“Lagom: The Swedish Art of Living a Balanced, Happy Life,” by Niki Brantmark, an English design blogger married to a Swede, introduces the Swedish ideal of moderation. Lagom — pronounced lar-gum — means “not too much, not too little.” In times of yore, moderation (and its drab companions, low expectations and societal conformity) may not have inspired a lifestyle book, but today, particularly for overwrought American readers, moderation feels positively Venusian, though it has its naysayers. (Writing in the Guardian, Richard Orange, a British journalist who lives in Sweden, decried his adopted country’s national manifesto, what he described as “the suffocating doctrine of Lutheran self-denial,” with a plea that trendspotters not adopt lagom as they did hygge. If the trappings of hygge are cinnamon buns and candles, those considered appropriately lagom, he says, are more likely to be takeout pizza and Netflix.)

In her book, Ms. Brantmark extols the behaviors of a modest Swedish life: sleeping naked, buying secondhand furniture, crafting, eating lots of herring. And practicing fika, otherwise known as a “coffee break,” though Ms. Brantmark calls it “a sacred Swedish social ritual meaning ‘taking a break for coffee and enjoying a small treat.’” She added, “You can literally do it anywhere” (including the coffeeshop FIKA, which has locations all over Manhattan).

Following the practice of her competitors in the Scandinavian-themed publishing sweepstakes, Ms. Brantmark makes liberal use of Nordic vernacular terms like fika, many of which are portmanteau words or accessorized with fetching umlauts, and which recall the made-up subtitles of the ’60s cult film, “De Duva,” the gleeful parody of the oeuvre of Ingmar Bergman, adding some demented whimsy. (Across the North Sea, the Scottish tourist board is trying bravely to be a contender, tweeting out the benefits of its own peculiar-sounding word for hunkering down — #cosagach, which is Gaelic for “snug.”)

Beyond an obsession with coffee breaks, Swedes have other appealingly modest habits, like taking their bed linens with them when they are houseguests, so their hosts don’t have to do extra laundry, and eschewing both marriage and cohabitation in their relationships. There are cute names for these scenarios: Sambo is what you call your partner when you live together but don’t marry; sarbo is what you call your beloved when you live apart.

“Being together, but not too together,” Ms. Brantmark explains.

Among other helpful instructions — e.g. how to slice cheese, which, apparently Scandinavians like to eat with jam (they also put ketchup on spaghetti) — found in “North: How to Live Like a Scandinavian” are lists of behaviors associated with the different Nordic countries. Its author is Brontë Aurell, a Danish entrepreneur and cook married to a Swede with whom she runs ScandiKitchen, a cafe and shop in London.

Karl Ove Knausgaard fans will not be surprised when Ms. Aurell suggests that one aspect of Norwegian behavior means never looking anyone in the eye and taking lots of hikes. To be Swedish, line up properly, she writes, with two meters between yourself and the next person. Do not make conversation.