopi. Working with it makes me feel I am progressing.”
Rämö only learned to knit so that she could portray knitting realistically in her fiction. One of her main characters, Jakob, is an avid knitter.
“It was part of my research. I got help from my knitwear designer friend Sigga, who watched me fumble at first. One of the hardest things was figuring out how to join the stitches to knit in the round,” Rämö laughs.
Rämö writes about knitting in a tangible, sensory way. When Jakob knits in the police station’s break room, a knitting reader can almost smell the freshly brewed coffee and feel the yarn between their fingers. They can see the ball of Icelandic wool on the floor, the floats running along the back side of the colourwork, the blue stitch marker… Even in writing, knitting adds a sense of presence.
“Knitting is an essential part of Jakob’s life, a way to exist and cope. I wanted to describe it authentically, so it wouldn’t jar a knitter’s ear. If it had just been a side note, I might not have bothered. People learn to knit for many reasons, but mine might be one of the strangest.”
A Common Language
Knitting is also a constant presence during Rämö’s book tours: readers knit while listening and want to talk about their projects. Stitches provide a common, equal language, a low-threshold way to start conversations. Readers want to know what Rämö knits, what yarns she prefers, and particularly why Jakob knits.
Rämö sees clear evidence in Iceland of the special position knitting has there.
“People knit everywhere: in schools, libraries, workplaces, buses… You can always pick up your knitting and no one thinks badly of you, unlike if you were just scrolling through your phone.”
Rämö is impressed by Iceland’s efficient wool economy and how farmers and the state work together. Every last bit of wool is used: wool not suitable for yarn might end up as furniture stuffing.
In the Hildur books, knitting is not just a sideline; it becomes part of the story’s rhythm and atmosphere. Jakob’s hobby humanises the character and creates vivid, sensual scenes.
“It felt natural to place Jakob, a Finnish man who knits, in Iceland. Through knitting, I could integrate his character into everyday life — it is an easy way to meet new people in reality, too.”
While in the Nordic countries a knitting policeman seems both fascinating and believable, elsewhere he may cause surprise.
“Finland and Iceland have completely embraced Jakob’s knitting, and we don’t introduce him as a ‘knitting policeman’. But just last week in France, I was answering questions about whether people really knit at their workplaces. There, knitting doesn’t permeate all social classes the way it does in the Nordic countries.”
There are surely hundreds of reasons behind the popularity of Rämö’s books, but one of them is the calming rhythm of knitting, Jakob’s sweater growing stitch by stitch, offering a quiet, reassuring presence. Knitting — whether in a coffee room, a car, or in world literature — connects people, cultures and generations, creating space to think, feel and create.
“Knitting is an essential part of Jakob’s life, a way to exist and cope. I wanted to describe it authentically, so it wouldn’t jar a knitter’s ear.”
This article was first featured in Laine Finnish Knits special issue.
Text: Jonna Helin
Photos: Björgvin Hilmarsson (from the book Siggan ja Satun islantilaiset villapaidat, Published by WSOY)
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