If you only know Tove Jansson because of the Moomins, you’re missing out on the best part of her brain. Honestly. People see the round, white trolls and think "children's author," but Jansson was a sharp, occasionally prickly, and deeply sophisticated observer of how adults actually live together without killing each other. Her novel Fair Play by Tove Jansson is the ultimate proof of that. It’s not a sprawling epic. It’s a series of vignettes—short, punchy chapters that feel like peering through a window into a private studio in Helsinki.
It’s about two women. Mari and Jonna. They are artists. They live in separate apartments at opposite ends of a large building, connected by an attic. This wasn’t just a creative choice; it was Jansson’s reality. The book is heavily autobiographical, reflecting her decades-long relationship with the graphic artist Tuulikki Pietilä.
Reading it feels different. There’s no high drama. Nobody dies in a tragic accident. There are no cheating scandals. Instead, you get the quiet, grueling, and beautiful work of maintaining a long-term partnership. It’s about how to give someone space while staying close. It’s about Fair Play by Tove Jansson as a philosophy of love—one where respect is more important than passion, and where "fairness" is something you negotiate every single morning over coffee.
The Art of Living Apart-Together
Most romance novels focus on the "falling" part. Jansson didn’t care about that. She was interested in the "staying" part. In the book, Mari is a writer and illustrator (sound familiar?), and Jonna is a printmaker. They have different temperaments. Jonna is practical, often blunt, and deeply tied to the physical world of tools and materials. Mari is more ethereal, prone to the anxieties of the blank page.
The "Fair Play" of the title isn't about a game. It's about a balance of power. They don't merge into one person. They remain two distinct, often clashing, creative forces.
Jansson writes about their trips to a remote island, their arguments over a film they’re watching, and the way they handle uninvited guests. There’s this one bit where they’re watching old Westerns on a projector. It seems trivial. It’s not. It’s about how they share a reality. Jansson’s prose is sparse. It’s lean. She doesn't waste words on flowery descriptions because she’s too busy capturing the exact vibration of a mood.
Why the Attic Matters
The physical space in the book is a character in itself. That attic walkway is the umbilical cord of their relationship. It represents the choice to be together. To see each other, they have to physically walk through a liminal space.
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It’s a perfect metaphor for boundaries.
In our world of constant connectivity—where you’re expected to reply to your partner’s text in thirty seconds—Jansson’s depiction of two people who value their solitude is radical. Jonna might be working on a copper engraving, and Mari knows better than to interrupt. They understand that the work comes first, or at least, that the work is what makes the person worth loving in the first place.
The Reality Behind the Fiction
You can’t talk about Fair Play by Tove Jansson without talking about "Tooti" (Tuulikki Pietilä). They met at a time when homosexuality was still a crime in Finland. It remained "classified" as a mental illness until the early 70s.
But you won't find a trace of victimhood in Jansson's writing.
She lived her life with a sort of quiet defiance. She didn't march; she just lived. She and Tuulikki spent their summers on the tiny, rugged island of Klovharun in the Gulf of Finland. No running water. No electricity. Just rocks, sea, and work. This landscape permeates the novel. When Jonna and Mari are on their island in the book, you can feel the salt spray. You can feel the frustration of a motor that won't start.
Jansson’s genius lies in her ability to make the mundane feel monumental. A dispute over how to film a video of a fog bank becomes a meditation on how we perceive truth.
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Debunking the "Sweet Old Lady" Myth
There is this persistent image of Tove Jansson as a whimsical, grandmotherly figure who just wanted to draw cute hippos. That’s a total misunderstanding. She was tough. She was a political cartoonist who mocked Hitler and Stalin when it was genuinely dangerous to do so.
That toughness is all over the novel. The characters in the book aren't always "nice" to each other. They can be impatient. They can be dismissive. But they are always fair.
The dialogue is a masterclass in subtext.
"Do you want to go out?"
"I'm working."
"Fine."
In any other book, that’s a fight. In Fair Play by Tove Jansson, it’s a successful negotiation of boundaries. It’s a relief.
What Modern Readers Get Wrong
A lot of people pick up this book expecting a "lesbian novel" in the contemporary sense—something focused on identity or coming out. It’s not that. Their gender is almost incidental to the core theme of creative partnership.
Jansson was writing about the universal struggle of the artist. How do you keep your "inner room" intact when you share your life with someone else?
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Some critics argue the book is too slight. They say nothing happens. I’d argue that everything happens. A life is built out of these tiny moments—choosing which side of the island to fish on, or deciding when to stop talking. If you're looking for explosions, go elsewhere. If you're looking for the blueprint of a successful long-term life, this is the manual.
The Problem with Translation
Jansson wrote in Swedish, the language of the minority in Finland. Her Swedish is precise. When it’s translated into English (the most common version is by Thomas Teal), there’s always a risk of losing that "Nordic cool."
Teal does a brilliant job, though. He captures the rhythm. The sentences are short. Like a heartbeat. Or a hammer hitting a nail.
The book wasn't published until 1989. Jansson was in her 70s. This is "late-style" writing. It’s what happens when an author has nothing left to prove and no need for filler. She’s just giving you the bone. No fat.
Actionable Takeaways from Jansson’s Philosophy
If you actually want to apply the "Fair Play" method to your own life or creative work, here’s how Jansson (and her characters) did it:
- The Separate Attic Rule: Even if you live in a tiny studio, create a mental "attic." You need a space where your partner doesn't exist for a few hours a day. It makes the reunion better.
- Stop Explaining the Art: In the book, Mari and Jonna don't always explain their work to each other. They just let it be. Avoid the urge to over-explain your creative process to your loved ones. Let the work speak for itself.
- The Island Test: Jansson believed you truly know someone when things go wrong in nature. Take a trip where things aren't "curated." No luxury hotels. Just a place where you have to figure out how to build a fire or navigate a map together.
- Respect the "Weather": Sometimes a person’s mood is just the weather. You don't try to change the rain; you just put on a raincoat. Mari and Jonna allow each other to have bad days without taking it as a personal affront.
- Read the Short Stories First: If the novel feels too abstract, track down Jansson's The Summer Book. It's a sibling to this novel and sets the tone for her adult prose.
To understand Fair Play by Tove Jansson is to understand that love isn't a feeling you have; it's a structure you build. It requires maintenance, a bit of distance, and an unwavering commitment to the truth, even when the truth is boring. It’s the least "fairytale" book ever written by a woman famous for writing about trolls, and that’s exactly why it’s her best work.
If you want to dive deeper, look for the 2014 biography by Tuula Karjalainen. It fills in the gaps between the fictional Mari and the real Tove, showing just how much courage it took to live the "fair play" life in mid-century Finland.
Go find a copy. Read it in one sitting. Then, go buy a second copy for the person you live with, but don't talk about it until you've both finished. That’s the Jansson way.