Kurt Aust & Dan Brown

The Norwegian thriller, The Invisible Brothers by Kurt Aust has not been translated into English. To some extent it may be compared to Dan Brown´s The Da Vinci Code as the story involves codes, alchemy, conspiracies and mysterious brotherhoods. An exciting and well-planned plot, but not overwhelmingly realistic.

Is The da Vinci Code a good thriller or sheer hype? What do you think?

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Kurt Aust, De usynlige brødre (2008).

Denne norske thriller er forfatterens fjerde bog.

En glad og tilfreds forlagsredaktør med ægtemand og to små børn skyder sig selv på åben gade, med masser af vidner. Hendes ægtemand er chokeret, men slår sig snart til tåls, hvorimod hendes eksmand, den noget specielle matematikprofessor Even Vik, er nødt til at komme til bunds i, hvad der lå bag hans elskede Mais død.

Handlingen fører læseren tilbage til Isaac Newtons liv og forskning, på en måde som vel bedst kan sammenlignes med Dan Browns Da Vinci-mysteriet. Plottet involverer koder, alkymi, sammensværgelser og mystiske broderskaber, og ´detektiven´, Even Vik, som også har sin egen personlige fortid at slås med, får brug for al sin viden om tal og matematik for at opklare sagen.
Spændende og forholdsvis velskrevet, med interessante personskildringer, men ikke voldsomt realistisk.

Er Da Vinci-mysteriet en god spændingsroman, eller en opreklameret røverhistorie?

Andrea Camilleri, Madpakketyven (2006)

Oversat fra italiensk (1996), tredje bog i serien om den sicilianske kommissær Montalbano.

En tuneser bliver skudt ombord på en fiskerbåd, og morgentvære Montalbano bliver trukket ud af sin varme seng. Kort efter bliver den 63-årige hr Lapecora fundet myrdet i en elevator, og Montalbano får møvet sig ind på denne sag, som efter hans mening er mere interessant. Offeret, den overlegne Lapecora, fordeler sin tid nogenlunde ligeligt mellem fjernsynet og ´kontoret´, som nærmest er en omskrivning for elskerinden, og naboerne i lejlighederne omkring Lapecoras er tilsyneladende mere interesserede i deres omdømme og deres hvidvin, end i at få sagen opklaret.

Montalbano kan godt være temperamentsfuld og speciel, men viser også stor forståelse for menneskelige svagheder. Da han kommer på sporet af den meget unge madpakketyv, som har givet anledning til titlen, sørger han for at tage sin kæreste med, så hun kan trøste den lille dreng. De finder barnet, og det viser sig, at han sidder inde med nøglen til mordene, som naturligvis er forbundne.

Oversættelsen fungerer nogenlunde, men der er for mange tilfælde af kluntet ordstilling: ”Undskyld, men jeg genkendte ikke lige straks Deres stemme.” – ”Er også Augello taget ned til havnen?”

Andrea Camilleri, The Snack Thief (2003)
Translated from Italian (1996), the third book in the series about the Sicilian Inspector Montalbano.

A crewman is shot on a fishing boat, and a rather grumpy Montalbano is dragged out of his warm bed. Soon after an elderly man is found murdered in a lift, and Montalbano worms his way into this case which in his opinion is the more interesting. The victim, haughty Lapecora, divides his time between his television and his office, a euphemism for his mistress.

Montalbano may be temperamental and special, but shows great compassion for human weaknesses. When he is on the track of the very young snack thief of the title, he brings his dear girlfriend Livia along so she can comfort the little boy. They find the child who possesses the key to the murders which are of course connected

A pleasant meeting with a likeable, food-loving detective who does not rest until the case is solved to his own satisfaction.

Karin Fossum, Når djævelen holder lyset (2001)

Bogen er norske Karin Fossums femte kriminalroman eller thriller om Konrad Sejer.

”En køn fyr på atten år, med et smalt ansigt og uregerligt hår. Køn siger jeg, det er jeg storsindet nok til. Så køn, at han kom for let til tingene. Han spankulerede rundt med sit smukke ansigt og tog alting som en selvfølge.”

Irma Funder, en af hovedpersonerne, er omkring de tres, har et helt livs træning i at indordne sig og aldrig være til besvær, men undrer sig over sine medmennesker, som slet ikke gør sig umage.

Og så er der venneparret Zipp og Andreas, to unge, tankeløse fyre, som måske slet ikke kender hinanden så godt, som de tror. De kører omkring i byen om aftenen, rastløse og opsat på, at der skal ske noget.

Forbrydelserne i denne roman sker tidligt, og bagefter går Karin Fossum så under huden på sine hovedpersoner, indtil vi får en form for forståelse for, hvorfor det hele gik så galt. Irma Funder agerer gerne talerør for første gang i sit liv, og forklarer, hvad der sker, når det er djævelen, som holder lyset, og når det pludselig ikke bare er Irma, men Irma og Andreas. Sker alting ved tilfældigheder, eller er der mennesker, som er onde? Og i så fald, hvem er det så, der er de onde?

Hele vejen er der en form for uundgåelighed i plottet, som nærmere er en psykologisk thriller af høj karat end en egentlig politi-krimi. Fossum sammenlignes af nogle anmeldere med Ruth Rendell, og det er der en hel del om.

When the Devil Holds the Candle (2004)
This thriller is the fifth in the Norwegian series about Konrad Sejer.

“A nice-looking boy of eighteen, with a thin face and unruly hair. I say “nice-looking”; I´m generous enough to admit that. So handsome that things came easily to him. He strutted around with that handsome face and took things for granted.”

Irma Funder, one of the main characters, is around sixty years old, and has conformed to the rules all her life, never bothered anyone, and wonders at her fellow creatures who don´t even make an effort.

And then there are the two friends Zipp and Andreas, young and thoughtless guys who may not even know each other as well as they think. They roam around in the town at night, restless and intent on making something happen.

The crimes in this novel happen early, and afterwards Karin Fossum moves under the skin of her main characters until we achieve some kind of understanding why everything could go so horribly wrong. Irma Funder speaks out for herself for the first time in her life and explains what happens when the devil holds the candle, and when it is not just Irma, but Irma and Andreas. Do things happen by accident, or are human beings evil? And if so, who are evil?

All the way through there is a certain inevitability in the plot, a psychological thriller of high quality. Some reviewers compare Fossum to Ruth Rendell, with some justification.

DJ's Bait in the Box # 19

[This week´s box belongs to Cathy, Kittling: Books]

This novel is not the first in a series.

“… behind him the cellar hatch is open. He did not heed it, he was shuffling, but I could see he was losing his composure and I imagined he might stab me if he didn´t get what he wanted soon. And then I pushed him. There was a gasp when he tumbled backwards down the steep stairs. It hammered and crashed against the steps. As he hit the cement floor, I heard an ugly, dull sound. A feeble rattle, which lasted for a couple of seconds. Then everything was quiet.”

The Rules:
If you recognize the quotation, or if you think you are able to guess who wrote it, please post a comment. Just leave a hint, do not spoil the fun by giving too much away. The book will be reviewed on Friday as usual.

Gæt en bog # 19
Denne roman er ikke den første i serien.

“… bag ham står kælderlemmen åben. Han ænsede den ikke, han stod og trippede, men jeg så, at han var ved at miste besindelsen, og jeg forestillede mig, at han kunne finde på at stikke mig ned, hvis han ikke snart fik det som han ville. Og så skubbede jeg til ham. Der lød et gisp, da han røg baglæns ned ad den stejle trappe. Det dundrede og bragede mod trinnene. Idet han ramte cementgulvet hørte jeg en hæslig, dump lyd. En svag rallen, der varede et par sekunder. Så blev der stille.”

Reglerne:
Hvis du kan genkende citatet, eller hvis du tror du kan gætte hvem forfatteren er, så læg venligst en kommentar. Skriv bare et hint til nye besøgende, lad være med at ødelægge fornøjelsen for andre.

The Key

Write about a conflict. Time: c 20 minutes.
[For en dansk version af teksten se her]

Joan is scrutinizing the flat, cold piece of metal and the key ring with the horseshoe. The key to Susan´s flat. It should have been on one of the pegs in the hall, but she found it in his pocket.

She weighs it in her hand while she glances at their own door with the glass panels which are practically rattling still. She takes a deep breath and wipes her eyes with her sleeve.

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“Why have you been in Susan´s flat?” The words were out of her mouth before she could keep them back, but she regretted even before she saw the look on his face.

“What do you mean?”

“Please, don’t. I know.” She struggled to keep her voice down. ”I have found the key.”

“What the heck, since when have you begun searching my pockets?” He grabbed her upper arms before she had a chance to pull away from him. He shook her viciously, but he was not as angry as she would have expected.

”Someone has to empty them before it all goes in the washing machine.” She watched his face. He was angry; a vein was throbbing in his temple and his left eye twitched, but there was also something else. Something she was not quite able to put her finger on. She could feel her bowels contracting.

”What were you doing in Susan´s flat?”

He opened his mouth in an inarticulate roar, and pushed her backwards so her back hit the coffee table, before she fell to the floor. Automatically she held her arms over her head, but he just turned round and dashed out of the flat, slamming the door so the echo rang up and down the staircase.

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Joan tries to hit the key hole with her trembling hand. It can´t be true. If he is also involved with Susan … She fumbles with the stupid key while her thoughts go berserk.

Cautiously, she opens the front door . She ought to call out because what if Susan is suddenly there, but her throat is dry, and her heart flutters like a caged bird while she penetrates the dim and stuffy living room. Joan holds her hand before her mouth and nose, the sweet smell tells her she should turn back, but her feet move towards the kitchen on their own accord. She pushes the door open with her elbow and freezes on the threshold.

She gazes in front of her. There is nothing on the kitchen floor. There must not be anything. It can´t be Susan´s blue bathrobe lying there. And the belt, it is far too tight…

Susan, her best friend since their school days.
Joan crumples up on the floor, hugs herself and sobs like a little girl.

Stop Cuts to Languages

Lauren, one of my ´regulars´, wrote this comment on my blog the other day.
Lauren, I agree that this is important so even if it is not crime-related, I have decided to bring your request here, hoping that some of my readers will also take an interest in this important subject.

Since we've been talking about (and in different) languages, might I intrude with a personal request?

My university, in its infinite (lack of) wisdom, has decided to impose budget cuts on the Department of European Languages to the tune of 400 000 pounds over two years. This will mean the end of effective language teaching and learning, and will conceivably drive the whole department to the wall. (Subjects at even higher risk include Russian, Portuguese and one of only two Scandinavian Studies courses in the UK.) All on less than three weeks notice.

This is close to my heart because I'm finishing a PhD in a European language, but it's also a monumentally stupid decision given the wider importance of understanding other languages and cultures.

So much for being a city of literature. And as for the translators of the future...

I'd be extremely grateful if people could sign the petition and perhaps even forward it on if you know of others who might be interested.

The Petition

And some background information:The Guardian

Please take the time to read & sign this petition.

Italian Food for Thought

Finally I have come across Andrea Camilleri, Italian crime writer, whom I have heard so much about via English bloggers. Unfortunately not the first in the series, but this one will have to do for now. I am not going to destroy my reputation completely by trying to translate Camilleri, but here is another appetizer in English. Bon appétit!

He opened the fridge and let out a whinny of sheer delight. His housekeeper, Adelina, had made him two imperial mackerels in onion sauce, a dinner he would obviously spend the whole night wrestling with, but it was worth the trouble. To cover his rear, before starting to eat he made sure there was a packet of bicarbonate of soda in the kitchen, bless its little heart.

From Excursion to Tindari by Andrea Camilleri

[Posted by Norman, Crime Scraps here.]

Italiensk føde for sjælen.
Endelig er jeg stødt på Andrea Camilleri, den italienske krimiforfatter, som jeg har hørt så meget om via begejstrede, engelske bloggere.

En lille appetitvækker før anmeldelsen (måske på tirsdag). Kommissær Montalbano er sulten, og det nytter ikke at klage, hvis I også bliver det.

”Hvad må jeg servere for Dem i dag?”
”Hvad har du?”
”Alt hvad hjertet begærer, hvad pastaretter angår.”
”Nej, pastaen springer jeg over; jeg vil holde mig til en let menu.”
”Til hovedret er der hvid tunfisk i sursød sauce og gratinerede kulmule med sardelsauce.”
”Har du kastet dig ud i den højere kogekunst, Calò?”
”Nogle gange stikker det mig.”
”Kom med en rigelig portion kulmule til mig. Og lad mig for resten også få en stor tallerken antipasto med alt godt fra havet til at fordrive ventetiden med.”
….
Han førte den første bid til munden, men slugte den ikke straks. Først lod han den smelte på tungen så smagen bredte sig blidt og jævnt i hele mundhulen til han fuldt ud havde sanset hvilken gave for ganen han her blev skænket.

Bon appetit!

Sara Blædel, Kun ét liv (2007)

This Danish crime novel has not been translated into English, and I am not sure it will be. The change from Colin Dexter yesterday to the former journalist Sara Blædel today is immense, and I cannot help yearning for Dexter´s vocabulary.
What is your experience with fiction written by (former) journalists?

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Fra ordglade, engelske Colin Dexter til den danske forfatter Sara Blædel, som er tidligere journalist, er der et stort spring. Måske for stort. Men når nu så mange læsere mener, at Blædel bliver bedre og bedre …

I denne bog findes en ung indvandrerpige myrdet i Holbæk Fjord, med en flise bundet om livet, og Louise Rick bliver udlånt til rejseholdet på grund af sin erfaring med indvandrermiljøet. Mulige motiver ved starten af romanen er det meget oplagte æresdrab, eller pigens modeldrømme.

Plottet udvikler sig noget trægt i starten. Efter hundrede sider hører vi følgende:
”Der er kommet et foreløbigt resultat af den tekniske undersøgelse af faderens båd, fortsatte han. – De fandt ingen spor, der tyder på, at han har haft en flise med i båden. Den ville uden tvivl have afsat ridser.”

Jaså, tænker den forvænte krimilæser. Men hvad nu, hvis den stolte bådejer havde haft et tæppe med? Eller en stump gulvtæppe?

Louises veninde, Camilla, som er journalist og enlig mor, dukker naturligvis også op i Holbæk for at skrive om sagen, og hun engagerer sig stærkt i familien, og forsøger at sætte sig ind i deres kultur. For så vidt en glimrende idé, men igen undrer læseren sig over, om en københavnsk journalist virkelig er på helt bar bund, når det gælder muslimsk kultur. Læser hun aldrig aviser? Den myrdede piges mor forsøger at forklare, hvorfor en jordansk mor til fire ikke bare kan forlade sin mand og skabe sig et nyt liv. ”Jeg vil hellere være hjemme hos min mand end at have frihed og være ensom”.

Hen ad vejen bliver handlingen lidt mere interessant, men virkeligt medrivende bliver den kun kortvarigt i løbet af de sidste hundrede sider.

Konklusion: der er for meget belæring om indvandrere og om politiarbejde på begynderniveau, og så er der en god del ”Louise og Camilla redder verden” over bogen. Og med hensyn til sprog kan man ærligt talt ikke beskylde Blædel for at være nyskabende og fantasifuld.

Se Louises anmeldelse af Kun ét liv.

Hvad er dine erfaringer med romaner skrevet af tidligere journalister?

Colin Dexter, Last Bus to Woodstock (1975)

This British novel is the first in the Inspector Morse series.

Two young girls give up on the bus to Woodstock and decide to try to get a lift. Soon after one of them is found murdered in the parking area outside an inn. The victim is Sylvia Kay, a young woman working in an office. But who was the young girl that kept her company at the bus stop, and why doesn´t she contact the police?

On the whole, Inspector Morse is his own, temperamental self in the debut. We do not hear much about his squeamishness around bodies, but his keen interests in the Times´ crosswords, spelling and punctuation are all there. Plus, of course, the love of whisky and the beautiful women who happen to be involved in the case. Sherlock Holmes had his cocaine, Morse has his whisky and cigarettes:

“Morse spent the afternoon of Saturday, 2 October, sitting mildly drunk in his office. He had smoked his packet of cigarettes by 4.30 p.m. and rang for more. His mind grew clearer and clearer. He thought he saw the vaguest pattern in the events of the evening of Wednesday, 29 September. No names – no ideas of names, yet – but a pattern.”

Sergeant Lewis is at his side, reliable and wonderfully level-headed. “Sergeant Lewis was nobody´s fool and was a man of some honesty and integrity.” Perhaps too honest for his own good, sometimes, but with time, Morse learns to appreciate, and even acknowledge Lewis´ strong points.

This is the story where Morse makes the hypothesis that the murderer lives in North Oxford, is between 35 and 50 years old, married and owns a red car, whereupon he asks his men to track this man down. What else is there? Oh yes, a strong sense of the town conveyed by a knowledgeable writer who gives us tidbits about the history and the various colleges of Oxford while enhancing a poor Scandinavian´s vocabulary.

Colin Dexter, Sidste bus til Woodstock (1991)
Denne britiske roman er den første i serien om Kriminalkommissær Morse.

To unge piger opgiver at vente på bussen til Woodstock (lige udenfor byen Oxford), og beslutter sig for at prøve at få et lift. Kort efter bliver den ene fundet myrdet på parkeringspladsen uden for en kro. Offeret er Sylvia Kay, en ung kontorpige, men hvem var den anden pige, og hvorfor kontakter hun ikke politiet?

I det store og hele er Morse sit eget, temperamentsfulde jeg i debut-romanen. Vi hører ikke så meget om hans berøringsangst over for lig, men hans store interesse for krydsord, stavning og tegnsætning er alle klart til stede. Plus, selvfølgelig, kærligheden til whisky og de smukke kvinder, som er involveret i sagen. Sherlock Holmes havde sin kokain, Morse har whiskyen og cigaretterne:

”Morse tilbragte lørdag eftermiddag, den anden oktober, med at sidde og være lettere fuld på sit kontor. Han var færdig med sin pakke cigaretter klokken halv fem, og ringede efter nogle flere. Hans bevidsthed blev mere og mere klar. Han syntes, han kunne se et svagt mønster i begivenhederne onsdag den 29. september om aftenen. Ingen navne – ingen ideer om navne endnu – men et mønster.”

Morses trofaste assistent Lewis er ved hans side, pålidelig og jordbunden. “Kriminalassistent Lewis var ikke dum, og han var ærlig og pålideligheden selv.” Måske ærligere, end det er godt for ham selv, men hen ad vejen lærer Morse at værdsætte, og af og til endda anerkende, Lewis´ stærke sider.

Bogen er også historien om Morse, som danner en hypotese om, at morderen bor i det nordlige Oxford, er mellem 35 og 50 år gammel, gift, og ejer en rød bil, hvorpå han beder sine mænd finde denne person. Og hvad er der mere at sige? Jo, den stærke fornemmelse af byen Oxford, skildret af en vidende forfatter, som fodrer os med små bidder historie og oplysninger om de forskellige universitetsbygninger, samtidig med at han udvider en stakkels skandinavs ordforråd.

Håkan Nesser & Humour

Jane, blogging in Danish from Birmingham, wrote an interesting comment on my Nesser review the other day:

I love Nesser, but have only been able to lay my hands on the first two van Veteeren novels -I really enjoyed them! I cannot believe that anyone could miss the humor in Nessers books. It is very understated, but nevertheless always present (in my opinion, there might be almost too much understated humor in the Barbarotti novels, but that is another story).

A good question for international readers: does the type of humor used by Nesser only make Scandinavian people laugh or chuckle?

I also think that this is a good question. So good that I wanted to post about it today - and hopefully some of you will take the time to think about it, and write a comment.

DJ's Bait in the Box # 18

[The beautiful and very suitable box belongs to Julia, A Piece of My Mind]

I have been off-line for HOURS! – so what you see is what you get. This book is the first in a famous series.

“Carefully he shone his torch around and slowly perambulated the yard. The driver of the last car parked on the left-hand side of the yard had presciently backed into the narrow lot and left himself a yard or so of room between his nearside and the wall; and stretched along this space was the sprawling figure of a young girl. She lay on her right side, her head almost up against the corner of the walls, her long blonde hair now cruelly streaked with blood. It was immediately clear that she had been killed by a heavy blow across the back of the skull, and behind the body lay a flat heavy tyre-spanner, about one and a half inches across and some eighteen inches in length – the type of spanner with its undulating ends so common in the days before the inauguration of instant tyre repairs. The inspector stood for a few minutes, gazing down at the ugly scene at his feet. The murdered girl wore a minimum of clothing – a pair of wedge-heeled shoes, a very brief dark-blue mini-skirt and a white blouse. Nothing else.”

The Rules:
If you recognize the quotation, or if you think you are able to guess who wrote it, please post a comment. Just leave a hint, do not spoil the fun by giving too much away. The book will be reviewed on Friday as usual.

Gæt en bog # 18.
Denne roman er den første i en nok så berømt britisk serie, og undskyld mange gange, men jeg har altså ikke lige tid til at oversætte eller finde citatet på nettet.

Susanne Staun, Mine Piger (2008)

For the benefit of my English readers who cannot read and enjoy this MasterMystery, I´ll bring the poem on the first page.

”Big wheels keep on turning
Carry me home to see my kin
Singing songs about the Southland
I miss Alabama once again
And I think it’s a sin, yes

Sweet home Alabama
Where the skies are so blue
Sweet Home Alabana
Lord, I´m coming home to you

Lynard Skynyrd (1974)

Bogen begynder, hvor tredje bind i serien slap. Fanny Fiske er blevet stukket ned, og ligger nu (tilsyneladende) i koma på et engelsk hospital. Men der kan hun jo ikke blive liggende; til trods for sin overlegne, distancerede facon har hun stadig et par veninder, som det ikke er lykkedes hende at skræmme væk, og nu har de brug for hende. Den danske journalist og krimiforfatter Nina Lacoppidan er vant til at rage sig fjender til i livet, men efter mange trusselsbreve fra den samme person frygter hun nu for alvor for sit liv, og indkalder profileren Fanny, retsmedicineren Lisa Selander og den offentlige anklager Polly Jean Harvey til hjælp. På høje tid, for hvad veninderne finder ved ankomsten er Ninas kolde lig.

Som Fanny Fiske-fans vil vide, foregår serien nogle år ude i fremtiden, men den beskrivelse Staun giver af det flade, udsigtsløse Danmark, lyder desværre alt for genkendelig. ”Danmark er lidt i undtagelsestilstand p.t. De har en meget stædig regering, der som jeg forstår det, nægter at erkende, når den har taget forkerte beslutninger, og denne regering har altså med et usædvanligt bredt flertal vedtaget en politireform, der skulle sikre flere politifolk på gaden, men eftersom de samtidig sparede alt kontorpersonale væk, endte det med, at der ingen politifolk var på gaden …” Danmark er stærkt på vej mod et anarkistisk samfund, hvor lovløshed og selvtægt griber om sig. Så er læseren advaret!

Man kunne også spinde en ende over, hvad meningen er med titlen, men det vil jeg lade være med, for ikke at ødelægge spændingen eller morskaben for krimifans, som endnu har denne læseoplevelse til gode. Men at Fanny Fiske i bund og grund ikke bryder sig ret meget om mennesker, det kan jeg godt forstå. Hun har muligvis ret i, at hun er ved at være et gammelt, afdanket vrag, men hun formår stadig at overraske, og forfatteren Susanne Staun er efter min mening i absolut topform!

On the Bus

[En lignende, dansk skriveøvelse kan findes her]

1. Write a short text about a bus. Third-person narrator, max 250 words.
2. Rewrite the story, using a first-person narrator. Max 250 words. Time: 2 x 10 minutes.

On the bus.

The driver let the wide door slide open with a wheezing sound. Half a dozen passengers were queuing up. The young ones jumped on first. Four or five with satchels or rucksacks, colourful and loud like parrots in the rain forest. Next a couple of housewives in sensible shoes and bulging Tesco bags in both hands. Then a male passenger with attaché case and quality paper under his arm.

A plump woman with a wide-eyed child in a pram and two large bags stood waiting patiently. The driver rose half-way but noticed yet another one. Last man in the queue, a skinny fellow in jeans, grabbed the pram and helped the little family onboard.

“Thanks a lot”. The young mother sent him a bright smile before pushing the pram aside near the door in the middle. She bent over the child, and for a second her happy gooogligooo drowned all other sounds.

Purring, the bus rolled along while the doors slid back. The driver squinted at the digital watch above his head. Twenty minutes past five. Only two minutes behind schedule, and in less than an hour he could be with his family.

Next stop. The bell rang, and automatically he registered the four passengers in the queue. None looked drunk or aggressive. A handful left the bus via the middle door. An easy day he thought, exactly when the middle part of the bus rose from the street in a blinding light.

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On the bus

I have chosen a crowded stop. I stay behind in the queue while I study the other passengers. Five teenagers with supersonic mobile phones to their ears who are capable of chatting among themselves simultaneously. That bunch won´t notice anyone over twenty.

Two chatty shoppers and a clerky type. I ignore the two but stay outside his field of vision behind the mother with the fat child in the pram. Without a word I grab the sticky handle, and in one precise movement we lift it over the two steps. I move in between her and the bags, only for a moment, but long enough. I put them on the floor next to her. She thanks me profusely and I send her a short smile. She will be able to remember me, but if everything happens according to my plan that won´t make any difference.

The woman pushes her messy menagerie as far aside as she is capable of and bends over the little lump of fat. Nice thighs. I slide into a seat next to the middle door while I squint at my watch. Twenty minutes past five. Two minutes behind the schedule but it will be okay.

I get up early so I can push the button with my knuckle. Never take any chances. The bus pulls into the curb. I can feel my pulse throbbing but with measured steps I cross the street and slip in between two rows of shops as a tremendous flash of light is mirrored in the shop fronts.

Håkan Nesser, Kvinde med modermærke (2007)

Denne fjerde Van Veeteren-krimi begynder med en trøstesløs begravelse, og hovedpersonen fortæller os, hvordan det passer glimrende med hele hendes mors triste og mislykkede liv. Det står også klart, at hun er ved at give sig i kast med en eller anden form for mission for sin mor, og som hun siger: ”måske er der flere, der kommer til at græde over hendes bortgang. Med tiden.” Endelig oplever hun at have et formål med sit liv, og at det pludselig er meget nemmere at holde sig fra stofferne.

Kort efter begynder en række mænd at modtage mystiske telefonopringninger, hvor de bare hører en gammel popmelodi fra 1960erne – og nogle dage efter bliver de myrdet.

Kriminalkommissær Van Veeteren er fraskilt, har store problemer med sin voksne søn, og kan godt være både tvær og humørsyg, når han pludselig bliver kaldt ud i en mordsag. Lyder det velkendt? Måske, men Van Veeteren har et liv udenfor jobbet, hvor han nyder god litteratur, vin, musik og hyggeligt selskab, for eksempel over et spil skak, mens han spekulerer over, om jobbet som kriminalkommissær er ved at gøre ham for kynisk.

Den svenske forfatter har ladet hele Van Veeteren-serien udspille sig i et fiktivt område som ofte diskuteres ivrigt af Nessers fans. Både person- og stednavne klinger imidlertid hollandsk, og den valuta, der benyttes er gylden.

Og så en hilsen til læsere, der hævder, der ikke er humor i Nessers bøger:
”Hej. Jeg har hummer, vin og roser. Det er til dig alt sammen, hvis du er her inden er er gået en time.”
”Det er jo mandag,” svarede kvinden i den anden ende. ”Hvis man ikke gør noget ved den slags,” sagde Reinhart, ”så bliver det ved med at være mandag resten af livet.”
”Okay,” sagde kvinden. ”Jeg kommer.”

Det er min personlige erfaring at Håkan Nesser kan nydes på enhver dag, og her er min anmeldelse af Borkmanns punkt.

Håkan Nesser, Woman with Birthmark (2009)
This crime story, which is the fourth in the series, begins with a dreary burial, and the main character informs us that this ties in well with her mother´s dreary, wasted life. It is also clear that she is embarking on some kind of mission for her mother, and as she says, “… I sincerely hope that several more will be mourning soon.” Finally her life has a goal, and it is much easier for her to stay away from the heroin.

Soon after a number of men begin to receive mysterious phone calls. All they can hear is an old pop song from the 1960s – and some days later they are killed.

Chief Inspector Van Veeteren is divorced, has a troubled relationship with his grown son, and he can be sullen and moody when he is suddenly called out on a murder case. Does all that sound far too familiar? Perhaps, but Van Veeteren has a life which is not related to his job. He enjoys good literature, wine, music and good company, and often returns to the question whether his job is making him too cynical.

The Swedish author has chosen a fictive area for his Van Veeteren series which is often discussed by his fans. The names of characters and places ring Dutch, and the currency which is used is guilders.

And now a quotation for readers who cannot find glimpses of humor in Nesser´s books:
“Hi. I have lobster, wine and roses. It is all for you if you are here within an hour.”
“But it is Monday” said the woman at the other end.
“If you don´t do something about things like that,” Reinhart said, “it will be Monday for the rest of your life.”
“Okay,” she said. “I´ll be there.”

In my experience Håkan Nesser can be enjoyed on any day. Here is my review of Borkmann´s Point.

The International World of Blogging

You know, as depressing as our times can be, it never hurts to remind myself that I can be sitting here in California, in between spurts of packing up enthusiasm, and hear from a Canadian transplant to Philadelphia of a Danish blogger being mentioned at a British table on the topic of a Swedish writer by his English speaking translator.

And meanwhile outside my window, not only has the Boardwalk season officially begun, but also, judging by the police cars and the ambulance that just sped by, the season's first crime.

And now you think this is one of my usual obscure hints. But no, it is just one of many hilarious comments on Peter Rozovsky´s blog, Detectives Beyond Borders.

N.B. The Canadian transplant is Peter, the British table is in Bristol (CrimeFest, wish I were there), the Swedish writer is Stieg Larsson and his English-speaking translator is Steven T. Murray/Reg Keeland, and the Danish blogger is yours faithfully.

En appetitvækker

Denne roman begynder med en begravelse, en trist og deprimerende begivenhed, som samtidig bliver startskud til et medrivende krimiplot. Læg for øvrigt lige mærke til forskellene på den danske og den engelske oversættelse. Hvorfor måtte vi ikke få blomsterbuketten med? Eller har den engelske oversætter selv tilføjet den?

”Præsten snøftede og degnen – eller hvad man nu skulle kalde ham – kæmpede med sin paraply. Han forsøgte forgæves at få den til at dække både den sorte præstekjole og sig selv. Men bygerne kom farende fra alle mulig retninger, så den korrekte vinkel skiftede fra det ene sekund til det andet. Bærerne satte hælene i det bløde ler og begyndte at sænke kisten ned i hullet. Den ene af dem var ved at miste balancen, men fik sig rettet op i sidste øjeblik. Degnen stod og fumlede med skovlen. Regnen blev voldsommere.”

An appetizer:
A depressing burial, but also the beginning of an engaging crime plot.

“The clergyman snuffled, and his accomplice – or whatever you should call him – struggled with the umbrella. Tried to make it cover both the man in black and himself, but the gusts were capricious and the correct angle shifted from second to second. The bearers dug their heels into the soaking wet soil and started to lower the coffin. Her bouquet on the lid already looked a mess. Like a dollop of vegetables that had boiled for too long. One of the bearers slipped but managed to regain his balance. The clergyman blew his nose and started to read the liturgy. His accomplice fumbled with the spade. The rain grew even worse.”

Interestingly, the two sentences in red have been left out in the Danish translation (or added by the English translator) – why ever?

Arnaldur Indridason, Tavs som graven (2004)

”Den lille pige sad og gumlede på den, og han kunne straks se, at det var en menneskeknogle, da han tog den fra barnet.”

Scenen er en børnefødselsdag; ikke desto mindre lykkes det den islandske forfatter at lægge op til endnu en glimrende krimi med blot fireogtyve ord. Og hvor der er en stump ribben, er der selvfølgelig også et skelet. Erlendur og hans faste makkere, Elinborg og Sigurdur graver knogler frem af jorden, som sandsynligvis har ligget der 50-70 år. (Efternavne og titler behøves åbenbart ikke i Island).

Samtidig med at politiet forsøger at opklare sagen om det gamle skelet, følger vi historien om den unge kvinde med det handicappede barn, som bliver udsat for grov vold af sin jaloux ægtemand. Man aner, at de to tråde må mødes til sidst, men hvordan?

Undervejs lærer man en masse om, hvordan det er at leve med volden: ”I aften var det så kartoflerne. Eller det troede hun. Men de kunne lige så godt have været kogt for meget, have været kogt ud, været rå, med skræl på, dårligt skrællede, ikke skåret i halve, med sovs, uden sovs, bagte, brasede, lavet til kartoffelmos, for tyk, for tynd, for salt eller ikke salt nok …”

Den ordknappe og indadvendte hovedperson, Erlendur, har en del til fælles med Sjöwall og Wahlöös legendariske Martin Beck. Ud over nogle personlighedstræk er de begge fraskilte, og har problematiske forhold til familien. Noget af det, der er med til at danne Erlendur som person, er hans generelle følelse af skyld og svigt.

En fin krimi, som fuldt ud fortjener titlen Maj-MesterMysterium.

Arnaldur Indridason, Silence of the Grave (2005).
“He knew at once that it was a human bone when he took it from the baby who was sitting on the floor chewing it.”

The opening words are from a child´s birthday, nevertheless the Icelandic author succeeds in setting the scene for another excellent crime story in only twenty-five words. And where there is a rib, there must be a skeleton. Erlendur and his regular partners, Elinborg and Sigurdur, dig out the bare bones of a person who seems to have been lying in the ground for 50-70 years. (Family names and titles are apparently not used much in Iceland).

While the police work at solving the case of the old skeleton, we follow the story about the young woman with the handicapped child who is exposed to systematic violence by her husband. Obviously, the two threads will meet, but how?

The taciturn, introverted main character, Erlendur, has certain features in common with Sjöwall and Wahlöö´s legendary Martin Beck. Apart from personality traits they are both divorced and have problematic relationships with their families, just as they are often troubled by feelings of inadequacy.

A great crime novel – one of May´s Master Mysteries.

Kerry Greenwood, Murder in the Dark (2006)

[Denne bog er ikke oversat til dansk – kan lånes på engelsk via danske biblioteker]
Cozy Mystery Reading Challenge # 3

This cozy mystery is from Australia, the 16th in the Phryne Fisher series. The story takes place in Victoria in the year 1928, when the rich and independent Miss Fisher receives an anonymous letter among all her Christmas cards, warning her that she had better stay away from a fabulous five-day New Year´s party. Phryne Fisher is not a person one tells what to do, however, so now she is determined to go.

The series conveys a nice sense of the roaring twenties and the decadent drink, drug and dance scene of affluent Australia. The weather is very un-Scandinavian: “The north wind was picking up. By tomorrow it might be the full dragon´s breath which withered trees and started bushfires and always gave Phryne a headache.”

To sum up the plot in a few words, a spoiled little boy is kidnapped, and the mysterious ´Joker´ threatens to kill the generous and popular host of the party. Phryne Fisher must take action – in between the many indispensable meals, games and concerts. She solves the crimes expertly, but more like an intellectual puzzle or game than through hard work.

So even millennium cozies will be cozies, and typically for the genre, the whole story centres around one manor and the surrounding lands, but the sex scenes have become somewhat more explicit and might make Miss Marple blush.

An example of the humorous tone of the story:
“´But surely this is exaggerated´ protested Miss Eliza. ´This Joker sounds like something out of Sexton Blake.´
´Stands to reason there must have been someone to copy all those villains from,´ said Dot reasonably.”

DJ's Bait in the Box # 17

[The bait box has been borrowed from Politiken.dk]

This week´s crime novel which is a few years old is neither from here nor there.

“She craned her head forward and began grimacing and whining so the toy fell out of her mouth. With some difficulty she found it again and came over to him with it in her hand, raised herself with the aid of the armrest of the settee and stood unsteadily but triumphant next to him.

He took the object from her and looked at it. The girl looked at him in disbelief and started to scream at the top of her voice. He soon realized that he was holding a human bone: a ten centimetres long end piece of a rib.”

The Rules:
If you recognize the quotation, or if you think you are able to guess who wrote it, please post a comment. Just leave a hint, do not spoil the fun by giving too much away. The book will be reviewed on Friday as usual.

Gæt en bog # 17
Denne uges krimi, som er nogle få år gammel, stammer hverken herfra eller derfra.

”Hun strakte hovedet frem og begyndte at lave grimasser og hvinede, så legetøjet faldt ud af munden på hende. Efter lidt besvær fandt hun det igen og kom derefter helt hen til ham med det i hånden, løftede sig op ved hjælp af armlænet på sofaen og stod lidt usikkert, men triumferende ved siden af ham.

Han tog genstanden fra hende og kiggede på den. Pigen så på ham, som om hun ikke troede sine egne øjne og begyndte så at skrige i vilden sky. Han blev hurtigt klar over, at det var en menneskeknogle, han sad med: Et ti centimeter langt endestykke af et ribben.”

Reglerne:
Hvis du kan genkende citatet, eller hvis du tror du kan gætte hvem forfatteren er, så læg venligst en kommentar. Skriv bare et hint til nye besøgende, lad være med at ødelægge fornøjelsen for andre.

Marked by Reading

Weekly Geeks # 17

When in need, I use anything as a bookmark, old receipts, corners torn off the newspaper, old postcards etc, but I prefer a nice one of cartoon which is a bit shorter than the pages of the book.

The photo above is a small collection of Irish bookmarks, bought in Dublin during a wonderful holiday two years ago.

The second photo shows some pretty or funny bookmarks – nice and colourful.

The third photo, below, a cheap and tattered bunch – but very useful, and for free.

NB: my grandfather told my father and his brothers never to use a fried egg as a bookmark. A very useful advice, I should say.


Bemærkelsesværdige Bogmærker.
I en snæver vending bruger jeg hvad som helst som bogmærke; gamle kvitteringer, hjørnet af en avisside, gamle postkort mm, men jeg vil allerhelst have et pænt, stift karton-bogmærke, som er lidt kortere end bogsiden.

Øverst ser du en lille samling irske bogmærker, købt i Dublin under en pragtfuld ferie for to år siden.

Det andet billede viser nogle pæne eller sjove bogmærker – skønne og farverige.

Til sidst er der de luvslidte. Der er ikke andet at sige, end at de er nyttige og gratis.
Og som min farfar sagde til min far og hans brødre: I må aldrig bruge et spejlæg som bogmærke!

Peter James, Not Dead Enough (2007)

This crime novel which is the third in the Roy Grace series, is my first acquaintance with the British writer.

The plot sets out well with the affluent wife Katie Bishop who is found murdered in her own home. Of course the police take a close look at the husband, but he has an unassailable alibi. Soon after another woman is murdered, also someone who is connected with Brian Bishop, and the police begin looking for a serial killer.

Roy Grace is a likeable and competent detective superintendent, but it is difficult for him to focus on the murder case as his good friend and colleague has marital problems and moves into Grace´s flat. Furthermore, old friends tell him that they have seen his wife, Sandy, who disappeared several years ago, abroad.

My overall impression: an average crime novel written in average language, not free of clichés. I think the plot is supposed to be ingenious, but I don´t see it as truly original, and it is too easy to guess what is going on. This surprised me as I have seen several enthusiastic reviews of James´ books, but apparently I am not the first reader who has been disappointed with the plot in this one.

Peter James, Langtfra død (2008).
Denne krimi er mit første bekendtskab med den britiske forfatter, men den tredje i serien om Roy Grace.

Plottet begynder i fin stil med overklassefruen Katie Bishop, som bliver fundet myrdet i sit eget hjem. Politiet undersøger naturligvis ægtemanden nærmere, men han har et uangribeligt alibi. Kort efter bliver endnu en kvinde myrdet, også med tilknytning til Brian Bishop, og politiet begynder nu at tænke i seriemorder-baner.

Kriminalkommissær Roy Grace er en tiltalende og dygtig politimand, men det falder ham svært at koncentrere sig fuldt ud om mordsagerne, da han først må bruge tid på at støtte sin ven og kollega, som netop er blevet smidt ud af sin kone. Senere hører han, via gamle venner, at hans forsvundne kone, Sandy, er blevet set i udlandet.

Mit helhedsindtryk: middelgod krimi i middelgodt sprog, som ikke er fri for klicheer. Plottet skulle vist være udspekuleret, men er i virkeligheden ikke specielt originalt, og det er lidt for let at gætte sig til, hvad der foregår. Jeg undrer mig lidt, da jeg har set mange begejstrede anmeldelser af forfatteren, men jeg er tilsyneladende ikke den første, som har været skuffet over plottet i denne bog.

Far Out

Sometimes I wonder whether people from the city really know how far out it is possible to live.
I also wonder whether everybody knows how honest and law-abiding Danish countrypeople are.

Today we came home after a wonderful weekend in our cottage - and I found this lovely surprise - left for me by the postman several hours earlier.

The Visitor

[Se en dansk version af samme tekst her]

Write a starter in c 15 minutes. Introduce characters, environment, action and emotion.

Abruptly she sat up in her bed. A deep voice had forced its way through the dark night into her half-conscious mind. Daddy must have come home!

Emma pattered out on the landing in bare feet, pulling the soft blanket after her like a tail. She watched them through the rails of the banister. They looked so funny in stripes. He was much taller than mommy so she had to lean back her head. “You fool, you´ll wake up the children,” she whispered, but she didn´t look angry.

Even though it must be in the middle of the night, mommy had not gone to bed yet. She was wearing lipstick, and the new necklace from her birthday. The wrinkles on her forehead had gone. The man put his arms around her and whispered something Emma could not hear. She was not sure it was daddy after all.

“Won´t you come in?” Mommy sounded almost like a little girl.

From her perfect little lookout Emma saw him squeezing mommy´s neck. She didn´t really understand why the grown-ups liked that kind of thing. She had tried kissing Marcus in the kindergarten, but he had just tasted like a cucumber. She leaned forward to get a better view, and right then she could feel mommy´s perfume in her nose, reminding her of the flowers in their garden.

Mommy was red in the face, and she did not smile any more. Emma heard her necklace snap, and the light sparkled in the dancing pearls, making them look like a fountain.

She clutched the blanket in her hands and pulled it up to her eyes. Her thumb slid into her mouth while a small puddle formed beneath her feet.

Helene Tursten, Manden med det lille ansigt (2007)

Svensk krimi, den syvende i serien om kriminalinspektør Irene Huss.

To unge mænd stjæler en bil og ræser af sted; under deres vilde flugt dræber de en fodgænger. De smider bilen fra sig i en skov og stikker ild til den. Under eftersøgningen finder politiet liget af en teenage-pige i et udhus. Tilsyneladende var pigen død inden de unge nåede ud til huset, så hvad er sammenhængen – hvis der er nogen?

Da det viser sig, at offeret for flugtbilisten er pensioneret kriminalbetjent går det rutinerede politi-team i højeste gear. Undervejs får de opdateret deres viden om trafficking, som er et forholdsvist nyt fænomen i Göteborg. Den svenske del af denne krimi fungerer udmærket, men trafficking-sporet fører Irene Huss til Tenerife hvor hun kommer ud i et noget utroligt samarbejde med det spanske politi. Et mere kulørt end egentligt interessant afsnit af bogen, som efter min mening ville have stået stærkere uden.

Bogen giver også et nyt indblik i Irene Huss´ liv, både som travl kriminalinspektør, hvor hun er kompetent og ligevægtig, og i privatlivet som hustru til kokken Krister og mor til de nogenlunde voksne tvillinger Jenny og Katarina. Irene oplever som regel god opbakning på hjemmefronten, men familien har tidligere været igennem hele møllen med problemer omkring teenage-børn, to karrierer og samliv. Og netop som tilværelsen begynder at blive lidt mere overskuelig, fordi tvillingerne er på vej hjemmefra, begynder Irenes mor for alvor at blive gammel og skrøbelig.

Helene Tursten, The Man with the Little Face
This Swedish crime novel has not been translated into English, but may be so later. It is the seventh in the series about Detective Inspector Irene Huss.

Two young men steal a car and rush off, and during their mindless escape they kill a pedestrian. They abandon the car outside town and set fire to it. While searching for the hit-and-run thieves, the police find the body of a young teenage girl in an outbuilding. She must have been dead before the young men reached the place so what is the connection between these crimes – if there is any?

As it turns out that the pedestrian was a former member of the CID, the police work shifts into a higher gear. En route they learn quite a bit about trafficking which is still a relatively new phenomenon in Gothenburg. The Swedish part of this plot works well, but the trafficking link leads Irene Huss to Tenerife where she is involved in a somewhat amazing cooperation with the Spanish police. A more gaudy than really interesting part of the plot which – in my humble opinion – could very well have been left out.

Furthermore the story offers new insight in the life of Irene Huss, in her capacity as a busy, but competent and equable detective inspector, as well as her private life with Krister the cook and their just about grown twins Jenny and Katarina. As a rule the family support Irene and her career, but the family has been through the whole lot with teenagers, two careers and very little time together. And now when things seem to be changing for the better with the twins moving away from home, Irene´s mother shows sign of growing old and fragile.

Sjöwall & Wahlöö, Roseanna (1966)

[En kort & snottet anmeldelse, men spændingen skal jo udløses]

Denne fantastiske debut fortjener så absolut sin klassikerstatus, samt prædikatet ´mester-mysterium´. Det er første gang, vi møder Martin Beck, den rugende og pessimistiske strisser. Han og hans team sidder hurtigt fast i denne sag, hvor de måske aner hvad, men bestemt ikke ved hvorfor eller hvem (ikke engang navnet på den nøgne, unge kvinde, som bliver fundet i en sluse nær søen Vättern). Men Beck kan ikke slippe sagen, og selvfølgelig finder han svarene, men det kræver al hans sammenbidte beslutsomhed at nå til vejs ende.

Miljøet er 60ernes Sverige, et samfund præget af ulighed og social uro, politivold og et forudindtaget retsvæsen.

Hvis du endnu ikke har læst denne serie, som har inspireret en hel generation skandinaviske krimiforfattere, er der kun et at sige: det burde du!


Sjöwall & Wahlöö, Roseanna (1965)
[A short & snotty review, but of course I cannot keep you in suspense any longer]

This fantastic debut deserves its status as a neo-classical crime story and the epithet master mystery. This is the first time we meet Martin Beck, the ever-pessimistic, brooding cop. He and his team get stuck quite soon in this intriguing case where they may know what, but certainly don´t know why or who (not even the identity of the naked, young woman found in a lock near the large lake Vättern). Beck is unable to let the case go, however, and of course he finds the answers, but it takes all his dogged determination to get there.

The environment is Sweden of the 1960s, a society marked by inequality and unrest, police violence and a biased administration of justice.

If you have not read this series which has inspired a whole generation of Scandinavian crime fiction writers yet, there is only one thing to say: you should!

DJ's Bait in the Box # 16

This vintage matchbox is my own – and so is the "neo-classical" crime novel.

The bucket was still on the way up.
As it broke through the surface of the water, a man on the pier took a few steps toward the boat. He waved his arms and shouted something. The deck man looked up to hear better.
“There´s someone in the bucket! Stop! Someone´s lying in the bucket!”

The confused deck man looked first at the man and then at the bucket which slowly swung in over the hold to spit out its contents. Filthy gray water streamed out of the bucket as it hung over the hold. Then the deck man saw what the man on the breakwater had seen. A white, naked arm stuck out of the bucket´s jaw.

The Rules:
If you recognize the quotation, or if you think you are able to guess who wrote it, please post a comment. Just leave a hint, do not spoil the fun by giving too much away. The book will be reviewed on Friday as usual.

Gæt en bog # 16
Denne uges krimi kan måske bedst kaldes en ung klassiker.

Skovlen var stadig på vej op.
Da den dukkede op over vandfladen, rejste en mand på bredden sig og gik et par skridt hen imod båden. Han vinkede med armene og råbte et eller andet. Dæksmanden rettede sig op som for bedre at kunne høre, hvad han sagde.
”Der er nogen i skovlen! Stop! Der ligger nogen i skovlen.”

Dæksmanden så forvirret på manden og derpå på skovlen, som langsomt svingede ind over lastrummet for at udspy sit indhold. Skiddengråt vand fossede ud af skovlen, idet maskinisten bremsede den lige over lastrummet. I det øjeblik så dæksmanden, hvad manden på bølgebryderen allerede havde set. Ud fra skovlens kæber stak en nøgen hvid arm.

Reglerne:
Hvis du kan genkende citatet, eller hvis du tror du kan gætte hvem forfatteren er, så læg venligst en kommentar. Skriv bare et hint til nye besøgende, lad være med at ødelægge fornøjelsen for andre.

Some Like It Mild: Cozy Mysteries

By Jordan Foster, Publishers Weekly

“I specialize,” Agatha Christie once said, “in murders of quiet, domestic interest.” Today, almost 90 years after the publication of The Mysterious Affair at Styles, her first novel featuring the fastidious Belgian private detective Hercule Poirot, the traditional mystery still thrives. Readers continue to crave the classic whodunit, a puzzle they try to solve along with the protagonist, who may be a professional like Poirot or an amateur sleuth like Miss Jane Marple, one of Christie's other creations.

Violence is never absent from these tales—they are, after all, murder mysteries—but there's a definite lack of gore and gratuitous carnage. Louise Penny, whose award-winning Chief Insp. Armand Gamache series is set in the tiny Quebec village of Three Pines, likens the suspense in her novels to that of famed director Alfred Hitchcock, who “knew that less is more.” Says Penny, “My books aren't about murder—that's simply a catalyst to look at human nature. They aren't about blood but about the marrow, about what happens deep inside, in places we didn't even know existed.” In October, Minotaur will publish Penny's fifth Gamache novel, A Brutal Telling.
…..

I have the next two cozy mysteries ready on my shelf – to be reviewed soon. Follow me on my tour to Africa and Australia – and if you can´t wait for more cosiness, read the whole of the article above.

Thanks to Maxine for providing the link in our cosy, criminal friend feeding room.

Hitch

Writing Exercise: Write a starter in no more than 200 words.
[En lignende dansk tekst kan findes her]

Hitch

I took a deep breath before I stepped out in the open. No cars in sight right now. As soon as I had hoisted my skirt a bit up and put a hand on my hip to keep it there, I was ready. I began waving my thumb in the air. Steady now!

Swish.

The only thing I had been able to grab when I ran off was the briefcase. I had wiped it thoroughly with my denim jacket which was so stained and torn that I had to dump it in a ditch anyway. I pricked up my ears. Was that a twig which snapped?

Swisssh. Swish.

A couple of cars shot past. Discreetly I rubbed my face with a Kleenex. I reeked of sweat and had an acrid taste of blood in my mouth, but they wouldn´t be able to see that. I just had to get a lift, because I couldn´t walk another ten feet.

Swish. Swiii… Iiiiih.

Finally! The rusty van pulled in with grating brakes, and I hobbled forward lest the driver should change his mind. I reached for the door handle. Right then the door in the back slid open.

So sorry... Undskyld!

How stupid can one be? I began moderating comments after my spam attack the other day - but didn´t have a clue how it worked. Not until now, that is, when I stumbled upon 15 comments waiting to be accepted.

I won´t post pictures of myself until my cheeks have turned into their normal winter-pale colour again :O

Undskyld mange gange.
Hvor dum kan man være? Jeg besluttede at moderere mine kommentarer den anden dag efter et ubehageligt spam-angreb - uden rigtigt at have fattet, hvordan det virker. Ikke før lige nu, hvor jeg helt tilfældigt faldt over 15 kommentarer, som ventede på at blive godkendt.

Jeg bringer ikke lige billeder af mig selv, før mine kinder har genvundet deres normale, vinterblege farve :O

Dorothy Sayers, Busman´s Honeymoon (1937)

Cozy Mystery Reading Challenge # 2

This crime novel is not only a classic, but also the prototype of a cosy mystery, because the main part of the plot takes place in and around one single house, with the usual, small circle of suspects.

Several letters at the beginning of the novel indicate that Sayers may have planned to write an epistolary novel, but after the first twenty five pages she changes the style and continues in traditional crime fiction mode.

A short plot summary: the coveted bachelor Lord Peter Wimsey has finally married the independent crime fiction writer Harriet Vane, who has a past as a murder suspect. The two set out for their honeymoon in their newly acquired country house, Talboys. Contrary to their expectations, the former owner has vanished into thin air, and nothing has been prepared for their reception. The owner, cynical and stingy Mr Noakes, reappears soon enough, however, at the foot of the stairs of his own cellar.

The peace is over as the detective and crime writer can´t just enjoy their honeymoon with a murderer on the loose. Superintendent Kirk is a good and conscientious police officer, but he accepts their assistance eagerly, and rejoices at every opportunity to exchange literary quotations with Peter Wimsey.

As usual D.L. Sayers has created a fine and coherent crime plot, but the love story does take up a good deal of the book. Peter Wimsey fans will know that the public-spirited nobleman suffers when his own ´victims´ have been brought to justice (at a time when England had not given up the death penalty), and after having tried to cope with his feelings of horror and guilt on his own, he seeks Harriet´s help. “You´re my corner, and I´ve come to hide.”

For readers who enjoy cozy mysteries at all, this master mystery is a must.

Dorothy L Sayers, Peter Wimseys hvedebrødsdage (1950).
Denne krimi er dels en klassiker, dels prototypen på et cozy mystery, fordi så stor en del af handlingen udspiller sig i og omkring et enkelt hus, med den sædvanlige lille kreds af mistænkte.

En lang række breve ved starten af romanen kunne tyde på, at Sayers havde planer om at skrive en brevroman, men efter de første femogtyve skifter hun stil, og fortsætter på traditionel krimivis.

Et kort rids af handlingen: den eftertragtede ungkarl Lord Peter Wimsey er omsider blevet gift, med den uafhængige krimiforfatter Harriet Vane, som har en fortid som mordmistænkt. Parret drager på bryllupsrejse til deres nyindkøbte landsted, hvor alt skulle være klar til at modtage dem, men den tidligere ejer er forsvundet, og intet er forberedt. Ejeren, den kyniske og nærige Mr Noakes, dukker dog snart op igen for foden af sin egen kældertrappe.
Freden er forbi, for naturligvis kan detektiven og krimiforfatteren ikke bare nyde deres hvedebrødsdage, mens en morder er på fri fod. Den lokale mand, Superintendent Kirk er både dygtig og samvittighedsfuld, men tager gerne imod den udstrakte hånd.

Som sædvanlig har D.L. Sayers skabt et fint og sammenhængende krimiplot, men kærlighedshistorien fylder unægtelig også en del i bogen. Peter Wimsey-fans vil vide, at den samfundsbevidste adelsmand har det svært, når hans egne ´ofre´ har været for retten (i en tid hvor England endnu ikke havde opgivet dødsstraffen), og efter at have forsøgt at klare sig igennem på egen hånd som sædvanlig, overgiver han sig, og søger Harriets hjælp. ”Du er mit hjørne, og jeg er kommet for at skjule mig.”

For læsere, som overhovedet er til ´cozy mysteries´, er dette mestermysterium ikke til at komme uden om.