Dismally cosy summer book review

Sometimes, the most profound stories require no grand action, only a quiet space to settle. This is the kind of experience that Tove Jansson’s autofiction finds in the incredibly slow, deeply atmospheric adaptation of The Summer Book.

The film takes us away to a Finnish coastal summerhouse, a setting that feels less like a backdrop and more like a necessary sanctuary. Here, young Sophie (played by Emily Matthews) and her introverted, work-addled father (Anders Danielsen Lie) seek solace and navigation through the heavy waters of grief following the loss of their mother.

At the heart of this tender narrative is the presence of “Grandma,” embodied by Glenn Close. She is not simply a figure; she is the embodiment of a wrinkled, wise puffin—a guiding force who uses the surrounding beauty of nature to help her son and granddaughter process their emotional confusion.

The cinematic journey is intentionally designed as a series of miniature escapades, mirroring the bifurcated structure of the original book. The pace is deliberately soporific, offering an invitation to slow down and simply breathe amidst the mournful music and the visual poetry of the blushing rural landscape.

This adaptation targets a very specific audience: those who appreciate autofiction for its soft-edged, new-agey reflection on life’s quiet truths, rather than just the whimsical world of The Moomins. It asks us to find positivity and healing not in dramatic resolution, but in the simple act of observation.

While the film is undeniably low on incident, focusing instead on moments of stillness—shots of lapping sea or soft clouds—it achieves a profound effect. It acknowledges that grief often exists in the quiet spaces between events, and this film honors that spaciousness.

The narrative allows the emotional resonance to unfold slowly, inviting a low tolerance for excitement. It doesn’t rush toward an ending; instead, it drifts into a predictable, gentle fade, allowing the viewer to inhabit the reflective mood rather than simply follow a plotline.

Despite the deliberate restraint in dramatic action, the film is rich with tender charm. Glenn Close’s performance as the worldly matriarch offers a quiet, grounding warmth, providing an anchor for the emotional confusion of the protagonists.

Ultimately, this adaptation is less a movie to be watched and more a state to enter—a peaceful, slightly undernourishing retreat where the healing power of nature becomes the primary source of comfort.