listen up, American peeps! It's TV time again

Image with my thanks to New Times Blogs, Broward, Palm Beach

The Killing is back! If you haven't  yet heard, Season Two starts Sunday night. I was a bit disappointed with last season, since they dragged it out all season and never solved Rosie Larsen's murder at the end.  So hopefully, with all of the complaints the network got, the powers that be will get it solved this time around.  Sadly, I don't get to watch the first episode this weekend, since I promised not to watch without my husband who got addicted to last season.  It's okay -- I'm recording the entire series to DVR so I won't miss a second.

The Dark Valley, by Valerio Varesi

9781906694333
MacLehose Press, 2012 (UK)
originally published as Le Ombre di Montelupo, 2005
translated by Joseph Farrell
246 pp
(hardcover ed.)


"Something ugly was unravelling, beneath the appearance of normality."

The Dark Valley is book number two in the Commissario Soneri mystery series and Varesi's  second book to be translated into English.  This book captured and held my interest throughout the story, not only because of the mystery and crime components, but because of Varesi's mastery of atmosphere and the way he captures a generation of people in a small village so perfectly. And kudos to whoever created the cover -- rarely does the outside of a book so perfectly capture the spirit of what's inside the novel.

Commissario Soneri has reached peak stress level due to certain changes at his work, and by November, his partner Angela convinces him that he must get away.  His choice is to return to the village of his childhood, a small place in the Appenines. While there he plans to  hike into the woods on the slopes of Montelupo and hunt for mushrooms , an activity that he and his father used to share when he was a boy. He also hopes for some "peace and stability" there, thinking back to times when he would be with his father, "gathering chestnuts, firewood or mushrooms" and "the perfect understanding achieved between them with glances or gestures." But the idyllic setting soon becomes a hotbed of activity after he arrives.   Someone has been putting up posters that say that a missing man has been located, a fact Soneri reports to Angela  during a phone call. Although the man, Paride Rodolfi is apparently back home safe and sound, no one has really seen him since his return.  Angela suggests that Soneri should investigate; he only wants to get up to the mountain woods and look for mushrooms.  But it isn't long before Paride's body is found in those woods after having been shot; shortly afterwards his father Pamiro  is found hanging from a noose, an apparent suicide, committed after he'd shot his dog.   Paride's death was no suicide -- so who killed him?

Although Soneri is there to find mushrooms, he can't help but to get involved.  As one character notes, "everything is linked to the pig-farming business, and even politicians come out smelling of pork and salame."  The same is true for the savings of many of the people who lived there:  Pamiro, the local pork manufacturer and leading source of employment for the most of the people in the area since the war,  has been scamming money from the locals for years. He had been promising them a better return on their investments than the bank could offer them.  But  before his death, Paride has been running the business, and the people fear that they will never see their money again, and for most people, it means a loss of their retirement funds.  It is  definitely a motive for murder, and the Carbinieri have a suspect:  a man called the Woodsman, a crack shot and  former childhood friend of Pamiro, who also invested money with him. The Woodman's wife died because he didn't have the needed money to get her help.  Soneri's not so sure; after all, there is a town filled with suspects, not to mention Paride's unhappy wife.

There is little to nothing on the negative side to say about this book.  Varesi is a master of atmosphere; from the village piazza to the swirling mists that rise on the mountain to envelop a solitary hiker, this book sets the reader firmly in the Appenine valley and mountain forests as winter is approaching.  The valley is a place where long-time resentments and secrets are buried, but really only just beneath the surface, still simmering in the minds and memories of the people who live there.   His character portraits rise above the usual -- especially in the old men of the village, for whom the valley has and always will be home and who lament their childrens' exodus to the city, as they wonder if their way of life is fast approaching an end.  Varesi also does a splendid job in capturing the personality of Soneri as a loner and introvert who just doesn't want to get involved, but who can't help himself when it comes to seeing justice done.  Soneri's personality emerges much more fully in this novel than it did in River of Shadows.   The book also has consistently good pacing, the plot is credible and the ending is appropriately revealed considering the rest of the story.

I liked River of Shadows, but not nearly as much as I enjoyed this second book of the series.  Varesi's forte is definitely setting and atmosphere and both books convey his talent in this area, but he's also managed to create a lead character in Soneri  that here more fully establishes him as a person.  Crime fiction readers who prefer a good mystery, intelligent writing and atmosphere in their reading will definitely like this one.  If you're looking for a thriller-type novel, this isn't it, move along.  I look forward to more of Varesi's books in translation -- after all, not all of the good crime fiction these days comes just from Scandinavia.

crime fiction from Italy

The Thief, by Fuminori Nakamura

9781616950217
Soho Press, 2012
originally published as Suri, 2009
translated by Satako Izumo and Stephen Coates
211 pp
(hard cover ed.)

It's always interesting to see how different writers around the world do crime fiction; recently I reviewed two books by Paulus Hochgatterer in which I  noted the idea that perhaps it's time to reconsider my own approach to reading in this genre.  If ever there was a case for this idea to be put into practice, it's here in this book, The Thief, by Fuminori Nakamura.  Glancing around at reviews after setting down my own thoughts, many people in cyberspace noted the lack of action or the lack of a compelling hook to draw the reader in and keep him or her interested.  Not so, I counter... it seems a shame that readers get stuck on particular formats or (let's get real here) similar formulaic constructions in their crime fiction reading.  Is there a lack of open-mindedness going on or what's the story? If it doesn't read like a "normal" mystery, suspense or crime story, is it any less readable or enjoyable? Or is it that readers are getting lazy and don't want to read books that are designed to make you read between the lines?

The Thief is a very good read, intensely satisfying with a great deal of psychological depth to go along with the crime elements of the novel. The central character is a pickpocket named Nishimura (whose name is only stated once) who has sharpened his skills to an elite level over the years to the point where he can easily remove a wallet, sift through its contents and sometimes return it to its owner, all without the victim's knowledge. He takes money and leaves the rest of the contents, always clever enough to avoid holding onto anything that would attract police attention.  He plies his trade in crowded places,  subways, trains, etc., possessing an uncanny ability to blend in well no matter where he finds himself; conversely, he lives anonymously and has very few human ties.  He had a girlfriend once, and he has a friend, Ishikawa, who was wanted in connection with fraud.  Avoiding the warrant issued for his arrest, Ishikawa left for the Phillipines, Pakistan (where he officially "died")  and Kenya before returning to Japan to assume the identity of a dead man.  Complicating matters, our narrator becomes involved with a mother and son whom he first meets in a supermarket, where they make an inept attempt at stealing food.  Even though he is a complete loner, he begins to feel a bond with the boy, whose path he crosses more than once since the boy is often sent out on shoplifting missions by his mother, a prostitute and drug addict.

With Ishikawa back in Tokyo, the narrator is drawn into the darkest circle of Tokyo's underworld scene, where he comes across a sociopathic crime boss for whom power seems to be the acme of earthly existence. He gets caught up in a home robbery which goes very badly, not solely  for the owner of the item the narrator and his cohorts are recruited to steal, but also for some of the criminals involved.  As a result of his participation, the narrator finds himself in an impossible situation with an untenable outcome:  either he faces a nearly-impossible challenge of his criminal lifetime or he loses the one valuable thing he has.

While the crime elements are all neatly in place in this book, it works on a deeper level as well, touching on the notions of psychological and social isolation (ongoing themes in many other Japanese crime novels as well as literary fiction),  as well as the machinations of power and fate. Always present in the narrator's life is a tower, looming ahead, just out of his reach; a metaphorical construct quite possibly relating to a life he might once have had, although its meaning is really up to the reader's interpretation. 

The Thief is an intense read, although it may disappoint some readers because of its lack of clear-cut standard formulations to which people have become accustomed in their crime fiction.  There is a wonderful "story-within-a-story" segment within the novel dealing with both power and fate, turning the reader's attention to issues beyond the crimes committed in this book.  It does take some getting used to, but once you get into it, the author amps up the pace without using any gimmicky literary devices, letting the suspense build until you have to keep turning pages just to find out what's going to happen.

Nakamura's work may not be everyone's thing, but if like myself you aim for intelligent crime fiction that sheds light on what makes people who they are, or that reflects issues that seem to be common among people all over the globe, you might actually enjoy it.  Kudos to Soho for bringing this book to the reading public.

Phantom, by Jo Nesbø

 
9781846555213
Harvill Secker, 2012 (UK)
originally published as Gjenferd, 2011
translated by Don Bartlett
451 pp
(hard cover ed.)

"Norway is a little fairy-tale land. But I've spent the last two years in the real world...And the real world is driven by two types of people. Those who want power and those who want money. The first want a statue, the second enjoyment."

I'd quite forgotten how tense I get while reading one of Nesbø's Harry Hole novels; a little while into the novel upon  Harry's return to Oslo and it all came back to me.  Harry is a character I've become rather attached to over the years, but I've also become used to things not going so well for him over the course of the series. Phantom is the ninth installment of this series and the seventh to be translated into English; if you've been a faithful follower of Nesbø's novels, you definitely do not want to miss this one.   If you are just beginning with Nesbø, do not, I repeat, do not make this your first experience.

A few years have passed since Harry Hole was last in Oslo;  when we last saw him he was on his way back to Hong Kong, where he retreated to clean himself up and deal with the demons plaguing his life, having to do mainly with his relationship with Rakel.  Now he's back and it's personal: Rakel's son Oleg is in prison, after being incarcerated for killing a heroin addict named Gusto.  Everything points to Oleg as the shooter; Harry doesn't believe it and returns to clear his name.  Having been officially warned to stay away from this particular case by his former colleagues, Harry being Harry is not content to sit idly by and finds himself in the middle of his own private investigation that leads him into the murky depths of drug addiction and production, gang wars, corruption and a reclusive but powerful Russian known as Dubai. Dubai, "a kind of phantom ... like the wind, impossible to catch," has worked to corner the market on a new drug called Violin, which offers its users a prolonged euphoria, making it the newest high of choice among heroin users, a "junkie's dream," "stronger than heroin, longer effect, and little chance of OD'ing." 

The story is related through different viewpoints, one of which is from a dying Gusto.  It is here where the reader discovers how Oleg becomes involved in events that will ultimately lead him to prison.  Normally I dislike the "voice from the grave" approach, or actually in this case the "as I lay dying"  device, but here it is engaged to provide necessary backstory and it works as a focal point for bringing together the various storylines  as they are played out individually throughout the novel -- at least, up to a point.

Phantom is an intensely bleak read -- from the sadness of the addicts on the streets doing whatever is necessary to score to the final moments of the novel, the atmosphere Nesbø creates is one of sheer darkness, alleviated here and there with some humorous moments, including a neck wound held together by duct tape, or the running gags about his one and only suit.   And Harry's back with his trademark angst, this time ruminating over his shortcomings with Oleg who looked on him as a dad in years past, and the "curse" he's carried with him in which he realizes that all of those he loves eventually suffer at his hands.

 At the same time, it's a very compelling read; so much so  that it's easy to overlook a few other standard Nesbø trademarks, including the sometimes over-the-top verbosity, sometimes clunky dialogue, scenes that could have been easily shortened with no damage to the overall story, and related plot lines that capture your interest then sort of fade out.   The second half of the book is where the action really picks up and where the story becomes its most intense, with many twists and turns that I never saw coming, and writing that maintains a tightly-strung tension, literally up until the very last moment.

Die-hard Harry Hole fans should consider a kleenex as a necessary accompaniment to this  novel, and you'll seriously feel the need to put the book down, get up, go outside and find some sunlight as you get into the story.  I'm happy to see that the Stieg Larsson comparison is gone from the cover (yay!); Nesbø has no need of putting his work up against that of anyone else -- his standing in crime fiction, Scandinavian or otherwise, needs no bolstering by setting his work against that of others.   Do not miss this book if you are continuing the series, and as I noted above, you should absolutely NOT start the series with this story.  To the book's naysayers I can only answer with the following: this is not great literature, but it's a hell of a ride.

The Glass Devil, by Helene Tursten

9781569474891
Soho Press, 2007
originally published as Glasdjävulen, 2003
translated by Katarina E. Tucker
311 pp
(trade paper ed.)

The Glass Devil  is the final translated installment of Helene Tursten's series to feature Detective Inspector Irene Huss; fortunately, according to stopyourekillingme.dot com  she has another five books already written, hopefully waiting to be translated. (Dear Soho Press: hint hint wink wink.)  This is a most excellent series; while the previous book The Torso  was my favorite of the four, The Glass Devil is also quite good, and here Tursten takes a bit of a different tack in storytelling, focusing much more on the work of Irene Huss and less on the usual Göteborg team effort or on family life than in her previous novels.

On a cold March night, a young schoolteacher, Jonas Schyttelius, drives up to his cottage, removes his gym bag, lunch box and groceries from his car, and walks into his house. Out of nowhere, a shot rings out and he's dead. Not far away, his mother and father, the rector in a church in the small community of Kullahult, are also killed in the same way.   At both crime scenes a pentagram, painted with the victims' blood, is left behind on the victims' computers.  The Violent Crimes Unit is called in on the case, with very little to go on.  They interview a circle of people acquainted with the pastor, unearthing very little in the way of motive but quite a bit in the way of nastiness as the competition heats up for the dead pastor's job; Irene also encounters a cantor whose spirituality takes more of a new-age format.  What she manages to find out is that Jonas has a sister, Rebecka, living in London, to whom the family had once turned for research on Satanists; now Irene wonders if Rebecka is also in danger since the murderer seems to have focused his attacks on the Schyttelius family.  Even if she  is not, she may be able to shed some light on the killer's motives, which remain unknown.   The problem is that Rebecka has had a nervous breakdown and is unable to come to Sweden.  Irene decides that she must go to London to get any help she can in the hope of solving this most baffling  case.

The story moves along at a brisk pace, with very little going on in the Huss homefront. The biggest problem facing Irene and her family this time is the death of a neighbor's cat by their dog.  On the work side, the team is caught up in other crimes, leaving Irene to work mainly by herself on the Schyttelius case until she reaches London, where she meets her counterpart Glen Thompson. There are also some tempting red herrings scattered here and there, but what it comes down to are two very intriguing mysteries:  first, who killed Jonas and his parents and why, and second, why is Rebecka's business colleague trying to thwart Irene's attempts at talking to her? 

As intense a read as this book is, as chilling and bleak as the ride is to the end turns out to be, there is a moment when the show is practically given away, or at the very least, where anyone following along closely enough might be able to figure out what's going on.  Although this may be a bit frustrating, it's certainly not a deal breaker because there is enough left for the reader to still try to put it all together.  What comes out of this story is so heartbreaking that this early nod  toward the solution doesn't even scratch the surface of the ultimate revelations to be found in this tragedy. 

There are some books where the author asks you to consider certain underlying questions, and this is one of those. First there is the nature of justice;  second, the workings of fate; but most importantly, the blinding nature of evil in its most fundamental form.   Irene Huss says it all here:

"A glass devil is a person in whom evil becomes transparent. People simply don't see it, despite the fact that it's there all the time."

Another of Tursten's novels that is decidedly not for weak hearts or fitting fare for people who need an uplifting ending,  I definitely recommend The Glass Devil, as well as all of the books in the Inspector Huss series. I just love these books!

Inspector Erlendur on the big screen

Ingvar E. Sigurdsson, as Erlendur -- is this how you pictured him?

Yesterday my husband left for California on business for a week; the only good thing about him having to be gone so long is that I have lots of time for watching movies.  Last night there were two: one called Deep Red, a film in the giallo genre of the 70s; and Jar City (Myrin), made in 2006, both streamed  from Netflix.


I wasn't expecting the Erlendur of the film, although once I got used to him it sort of worked.  More along the lines of how I pictured them in my head while reading were the characters of Sigurdur Oli and Elinborg:

especially Sigurdur Oli.

"A typical Icelandic murder ... messy and pointless." 

Directed and written by Baltasar Kormakur, the movie opens with a dad (Orn) at the side of his daughter in the hospital, where just as he's singing her a lullaby, the scene switches to a cemetery where the same lullaby is being sung by a chorus at her funeral.  Her death sends Orn into a deep depression; he's also obsessed with tracking the genetic trail of her disease, doing so below the radar, hacking into the new and controversial national genetics database (which, by the way, exists and is controversial in real life). In the meantime, Erlendur, along with Sigurdur Oli and Elinborg, is investigating the death of a smarmy lowlife whose body was discovered by two little boys.  What captures Erlendur's attention is a picture of a grave, and it is this picture that will ultimately lead him back to the past and find the killer.  As Erlendur and his colleagues are on the trail, he also has to contend with his daughter Eva.

If you've read the book there are no surprises; what really takes center stage in this movie is the Icelandic landscape. From the city to the most isolated house next to the sea, Iceland is at the same time beautiful and bleak, and is shown from several views. Just watching this movie made me want to bundle up in a warm blanket, and the wind is a constant background noise. 

Only a couple of minor niggles here: the movie might have had more punch without all of the background music.  The choral music at the beginning and the end of the film is beautiful, but during the film it takes away the drama in many of the scenes where no music would have equally sufficed.  I also got a bit confused with the flashbacks -- I normally love flashback scenes but they're sort of just cut in here in weird spots.  It took me a while to figure out what was going on because the flashbacks seem like they're happening in current time with nothing to signal the change.


Otherwise, there's very little to get in the way of the plot, and there are even brief moments of humor. It's an enjoyable film, noirish in tone and gets right into the nitty-gritty of police work and solving the crime. I liked it.

Next up: the Irene Huss movies; I'll be interested to see if my picture of her matches what shows up on the screen.

The Torso, by Helene Tursten

9781569474532
Soho Press, 2006
originally published as Tatuerad Torso, 2000
translated by Katarina Emelie Tucker
341 pp (trade paper ed.)

The Torso is to date my favorite book in the Irene Huss series; it is much darker in tone than either of the previous two novels (Detective Inspector Huss and Night Rounds), the plot is very well constructed, and the investigation takes center stage, with little else to distract from the main storyline. Frankly speaking, I couldn't put this book down.

Tursten captures the reader's attention within the first three pages with the discovery of a human torso inside of a garbage bag.  Already busy with two major cases, the police in the Göteborg Violent Crimes Unit have their hands full, and adding to their burden is the fact that the torso yields little in the way of clues to help them out. All they have to go on is a strange tattoo which ultimately leads them to Copenhagen, where their counterparts in the police there are also dealing with a similar crime. Irene Huss also takes on the case of a friend's missing daughter; her trail also leads to Copenhagen, so Irene goes looking for her while she's  there. After returning home, various events lead Irene to believe that she's being followed, and that her presence in the two police investigations has led the unknown murderer to strike again.  This is no ordinary murderer, but rather someone who takes great delight in not only killing, but dismembering and disemboweling the victims as well.  The focus in this book is on the two-pronged investigation, with the two police teams pulling together to chase down a vicious killer.  Huss is, however, wary of sharing too much information with her Danish colleagues after a source in Copenhagen reveals that there might possibly be a cop involved. Aside from the police investigations, Huss has to deal with her teen daughters, a colleague whose work may be leading him toward alcoholism, and the personal aspects of her investigation into her friend's missing daughter. Tursten also uses the opportunity to examine attitudes toward homosexuals, women who work in prostitution and the sex industry in general. 

If ever there was a book not for the faint of heart, this is it.  There is a great deal of description involving decapitations, dismembering, removal of inner organs, and necrosadism which may lead you into wanting to put the book down after a while. But don't. First, while some parts are incredibly graphic, they're not written in a sensationalistic fashion, nor is there anything in these descriptions that doesn't belong in terms of the story line. Second, although the nature of the crimes may be abhorrent, what elevates this book is the police investigation -- this is one of the best police procedurals I've read this year. It is well conceived and well plotted, taking unexpected twists and turns along the way, topping anything Tursten has done in the previous two series novels.

I heartily recommend The Torso with zero reservations -- definitely a must for Scandinavian crime fiction readers, for crime fiction readers in general and for people who like their crime on the darker side.  What a good book!!!!