A Holiday Bait in a Pill Box

For my holidays, I am only going to bring one book. A crime novel about someone who walks along the beach and comes across a body.

WHO could have written that?
Please leave your suggestions of authors and titles (there must be several) while I am away gallivanting in Scotland. I hope I will be able to modify your comments now and then.

NB: I do hope they have some good book shops in Edinburgh. If not, my ten holidays may seem very long.

Kirsten Holst, The Young, rich and beautiful (1976)

This Danish novel has not been translated into English, but as I use it as part of my Cozy Mystery Challenge, I will try to convey the style and atmosphere of it.

(A free, abridged translation of the dialogue on the first page):

- What are they like? I asked.
- Stinking rich, Paul said.
- That is not a quality.
- Of course it is. Or it will be. That was where he went wrong.
- Who?
- Papa Hemingway. Don´t you remember when Scott Fitzgerald says to him: there is a difference between the very rich and the rest of us. And Hemingway answers drily: yes, they have more money … But Fitzgerald was right. There is a difference. They are different.
- How?
- In many ways. The very rich see the world in another light, and with good reason, because it is another world you live in when you have a fortune. Do you remember poor Marie Antoinette who asked if the Parisians couldn´t eat cake when they had no bread. Any school child could hear that it was silly… She lived in another world, and that may be her stupidity. It is still like that. Two different worlds. If you have a very rich friend and ask him to find you a reasonable hotel room, he will call the best hotel in town and ask for a reasonable room, and it will cost you five times as much as you had calculated on. He has just not understood what you meant…

So a stinking rich couple move to the small closed community in which our female amateur detective, Gitte, lives. Of course they have brought some dark secrets along (to add to the ones which are already fermenting there). Secrets which are so important that people are ready to kill for them.

So in many ways this is a classic cozy mystery, and a rather fine one in my opinion. The female ´detective´ is a bit unusual, however. She divorced her alcoholic husband a few years ago, and lives on her own in an old, neglected house. She has a really good relationship with her neighbour, the tall, successful architect Paul, but is very unwilling to give up her house and her independence to move in with him. This must have seemed strange, perhaps even wrong in the Danish countryside of the 1970s, and a female friend does indeed blame her that she only plays with Paul´s feelings.

A ´teaser´ from the first chapter. Gitte and Paul only just avoid running over a neighbour who steps out in front of their car:

“How little one knows, really. Later I have thought about that episode a lot. How lucky were we? If I had run over Ingeborg that day, four, no three people, might still have been alive. And Ingeborg died anyway.”

A true cozy mystery, and Kirsten Holst has written several of them – quiet, fast reads, and never too much blood or gore.

Kirsten Holst, De unge, de rige og de smukke (1976).
Anmeldt til min ´cozy mystery challenge´.

Et ´stinkende rigt´ ægtepar flytter til det lille samfund hvor den kvindelige hovedperson Gitte bor. Selvfølgelig har de dystre hemmeligheder med i bagagen (som de kan føje til de hemmeligheder, som allerede gærer på stedet). Hemmeligheder så vigtige, at nogen er parat til at dræbe for dem.

Så på mange måder er bogen en klassisk hygge-krimi, og endda et udmærket eksempel på genren. Den kvindelige amatørdetektiv er dog lidt usædvanlig. Hun blev skilt fra sin alkoholiserede ægtemand et par år før bogen begynder, og bor alene i et gammelt, forsømt hus. Hun har et rigtig godt forhold til sin nabo, den høje, succesrige arkitekt Paul, men er højst uvillig vil at opgive sit hus og sin uafhængighed for at flytte sammen med ham. Det må have virket mærkeligt, måske endda forkert ude på landet i 70erne, og en kvindelig nabo bebrejder hende da også, at hun bare leger med Pauls følelser.

Et citat fra første kapitel, hvor Gitte og Paul lige netop har undgået at køre over den kvindelige nabo, som træder lige ud foran deres bil.

”Hvor ved man i virkeligheden lidt. Senere har jeg ofte spekuleret over den episode. Hvor heldige var vi i grunden? Hvis jeg havde kørt Ingeborg ned den dag, havde fire, nej tre mennesker måske endnu været i live.”

Typisk hyggekrimi i bedste Kirsten Holst-stil. Som der står på bagsiden: ”letlæst og befriende ublodig – trods adskillige mord.”

Kate Atkinson, Case Histories (2004)

This crime novel is Scottish Kate Atkinson´s fourth novel, but the first one with the private detective Jackson Brodie.

It sets out with three stories of loss. First we meet the Land family; the brilliant mathematician Victor Land, his much younger wife Rosemary who does not seem to realize what hit her since she gave birth to the first of her unruly, troublesome girls. Something is certainly wrong in this dysfunctional home, with a father who pursues his career (i.e. spends his time behind his study door) and an ever pregnant mother. In the end of the introduction little Olivia, everybody´s pet, disappears in the middle of the night.

The second story is about the day when fat Theo Wyre persuades his dear daughter Laura to work in his office during the holidays – so much safer than travelling round the earth – before moving off to the university. A stranger forces his way into the office building, asking for Mr Wyre, but as he is away for the day, the man stabs a colleague, and also Laura, who happens to run into the room in the wrong moment.

In the third story we meet Michelle, landed with husband and baby daughter in an old farm house at a far too young age. Michelle is a perfectionist, but there are only so many hours in a day so she is never able to live up to her own sky-high expectations. Something must change!

Many years later relatives of these people who disappeared or died contact Jackson Brodie, private detective, divorced and with enough trouble of his own to contend with.

A marvelous story, especially the sections about the Land family, people who seem to live in a gothic horror environment without really being aware of it. So I have discovered another excellent author– someone who will be on top of my shopping list for our holiday in Scotland.


Kate Atkinson, Familiehistorier (2007)
Denne krimi er skotske Kate Atkinsons fjerde roman, men kun den anden som er oversat til dansk, og den første om detektiven Jackson Brodie.

Bogen begynder med tre historier om tab. Først møder vi familien Land; matematikeren Victor Land, og hans langt yngre kone Rosemary, som vist ikke helt har forstået, hvad der er overgået hende siden hun fødte den første af sine uregerlige, besværlige piger. Noget er helt sikkert galt i det kolde og mørke hus, med en far som har travlt med sin karriere (eller hvad han nu foretager sig bag sin lukkede dør), og en mor som er evindeligt gravid. Dette afsnit slutter med, at lille Olivia, hele familiens kæledægge, forsvinder midt om natten.

Den anden historie handler om den dag hvor overvægtige Theo Wyre overtaler sin kære datter Laura til at arbejde på hans kontor i sommerferien – meget sikrere end at rejse jorden rundt – før hun begynder på universitetet. En fremmed trænger sig ind på kontoret, spørger efter Mr Wyre, men eftersom han er væk fra kontoret netop denne dag, stikker manden en kollega ned, samt Laura, som tilfældigvis løber ind i rummet i det forkerte øjeblik.

I den tredje historie møder vi Michelle, som er havnet i en gammel landejendom med mand og barn i en alt for tidlig alder. Michelle er perfektionist, men der er kun et vist antal timer i døgnet, så hun klarer aldrig at leve op til sine egne skyhøje forventninger. Noget må ske!

Mange år senere kontakter pårørende til de savnede eller dræbte privatdetektiven Jackson Brodie, fraskilt og med masser af personlige problemer at slås med.

En fantastisk historie, især afsnittene om familien Land, som ser ud til at leve midt i et gotisk rædselskabinet uden egentlig at være klar over det selv. Så jeg har opdaget endnu en fremragende forfatter – en klar nummer et på min indkøbsseddel til vores ferie i Skotland.

Weekly Geeks # 24: trivia

Weekly Geeks is another activity I have not had time to participate in for several weeks, but this week offers a good opportunity to write a crime-related post: ask some book trivia questions.

Here we go. How many first names do you remember?

1) The British writer Agatha Christie´s two best known detectives are Monsieur Poirot and Mrs Marple. What are their first names?

2) American Sue Grafton´s alphabet series is about the female detective Millhone. What is her first name?

3) Scottish Alexander McCall Smith writes about Mma Ramotswe from Botswana. Her first name?

4) American Elizabeth George writes about the British couple Lynley and Havers. What are their first names?

5) Swedish author Stieg Larsson´s famous trilogy features Blomkvist and Salander. What are their first names?

6) British Colin Dexter´s famous couple are called Morse and Lewis. What are their first names?

Send a comment with your answers. They are moderated, but I will add your name to the post plus how many of your ten first names are correct.

Answers so far:
Whereisrikki: five correct answers of five suggestions
Olelog: one correct answer of one suggestion (the tricky one).
Farmlanebooks: cannot remember Inspector Morse´s first name. Small wonder, Jackie.
Crimescraps: ten correct answers - plus a confession that he watches too much TV.
Lahni: one answer, which is correct.
Gautami Tripathy: five answers, all correct.
Kerrie: eight correct answers of eight suggestions (but you have mixed up question 5 and 6 :)) Kerrie has discovered her mistake - ten out of ten correct.
Claire: two answers, which are both correct.

NB: from Monday I will be away on holiday.

Martin Edwards, The Arsenic Labyrinth (2007)

[Denne serie er desværre ikke oversat til dansk]

”You´d never believe it to look at me now, but once upon a time I killed a man.”

In this third novel about DCI Hannah Scarlett, head of the Cold Case Review Team, a journalist begins looking into the case of a woman, Emma Bestwick, who disappeared without a trace ten years ago. Somewhat against her will Hannah is forced to reopen the case by her superior who wants good relations with the press.

As usual, the historian Daniel Kind gets involved via his keen interest in the old legends and stories of his beloved Lake District. His relationship with Miranda is less promising, though, or more precisely Miranda´s relationship with the rural setting. Yet Daniel does not exactly seem devastated as long as he has an opportunity to meet Hannah Scarlett occasionally.

One of the local secrets is the tunnel called the arsenic labyrinth where the poison was removed from tin ore in the past. A mysterious and remote spot which may appeal to people who have something to hide.

A very fine plot from Martin Edwards´ hand, combined with some engaging and credible characters.

And the best news? Rumour has it that a new volume of the series is well on its way.

See Kerrie´s review, Mysteries in Paradise.

Plotting and holidaying

Yesterday my exams ended.
Today .... sleeping, washing, no definite plans ... the first of a long row of holidays!

Plotting!
I have spent most of the afternoon working through the world´s most fantastic crime plot - 1300 words about a plot divided into fourteen sections - plus an overview of the most important characters. Just you wait - when the editors see this, .....

Hooray for holidays!

DJ´s Bait in the Box # 23

The delicious box belongs to Elizabeth, Thoughts from an Evil Overlord

[Denne bog er desværre ikke oversat til dansk]

This British novel is not the first in the series.

“Guy was stretched out in a coffin, but he wasn´t dead. Prising his eyes open, he saw nothing but darkness. He was cold and naked save for a coverlet of coarse cloth. The air was foetid and he found himself fighting for breath. His mouth tasted of wet earth and he knew he´d been buried six feet under. He banged on the lid until his knuckles bled, but there was no way out. He screamed for help, but nobody heard. When he prayed for rescue, nothing happened.”

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.

Ann Cleeves, Hidden Depths (2007)

[Denne serie er desværre ikke oversat til dansk – i hvert fald ikke endnu]

Julia Armstrong comes home late from her first night out with ´the girls´ for ages, only to find her sixteen-year-old son Luke drowned in the bath tub. As he has been depressed lately, Julia thinks it is suicide, but the police have to tell her that her son has been killed.

Felicity Calvert is a housewife with husband and four children. Her main role in life is keeping her husband well fed and happy so he can concentrate on his important, academic career. Their young son James brings home a teacher trainee who wants to rent their cottage. A bit hesitant Felicity shows her around. The place is cleaner and tidier than she would have expected, and who put the fresh roses there? Soon the family find another body, however, and these insignificant details are forgotten.

This is just a case for Vera Stanhope, meddling with male academics who tend to underrate the abilities of the large, eccentric-looking investigator.

Just as I had expected, this novel was a delightful reading experience from beginning to end. It is difficult to say whether it is Ann Cleeves´ plots or her characters that are best.

And the language? I think my quotation from the other day says it all. If not, see what Martin Edwards wrote in a comment underneath it: “This particular scene is, I think, one of the very best pieces of writing by a fine author.”

A warm recommendation!

HIGHLIGHTS II (post no 200)

See the first part.
En dansk version: Karaktermordet.

IV. Shellfish Firmer will not listen. He will not speak either. He is still purple in his shriveled face after a particularly acid outburst which got stuck in his narrow windpipe.

On the contrary, he sets a handful of Successful Lawyers on me. Now I am in deep sh.. crisis (I hardly understand that yet, but it certainly doesn´t feel good).

V. Under cover of the darkest hour of the night I sneak into the dicteditor´s office where I connect a couple of power cables to his executive chair. As I am a genuine chicken, I sneak home to hide under my eiderdown duvet long before the grill party is ready to begin.

Afterwards no one understands what happened, but Selfmade Flavour is alive and twittering. According to blushing Flinch he has enhanced his vocabulary considerably.

“He repeats these nasty anecdotes, one worse than the other, and afterwards he pats himself on the shoulder exclaiming ´bloody good, Bonus, you are the greatest, Maximus´.” She blows her pointed nose noisily.

My effort to solve the crisis ends in temporary failure.

VI. Poor Flinch´s perm is drooping. A solution must be found, not necessarily the one expected.

I borrow a sharp knife from an accommodating Successful Lawyer, together with a chloroformed cloth. I bring my own hacksaw, hammer and chisel, and a pair of garden gloves. Forthcoming Flinch offers to assist me, certain that Selfgrown Former can only get better. Under pretence of removing a disgusting nose pick she pushes the cloth against his nose, gently but firm, until he snores blithely in his slightly charred executive chair. Resolutely I prepare for a lobotomy, I know exactly how from watching heaps of BBC documentaries.

“Actually he is my son,” breathes miss Flinch, and with a jerk of my hand I cut the umbilical cord. By accident. Scout´s honour! After this initial spot of trouble I aim for the golden section and locate the self-starter and the gear box without further trouble, but the Black Box? Where on earth … there is none????

HIGHLIGHTS. A Novel in Six Parts

[Thanks to Maxine for the brilliant title. This is the last writing exercise of ten]

I. The main character has a project.
II. An obstacle.
III. An attempt to overcome the obstacle.
IV. Crisis.
V. Temporary failure.
VI. Final success – not necessarily in the expected way.
Length: no need to tell you – I am a rule-breaker anyway.

--------------------------------------------------------

HIGHLIGHTS

I. Exalted I leap into the publishing house with my innovative project, “Highlights” (a concoction of nursery rhymes and other semi-manufactured pieces from my writing course, but the editor won´t know that).

The secretary, little sharp-nosed Miss Flinch promises to put the Opus on Mr Bon Aparte´s desk. Of course she is in love with the dict... eh, editor (but I don´t know that yet). Hearing herself saying the Name colours her pale cheeks.

“Bonaparte?” I ask.

”You see, the editor is also a hobby farmer. Ten weeks ago he fell off his brand-new tractor, bang on his head!” The water rises in her artless eyes. “When they put his left arm in a sling, he started calling himself Bon Aparte.” (The editor´s real name is Selfish Farmer, an old acquaintance from the writing course. I certainly don´t know that yet).

II. ”Well, the editor is not quite satisfied with your manuscript, Ms Lowbrow.” Tiny Flinch is on the phone. She understates the case slightly, unwilling to repeat Flamer´s coarse epithets (which is why they cannot be reproduced).

“Then he won´t publish it?” I ask stupidly.

“Publish…? Well, ehm, not quite. Actually he considers suing you for fraud, plagiarism, corruption, unpatriotic activity…” She takes a deep breath. “That was the gist of it, I think.”
The dict… editor´s real name is revealed during our conversation, and the Obstacle is clear to me!

III. I, the Pen Fighter, must try to conquer the Obstacle. (The solution is Character Murder, but I don´t know that yet). As a member of the intellectually challenged sex I immediately throw myself on the floor, wagging my tail (a method which works surprisingly often, believe it or not).

“Honourable Selfless Framer, master of narration, repetition, manipulation, imitation, flatulation …” I haven´t read any of his writing exercises for a long time, but garden gnomes rarely change their style. From my position on the floor I cast sidelong glances upwards. Does he buy my adulation?

“… not to mention the example you set through your important and timeless message about the innocent pleasures of country life among humming tractors and flowering slurry spills…” I continue.

To be continued.

Bodies in Baths

Thank you to the visitors who played along (see below).

What surprises me is that no one has suggested Dorothy L. Sayers´ famous body in the bath “Whose Body” – the very first Lord Peter Wimsey story from 1923.

The teaser: a quotation from the first chapter of Ann Cleeves´ Hidden Depths.

“He had always been beautiful, even as a baby. Much lovelier than Laura, which had never seemed fair. It was the blond hair and the dark eyes, the long, dark eyelashes. Julie stared at him, submerged beneath the bath water, his hair rising, like fronds of seaweed, towards the surface. She couldn´t see his body because of the flowers. They floated on the perfumed water. Only the flower heads, not the stems or the leaves. There were the big ox-eye daisies which had grown in the cornfields when she was a kid. Overblown poppies, the red petals translucent now. And enormous blue blossoms, which she had seen before in gardens in the village, but which she couldn´t name.”

Promising, isn´t it? I am on page 92 now, and it just gets better … and better …

Just a teaser ...

I promise a longer post with a name and a nice quotation later today - especially if you leave some comments for me.

I am reading a really nice crime story with a body in a bath - who could have written that?

Liza Marklund, Hedebølge (2000)

Denne krimi er Liza Marklunds anden bog om journalisten Annika Bengtson (svensk: Studio Sex, 1999) men handlingen foregår nogle år før Marklunds debut, Nedtælling (svensk: Sprängaren, 1998). I denne bog hører vi om Annikas tid som elev på Kvällspressen.

Liget af en ung kvinde bliver fundet på en kirkegård, og Annika er så heldig at få et tip. Stædigt bider hun sig fast, og det lykkes hende at få lov at skrive om sagen. Ikke mere om plottet her, men den svenske og engelske titel antyder vist, at den myrdede kvinde har forbindelse til porno- og prostitutionsmiljøet.

Denne krimi er efter min mening noget af det bedste fra Liza Marklunds hånd. Spændende plot, og en interessant sidehistorie om Annikas egen baggrund.

Liza Marklund, Studio Sex (2002) – aka studio 69.
This crime novel is Liza Marklund´s second book about the journalist Annika Bengtson, but the action takes place some years before Marklund´s debut, Paradise (2000). As far as I can see, the book has been translated into English as the fourth.

Annika gets a tip that the body of a young woman has been found in a cemetery. Stubbornly she holds on to the story and is allowed to write about it. No more about the plot here, but as the Swedish and English titles suggest, the murdered woman has a connection to porn and prostitution.

In my opinion this crime novel is one of Marklund´s best. A great plot, plus an interesting side story about Annika´s own background.

A McCall Smith, The No 1 Ladies´ Detective Agency (1998)

This book, written by a Scottish author, is the first in the series, and my fourth cozy mystery review.

Mma Ramotswe inherits her father´s cattle, sells the herd at the right time, and spends the money on a detective bureau, the first one run by a woman in Botswana. She is a happy and confident woman, yet when she opens the doors to her new business, she feels a twinge of doubt.

“In her heart of hearts, she knew there would be no clients. The whole idea was a ghastly mistake. Nobody wanted a private detective, and certainly nobody would want her. Who was she, after all? She was just Precious Ramotswe from Mochudi. She had never been to London or wherever detectives went to find out how to be private detectives.”

Of course Botswana needs their Miss Marple, an ordinary woman full of common sense, who solves a handful of cases in this rather different crime novel. Her life, background and childhood with her beloved father takes up quite a lot of the story, which is a real cozy mystery with a strong sense of Africa.

Meet Alexander McCall Smith

A.M. Smith, Damernes Detektivbureau Nr. 1 (2003)
Denne krimi, skrevet af en skotte, er den første i serien, og min fjerde ´cozy mystery´-anmeldelse.

Mma Ramotswe arver sin fars kvæg, sælger hjorden på det helt rigtige tidspunkt, og investerer pengene i et detektivbureau, det første i Botswana som drives af en kvinde. Hun er en lykkelig og tilfreds kvinde, men da hun slår dørene op til sin nye virksomhed, føler hun alligevel en snert af tvivl.

”I sit hjertes inderste vidste hun, der ingen klienter ville komme. Hele ideen var en skrækkelig misforståelse. Ingen havde brug for en privatdetektiv, og i særdeleshed ikke hende. Hvem var hun, når det kom til stykket? Hun var bare Precious Ramotswe fra Mochudi. Hun havde aldrig været i London, eller hvor detektiver nu tog hen for at finde ud af, hvordan man var privatdetektiver.”

Men selvfølgelig har Botswana brug for deres egen Miss Marple, en almindelig kvinde fuld af almindelig, sund fornuft, som løser en håndfuld forskellige sager i denne noget anderledes krimi. Mma Ramotswes baggrund og hendes barndom hjemme hos hendes elskede far fylder en del i denne roman, som er en rigtig hyggekrimi med et stærkt islæt af afrikansk miljø.

Mød Alexander McCall Smith

DJ's Bait in the Box # 22

This Scandinavian novel is not the first in the series – but might seem so.

“There´s a dead girl in Kronoberg Park.” This one had the breathless voice of a heavy drug user. Amphetamines perhaps.
She took her eyes away from the screen and fumbled for a pen amid the mess on her desk. “How do you know?” she asked, too much skepticism in her voice.
“Because I´m fucking standing next to it.!” The voice rose to falsetto and she held the phone away from her ear.
“Okay. How dead?” she said, realizing she sounded ridiculous.
“Shit! Stone dead! How fucking dead can you be?”

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 (briefly) on Friday.

Gæt en bog # 22.
Denne skandinaviske krimi er ikke den første i serien – selv om man kunne tro det.

- Der ligger en død pige i Kronobergsparken. Stemmen var stakåndet, sproget vidnede om et regelmæssigt forbrug af amfetamin.
Hun slap skærmen med blikket og fumlede efter en pen på det rodede skrivebord.
- Hvordan ved du det? spurgte hun alt for skeptisk.
- Fordi jeg står her lige ved siden af, for fa´n! Stemmen gik i falset; hun fjernede røret lidt fra øret.
- Jaså, hvordan død? spurgte hun og kunne selv høre, hvor idiotisk det lød.
- Jamen stendød, for helvede! Hvor død kan man være?

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. Bogen vil blive anmeldt (kort) på fredag.

Abstinenser?

Enden er nær.
I dag begyndte ”uge 10”. Sidste uge af Saxos online forfatterskole.
Jeg afleverede min sidste øvelse lidt over midnat, og selv om jeg formelt har rettet opgaver hele dagen, har jeg nu kigget ind en del gange, kommenteret andres tekster og tjekket reaktionerne på min egen.
På mandag er det så slut. Lærerne evaluerer tre udvalgte tekster for sidste gang, og overlader os til ensomhed og abstinenser. Sikken masse timer, vi pludselig vil få til overs.
Men alligevel … Hulk, snøft.

Withdrawal symptoms?
The end is near. Today “week 10” began.
The last week of my online writing course.
I sent in my final exercise shortly after midnight, and even though I have been correcting papers all day (officially), I have peeped in several times to comment on texts and check the reactions to my own.
On Monday it is all over. The teachers will evaluate three texts for the last time and leave us to loneliness and withdrawal symptoms. Suddenly we will all have plenty of time.
But nevertheless … sob, sob.

Gather ye rosebuds ...

What I Am Reading

I have just begun reading Alexander McCall Smith, The No. 1 Ladies´ Detective Agency. Meet the detective, Mma Ramotswe:

“Mma Ramotswe had a detective agency in Africa, at the foot of Kgale Hill. These were its assets: a tiny white van, two desks, two chairs, a telephone, and an old typewriter. Then there was a teapot, in which Mma Ramotswe – the only lady private detective in Botswana – brewed redbush tea. And three mugs – one for herself, one for her secretary, and one for the client. What else does a detective agency really need? Detective agencies rely on human intuition and intelligence, both of which Mma Ramotswe had in abundance. No inventory would ever include those, of course.”

To be reviewed. When? As soon as I have had time to finish the charming cozy mystery.

In His White Shirt

[Dansk version af teksten]

Describe a feeling without using the word. Which feeling do you think I tried to describe?

I try not to stare at my father in the white shirt. While I take off my jacket, I observe that for once the train wasn´t late. I remember to tell him about the lilacs, and the apple trees which are finally blooming. Last week I only saw tiny buds, but today the pink flowers glow like little girls in ballet skirts. He chuckles. Fruit trees are close to his heart.

Through the shirt I can see his shoulder blades as if he had forgotten to remove the hanger. I remember how I sat on his shoulders, ruling the whole world, when we took a walk along the beach. With my short legs I soon grew tired of walking in the wet sand, but my father always knew a way out.

I sit down beside his bed and notice the bluish needle marks on his hand, and I can hardly breathe. The room smells of medication plus a sour-sweet odour which I disown.

Gently I stroke his dry, warm hand with my fingers, like when you are afraid to squeeze a young bird too hard. A network of veins is visible through his skin which is turning parchment yellow. He reaches out his thin fingers, and I dare holding his hand properly. It feels a bit clumsy because of that thing they call a butterfly. We are not really used to doing it either.

I hold a glass of water with a straw to his lips. They are cracking. My handsome, well-bred father burps and farts, and he has begun to lose tufts of hair. A scrap of food has been left in the corner of his mouth, and I wipe it off. Does he really have to return to the infant stage before the parasite has finished eating him bit by bit?

A doctor walks in with his clean, white papers in a green folder. He tries to catch my eyes across my father´s bed. I concentrate on my father´s palm as if all the answers were written there. I must be holding him too firmly, because he moans a bit.

If my throat had not been contracted, I would have sung to him, sung just like when … I turn my eyes towards the open window, but something blurs my image of the spring which is right outside.

Elizabeth George, Well-Schooled in Murder (1990)

This novel is the third in the series about Inspector Lynley and Barbara Havers. See my review of George´s debut.

In the first chapter of this crime novel, the working-class couple Kevin and Patsy Whateley are thrown into any parent´s nightmare: their thirteen-year-old son Matthew has disappeared from his posh boarding school.

If you have seen the quotation of this week´s bait in the box, plus the ones from yesterday, Cold Feet, you will have realized by now that the delicate and pretty boy does not return alive. At first, the school tries to handle the case discreetly. Matthew´s teacher and housemaster John Corntel appeals to his old Eton friend, Thomas Lynley, who is also a Scotland Yard inspector. The old school tie oblige! Conveniently for the school, Matthew´s body is found in another police district, making it natural for Scotland Yard to intervene.

Elizabeth George has created a fine, exciting plot, and raised some interesting themes about social classes. She is not afraid of showing the negative sides of the boarding school tradition either. And of course Lynley and Havers solve the unpleasant case between them. Havers is bright, Lynley is invariably brighter.

It has never been quite clear to me, however, why she chose her noble protagonist in the first place. What may seem acceptable, perhaps even charming, in Dorothy Sayers´ Lord Peter Wimsey stories, does not necessarily work in the 1990s.

Do her American readers call for quaint, British nobility?
Or is George herself just hopelessly romantic, like Sayers who invented the perfect British gentleman, fell in love with him and invaded his bachelor bliss in the shape of Harriet Vane?

Elizabeth George, Skolet til mord (1991)
Denne krimi er den tredje i serien om kriminalkommissær Lynley og Barbara Havers. Se min anmeldelse af den første i serien.

I første kapitel bliver arbejderklasseparret Kevin og Patsy Whateley kastet ud i ethert forældrepars mareridt: deres trettenårige søn Matthew er forsvundet fra sin fornemme kostskole.

Hvis du har fulgt med i ugens gæt en bog, samt citaterne fra denne krimi i går, Kolde Fødder, så ved du allerede, at den spinkle og smukke dreng ikke vender levende tilbage. Skolen forsøger i første omgang at klare sagen så diskret som muligt. Matthews lærer og husforstander John Corntel appellerer til sin gamle Eton-skolekammerat Thomas Lynley, som meget praktisk arbejder for Scotland Yard. Den gamle skoleuniform forpligter! Meget bekvemt for skolen bliver Matthews lig fundet i et andet politidistrikt, hvad der gør det naturligt for yarden at overtage sagen.

Elizabeth George har opbygget et godt og spændende plot, og taget et interessant tema op om forholdet mellem de sociale klasser i Storbritannien. Hun er heller ikke bange for at udstille de negative sider ved middelklassens kostskoletraditioner. Og selvfølgelig løser Lynley og Havers den grusomme sag til sidst. Havers er god, Lynley altid lidt bedre.

Men jeg har aldrig helt forstået, hvorfor forfatteren valgte sin adelige helt i første omgang. Det der kunne virke acceptabelt, måske endda charmerende, i Dorothy Sayers berømte Lord Peter Wimsey-serie, virker ikke nødvendigvis troværdigt i 1990erne.

Efterspørger hendes amerikanske læsere maleriske, britiske adelige? Eller er Elizabeth George uforbederlig romantiker, som Sayers der opfandt den perfekte gentleman, forelskede sig i ham, og invaderede hans lykkelige ungkarletilværelse i Harriet Vanes skikkelse?

Cold Feet

The good news (seen from my point of view) is that I have just finished correcting my first mountain of exam papers!
The bad news is that there is no way I can read 400 pages– and write a reasonable review of this week´s ´bait´– before midnight.
My easy way out: giving you two fresh bits of information about the victim, young Matthew, quotations which are also keys to important themes of the novel.

“´I think Matthew got cold feet,´ Corntel explained. ´He´s a city boy, this is his first year in an independent school. He´s always been in the state schools before. He´s always lived at home. Now that he´s mixing with a different sort of people … it takes time. It´s difficult to adjust.´ His hand moved out, open-palmed, in an appeal for mutual understanding. ´You know what I mean.´”

……......

“´Is he a big child? Hefty?´ Corntell shook his head. ´Not at all. He´s very small for his age. Delicate bones. Extremely fragile. Good structure in the face.´ He paused, his eyes focusing on an image the others could not see. ´Dark hair. Dark eyes. Long-fingered hands. Perfect skin. Lovely skin.´”

Kolde fødder.
Den gode nyhed (set fra min synsvinkel) er, at jeg lige er blevet færdig med at rette det første bjerg af eksamensopgaver.
Den dårlige nyhed er, at det er umuligt for mig at læse 400 sider – og skrive en bare nogenlunde anmeldelse af ugens ´gæt en bog´ før midnat.
Min nemme udvej: to nye bidder om offeret, Matthew, citater som også indeholder nøglen til væsentlige temaer i romanen.

”´Jeg tror Matthew fik kolde fødder,´ forklarede Corntel. ´Han er fra byen, det er hans første år på en privatskole. Han har altid gået på offentlige skoler før. Han har altid boet hjemme. Nu, da han omgås en anden slags mennesker … det tager sin tid. Det er altid svært at tilpasse sig.´ Han slog ud med hænderne, med åbne håndflader, i en appel om gensidig forståelse. ´I ved, hvad jeg mener.´”

---------------

”´Er han en stor dreng? Kraftigt bygget?´ Corntell rystede på hovedet. ´Nej, overhovedet ikke. Han er meget lille af sin alder. Spinkel knoglebygning. Meget skrøbelig. God ansigtsbygning.´ Han holdt en pause, mens hans øjne fokuserede på et billede, de andre ikke kunne se. ´Mørkt hår. Mørke øjne. Hænder med lange finger. Perfekt hud. Vidunderlig hud.´”

Joan Smith, A Masculine Ending (1987)

British crime debut and the first in the Loretta Lawson series.

Loretta goes to Paris to participate in a literary conference arranged by a feminist magazine. She has borrowed a weekend flat from a friend who shares it with three other Englishmen. She arrives very late, is starving, has trouble locating the flat and realizes that one of the beds is occupied. Loretta is an independent woman and a resourceful professor of literature, however, so she settles for the other bedroom without fuss (when she has jammed the door with a chair).

Any crime reader might have told her they ´smelled a rat´ here, but Loretta is far too inexperienced in the business of crime so she does not realize the truth until she returns to the flat the following evening and discovers an empty bed – with large blood stains.

And now, being a law-abiding citizen, Loretta should have contacted the French police, but she is convinced they will keep her in Paris for days so she chooses the easy way out.

Instead, she returns home and engages in the case herself, assisted by her good friend Bridget, and her former husband, a resourceful journalist. The plot as such is good and Loretta is an interesting new protagonist, but the feminist squabble over terminology seems a bit silly and dated to me.

Joan Smith, Mand og mord imellem (1991).
Britisk krimidebut, og første bind i Loretta Lawson-serien. Loretta rejser til Paris for at deltage i en litteraturkonference, arrangeret af et feministisk tidsskrift. Hun har lånt en weekendlejlighed af en ven, som deler den med tre andre englændere. Hun ankommer sent om aftenen, er hundesulten, har svært ved at finde lejligheden og opdager at den ene af sengene allerede er optaget. Men Loretta er en uafhængig kvinde og professor i litteratur, så hun tager til takke med det andet soveværelse uden vrøvl (efter at have sat en stol i klemme under dørhåndtaget).

En hvilken som helst krimilæser kunne have fortalt hende, at noget lugter ilde, men Loretta er endnu alt for uerfaren på krimiområdet, så sandheden går ikke op for hende, før hun vender tilbage til lejligheden den følgende aften og finder en tom seng – gennemvædet af blod.

Som lovlydig borger burde Loretta nu kontakte det franske politi, men hun er overbevist om, de vil beholde hende i Paris i dagevis, så hun vælger den nemme udvej. Vel hjemme kaster hun sig selv ud i sagen, godt hjulpet af sin gamle veninde Bridget, og sin eksmand, en journalist med nyttige forbindelse. Plottet som sådan er udmærket, og Loretta er en forfriskende nyhed, men firser-feminismen har et lidt gammeldags anstrøg.

DJ´s Bait in the Box # 21

[The beautiful box belongs to Kerrie, Mysteries in Paradise]

This British crime novel is among the earliest in a long series.

“The child was lying partially on its stomach just beyond the flintstone wall in a bed of bloomless creeping jenny. By the length and the cut of hair it appeared to be a boy. He was very dead. Even if she had been silly enough or hysterical enough to convince herself that he was merely asleep, explaining why he would be sleeping completely naked in a late afternoon growing colder by the minute was an impossibility. And why under a tree in a copse of pines where the temperature was even lower than it would be had he sought out the last rays of the afternoon sun? And why would he sleep in that unusual position, with his right hip taking the burden of his weight and his legs splayed out, and his right arm twisted awkwardly so that it was doubled up beneath itself, and his head turned to the left with three-quarters of it pressed into the ground, into the creeping jenny? Yet his skin was quite flushed – very nearly red – and surely that indicated warmth, life, the pulse and flow of blood…”

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 # 21.
Denne britiske krimi er blandt de første i en lang serie.

“Barnet lå delvist på maven lige ved siden af flintestensmuren i et bed af fredløs uden blomster. Ud fra frisuren og hårlængden så det ud til at være en dreng. Han var meget død. Selv hvis hun havde været fjollet og hysterisk nok til at overbevise sig selv om, at han kun sov, var det umuligt at forklare, hvorfor han skulle ligge og sove fuldstændigt nøgen en sen eftermiddag, som blev koldere og koldere for hvert minut. Og hvorfor under et træ i en underskov af fyrretræer hvor temperaturen var endnu lavere end den ville have været hvis han havde udsøgt sig eftermiddagens sidste solstråler? Og hvorfor skulle han sove i den usædvanlige stilling, med vægten på højre hofte og benene drejet udad, og hans højre arm vredet så akavet at den var helt foldet sammen, og hovedet drejet mod venstre, så tre fjerdedele af det blev presset ned i jorden, ned i bedet med fredløs? Og dog glødede hans hud – næsten rødt – og det måtte bestemt betyde varme, liv, puls og strømmende blod…”

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.

An Appetizer

Meet the British professor of literature, Loretta Lawson. She is tired and hungry, longing for a comfortable bed to sleep in only to realize she is playing a part in Goldilocks and the Three Bears.

“She opened the door to her right, and found herself in a small, square room with very little furniture, lit by light from an uncurtained window. The bare mattress of the single bed looked lumpy; Andrew and his friends had spared every possible expense in maintaining the flat, it seemed. She wondered if the other room might prove more inviting, and stepped quietly back into the dark corridor to open the door of the second bedroom. This room was darker, the window covered by a tacked-up piece of light-coloured cloth, but there was just enough light to distinguish its contents. Loretta´s gaze took in a double bed, and on it something that rooted her to the spot with shock.

A man was lying on the bed, his back turned to her, apparently fast asleep. For a moment, Loretta´s brain seemed to stop working and she felt nothing but fear. She had no idea who the stranger was, how he came to be there, nor what she should do.”

If you would like to hear more about Loretta´s stay in Paris, you may have a chance on Thursday. Stay tuned.

En appetitvækker.
Mød den britiske litteraturprofessor Loretta Lawson. Hun er træt og sulten, og længes bare efter en blød seng at sove i, men opdager pludselig, at hun er ufrivillig deltager i “Guldlok og de tre bjørne.”

”Hun åbnede døren til højre, og befandt sig i et lille, kvadratisk rum med meget få møbler, oplyst af skæret fra et vindue uden gardiner. Den bare madras på enkeltsengen så ujævn ud; Andrew og hans venner havde sparet på alle mulige vedligeholdelsesudgifter på lejligheden, så det ud til. Hun spekulerede på, om det andet rum skulle vise sig at være mere indbydende, og trak sig hurtigt tilbage i den mørke korridor, hvor hun åbnede døren til det andet værelse. Dette rum var mørkere; vinduet var dækket af en stump lyst stof ved hjælp af tegnestifter, men der var lige præcis lys nok til at skelne omgivelserne. Lorettas blik faldt på dobbeltsengen, og noget på den, som fik hende til at gro fast på stedet i chok.

En man lå på sengen med ryggen mod hende, tilsyneladende i dyb søvn. Et øjeblik gik Lorettas hjerne helt i stå, og hun følte ikke andet end frygt. Hun havde ingen anelse om, hvem den fremmede var, hvordan det gik til at han lå der, eller hvad hun skulle gøre.”

Hvis du har lyst til at vide mere om Lorettas ophold i Paris, skulle der være en chance på torsdag.

Johan Theorin, Skumringstimen (2008)

Denne krimi er Johan Theorins debut, og jeg har læst den på svensk (Skumtimmen, 2007).

Bogen indledes med en kort prolog, som foregår i begyndelsen af halvfjerdserne. Her møder vi en lille dreng, som lister sig udenfor havemuren alene, mens mormor sover middagssøvn, og møder en fremmed mand i tågerne på Øland.

Femårige Jens dukker aldrig op igen, og den egentlige historie kan tage sin begyndelse tyve år senere, da den ene af hans sandaler bliver sendt anonymt til hans morfar, Gerlof. Jens´ mor Julia er langt fra kommet over sit eneste barns forsvinden, men Gerlof beslutter, at nu er det på tide at handle. Han inviterer Julia hjem til øen, og efter nogen tøven lader hun sig overtale, og forsøger efter bedste evne at samle stumperne af sit liv op.

Umiddelbart herefter præsenteres læseren for den særprægede øbo Niels Kant, som mere eller mindre regner sig selv for at være den egentlige ejer af Øland. Han har ført en noget omtumlet tilværelse, men uanset hvad han er havnet i, har det bestemt altid været ´selvforsvar´. Gennem flashbacks hører vi om de spor, Kant har efterladt sig på øen, før han forsvandt lige efter krigen. Tilsyneladende døde han i Sydamerika i tresserne, men kan man nu også være sikker på det?

Et lille minus for den alvidende fortæller, som somme tider begiver sig ud i rene forudsigelser, som jeg lige så gerne ville have undværet. Ellers er sproget godt (så vidt jeg nu kan vurdere svensk), plottet vel tilrettelagt, og forfatteren bliver ved med at overraske læseren hele vejen igennem. Imponerende debut.

Johan Theorin, Echoes from the Dead (2008)
This crime novel is Theorin´s debut, and I read it in Swedish.
The book begins with a short prologue which takes place in the early seventies. We meet a little boy who sneaks outside the garden wall while his grandmother is taking a nap, and meets a stranger in the dense fog on the island of Öland.

Five-year-old Jens never reappears, and twenty years later the story continues when one of his sandals is sent anonymously to his grandfather Gerlof. Jens´ mother Julia has far from recovered after her only son´s disappearance, but Gerlof decides that now the time has come to act. He invites Julia home to Öland, and after some hesitation she agrees, doing her best to get her act together.

Immediately after this beginning the reader is introduced to the rather peculiar islander Niels Kant who sees himself as the king of the island. He has had a chequered career, but no matter what he has been involved in it has certainly always been ´self-defence´. Through flashbacks we hear about the chaos Kant left behind him before he disappeared soon after the war. Apparently he died in South America in the sixties, or did he?

A small minus for the omniscient narrator who sometimes ventures into predictions of the future. I could dispense with these. The language is fine (I think – but don´t trust my Swedish), the plot well planned and carried out, and the surprises continue until the final pages. Impressive debut!

Vinderen/The Winner

Og vinderen af sidste uges bogkonkurrence er:

Jane Skov, Alabama. Tillykke!

Jane har valgt Colin Dexter, Mord i annekset.

Og det rigtige svar var: Johan Theorin, Skumringstimen (svensk: Skumtimmen).


The winner of last week´s competition:
Jane Skov, Alabama.

Congratulations, and Colin Dexter will soon be on his way.

The correct answer was: Johan Theorin, Echoes From the Dead.

Plot, plot, plot ...

[Husk min bogkonkurrence, som udløber i dag ved midnat]
Måske undrer du dig over, at jeg får skrevet så få anmeldelser for tiden. Jo men det er fordi jeg har læst i den samme bog i fem dage nu. Kedelig bog, tænker du så. Nej da, en fantastisk og virkeligt spændende krimi. Jeg har bare brugt for få timer på at læse denne uge.

Hvad jeg så har lavet?
Hm, blogget og kommenteret. Ikke så meget som visse uger, men alligevel…
Skrevet ugens skriveøvelse og oversat den.
Udvalgt og redigeret nogle brilliante eksamenstekster til mine elever.

Og plottet og intrigeret!
- torsdag var der en af de andre deltagere i forfatterskolen som mailede til mig. Hun ville høre, om jeg kunne tænke mig at gå ind i et krimiprojekt sammen med hende og endnu et medlem af vores krimigruppe. Torsdag eftermiddag sagde jeg nej tak (jeg er alt for stolt og stædig til at lytte til andre. Fuldstændigt ufleksibel. I kender garanteret typen). Fredag eftermiddag sagde jeg måske. Lørdag morgen vågnede jeg op, med en hjerne som snurrede, blippede og vibrerede: noget var på vej. Så lørdag eftermiddag sendte jeg et foreløbigt udkast til mine krimi-medsøstre. Man har et standpunkt, til man tager et nyt.

Louise Pennys forunderlige rejse gennem (øh.. kig hellere selv på en globus).
Som mine mest trofaste læsere vil vide, vandt jeg fire bøger i diverse konkurrencer i begyndelsen af april. De tre bøger er ankommet for længst, men Louise Pennys canadiske krimi, som har mellemlandet hos Kerrie i Australien, har været undervejs til Region Nordjylland i umindelige tider. Jeg var virkelig ved at blive bekymret for den bog.

Så nu er jeg glad for at kunne forsikre jer, den er nået i sikker havn! Bogen er her, i en laset kuvert og med et hjørne, som har forsøgt at bryde ud. I det store og hele er den i god stand, og når den har haft tid til at restituere – klemt inde mellem nogle indbundne bøger på hylden – er jeg sikker på, den vil være lige så flad, som da trykpressen spyttede den ud.

Plotting & Scheeming
Maybe you are wondering why I write so few reviews right now. Well, that is because I have been reading the same book for five days now. Boring book, you think. Oh no, a brilliant and entertaining novel. I have just spent very few hours on reading this week.

What have I been doing instead?
Well, blogging & commenting. Not as much as in some weeks but …
Writing this week´s writing exercise and translating it.
Selecting and editing some brilliant exam texts for my students.

And PLOTTING AND SCHEEMING.
Thursday one of the other writing course participants mailed me. She wanted to know if I would be interested in writing a crime novel together with her and another member of our crime group. Thursday afternoon I said no (I am far too stubborn and proud to listen to anyone else. Totally inflexible. I am sure you all know the type). Friday afternoon I said perhaps. Saturday morning I woke up, feeling my brain spinning, blipping and wheezing: something was on its way. So Saturday afternoon I sent a preliminary plot to my partners in crime. So much for principles…

The Long and Dangerous Odyssey of a Poor Little Book.
As my faithful readers will know, I won four books in various competitions in early April. The three books arrived long time ago, but Louise Penny´s Canadian novel, The Cruellest Month, has been on its way from Australia for ever and ever. I was getting really worried about the poor book, I can tell you.

So now I am so happy to assure you it has reached a safe haven! The book has turned up like a bad penny, in a tattered jiffy-bag, with one corner trying to escape. On the whole, it has arrived in good shape and when it has had time to recover – tucked in between some hardbacks on the shelf – I am sure it will be as flat as it came from the printing press.

[Kerrie: just kidding - the book will be perfect! - and thank you for the beautiful bookmarks]

DISTURBED

[For danske læsere: se en dansk version af teksten her. Husk ugens bog-konkurrence, som udløber søndag ved midnat.]

Writing exercise. Write a ´slow text´ in no more than 400 words.

DISTURBED
Joan pulled out one pair of silk socks after the other, felt with her hands in all corners and nooks of the drawers, pulled them out and checked under the bottom. Systematically she continued with shelves bulging with vests and pants, sticking her hands deep down each and every pin-striped pocket and into the toes of the polished shoes.

Halfway through she tiptoed back to the large bedroom. Erlandson´s wife was still moaning quietly with a cold cloth over her eyes . The curtains were drawn and threw a sickly-green tinge over the bed. One could almost feel pity for the woman.

Joan continued with the bed and the bedside table. Checking under and over, inside and behind, up and down. She pulled the sheets off and turned the mattress. The two small drawers revealed a large collection of main-stream porn and the occasional dust mouse, but not a shred of interesting paper anywhere.

She swung out the flat screen from the wall, scrutinized the backside and let her fingertips run down the wallpaper. Nothing. But she knew her subconscious mind had registered a detail which jarred. A bird sailed past the window, and her heart skipped a beat.

She placed herself in the doorway and looked around her as if she saw the room for the first time. The bed, the wardrobe, the bedside table. The walls and the carpet. She had even tried if the skirting boards were loose.

The table! He had put the alarm clock and the ashtray in the windowsill. Why use the sill when there was a table at hand? Joan knelt down next to the square piece of furniture. Experimentally she dragged it away from the wall, rocking it from side to side. Something rattled inside the plinth…

“What do you think you are doing?”

Her eyes darted round and revealed to her what the room must look like from his point of view. Underwear and socks spilling out of the drawers, a couple of porn magazines on the floor, both wardrobe doors wide open and here she was, sitting on his sheets, turning his bedside table upside-down. She let the four round legs slide back into the four corresponding marks in the carpet as if the drawers were loaded with nitroglycerine. She drew herself up and let go of the table.

She knew that she could not talk herself out of this.

Donna Leon, Mord i fremmed land (1999)

Denne krimi er den anden i den amerikanske forfatters serie om kriminalkommissær Brunetti fra Venedig.

”Liget lå og flød med ansigtet nedad i kanalens snavsede vand. Tidevandet vuggede det blidt hen imod det åbne vand i lagunen for enden af kanalen. Hovedet bumpede et par gange mod de algedækkede trin foran Basilica SS. Giovanni e Paolo, sad et øjeblik fast, men da vandet fik fødderne til at svinge i en smuk balletagtig bue, rev det sig løs og drev videre ud mod det åbne vand og friheden.”

Kriminalkommissær Guido Brunetti bliver sat på sagen om den unge mand, som bliver fundet myrdet i kanalen. ”Dæk hans ansigt. Han døde ung” siger kommissæren, og røber hermed, at hans kone i hvert fald kender sine klassikere. Politiet overvejer motiverne bag mordet, er der tale om røveri, handel med stoffer eller terror.

Offeret viser sig at være en ung, amerikansk soldat, udstationeret på den store militærstation i Venedig, som udgør et lille stykke Amerika, og tilsyneladende følger sine egne love og regler. På overfladen virker amerikanerne åbne og samarbejdsvillige, men det er måske ikke alt, de fortæller, og ret hurtigt får Brunetti besked på ikke at forstyrre amerikanerne igen. En ordre, han selvfølgelig ikke følger helt.

Den sympatiske Brunetti er lykkeligt gift med Paola, en intelligent kvinde, som er i stand til at underholde sig selv, og ikke har skjulte dagsordener, og kommissæren har i det hele taget en sund, naturlig appetit på livet.

Forfriskende bekendtskab med en kriminalkommissær, jeg bestemt gerne vil møde igen.

Death in a Strange Country (1993)
This novel is the second in the American writer´s series about Commissioner Brunetti from Venice.

“The body floated face down in the murky water of the canal. Gently, the ebbing tide tugged it along towards the open waters of the laguna that spread out beyond the end of the canal. The head bumped a few times against the moss-covered steps of the embankment in front of the Basilica of Santi Giovanni e Paolo, lodged there for a moment, then shifted free as the feet swung out in a delicate balletic arc that pulled it loose and set it again drifting towards the open waters and freedom.”

It is up to Commissioner Guido Brunetti to solve the case of the young man who is found murdered in the canal. “Cover his face. He died young” Brunetti says and reveals that at least his wife knows her classics. The police consider the motive behind the murder; is it a mugging, drug-related crime or terror?

The victim is a young, American soldier, stationed at the large army base in Venice, a small scale America, with its own laws and rules. On the surface the Americans seem open and eager to cooperate, but there may be things they forget to tell the Italian police, and quite soon Brunetti´s superiors instructed him not to disturb the Americans again. An order he does not quite follow.

The pleasant Commissioner Brunetti is happily married to Paola, an intelligent woman who is capable of keeping herself amused and has no hidden agendas, and on the whole this couple have a sound and healthy appetite on life.

A refreshing acquaintance with a protagonist I would like to meet again.

Next Step: the Michelin Guide?

[For skandinaviske gæster: husk at deltage i ugens bogkonkurrence]

Even though I try to take my own principles seriously and blog about crime fiction exclusively, I know I stray from the path now and then. And why not; you never know when & where you will be struck by fame. Just see this comment which came my way very early this morning:

Hi,

We have just added your latest post "DJs krimiblog: Italian Food for Thought" to our Food Directory . You can check the inclusion of the post here . We are delighted to invite you to submit all your future posts to the directory for getting a huge base of visitors to your website and gaining a valuable backlink to your site.

Warm Regards Xxxxx team.

DJ´s Bait in the box # 20 (konkurrence)

[The pretty box belongs to Julia, A Piece of My Mind]

This Scandinavian crime novel is a debut. For English readers, please leave a hint as usual, but remember not to write the title or the author´s name as this post is a competition for Scandinavian readers who can win a Danish book.

The book will be reviewed on Sunday to give the participants time to send in their answers.

“When her father called one Monday evening in October, for the first time in nearly a year, he made Julia think of bones washed up on a stony beach. Bones, white as mother-of-pearl and polished by the waves, almost luminous among the grey stones in the water´s edge.
Bone fragments.
Julia didn´t know if they could be found there by the beach, but she had waited for more than twenty years to see them.”

Gæt en bog # 20 – konkurrence.
Denne uges gæt en bog er specielt rettet mod skandinaviske læsere. Send mig en mail med titel og forfatternavn på den skandinaviske debut, og vind en dansk bog. Konkurrencen udløber søndag aften ved midnat.

”Da hendes far ringede en mandag aften i oktober, for første gang i næsten et år, fik han Julia til at begynde at tænke på ben som blev skyllet op på en stenet strand.
Ben, hvide som perlemor og blankslebne af bølgerne, næsten selvlysende blandt de grå sten i vandkanten.
Benstumper.
Julia vidste ikke, om de fandtes der ved stranden, men hun havde ventet i over tyve år på at få dem at se.”

Konkurrence-regler:
1) send en mail med forfatterens navn og bogens titel til do.hu.ja@mail.tele.dk
- husk at skrive din postadresse på, og den ønskede bog (jeg sender også til udland)

2) få en ekstra vinderchance ved at reklamere for konkurrencen på din blog – på dansk eller et andet skandinavisk sprog (husk at sende mig et link).

Gevinsten: frit valg mellem tre brugte krimier (læst én gang)

1.Mary Higgins Clark, Stille som graven – hardback
2. Mary Higgins Clark, Kærlighedsmordet – hardback
3.Colin Dexter, Mord i annekset – paperback (vist nok ubrugt).