Shortlisted for the Young Readers’ Critics Prize (Norwegian version of Goncourt des lyceens) 2016

The house was built by my grandfather.

It was put up right before the second world war, and even if the type of house went out of fashion a long time ago, they are still easy to recognize. There’s something about the position of the windows, and the arch of the roof

Shortly after her mother’s death, the house starts falling apart. It refuses to cooperate with its new inhabitant.

In Bungalow Inghill Johansen investigates the mechanisms that keep things up or break something down, working straight through life and into death. She writes about what keeps on gnawing away around us: on layers of beams and roof chairs, on skin, hair and skeleton, and on the bonds between people.