Think "Scandinavian Thriller" and it is a fair chance that your mind will conjure up snow-laden landscapes, small villages in which a handful of not-too-social-people dwell, all drenched more often than not in a fair bit of depression and gloom introspection. No, we are not saying that the folk who write on crime in the upper regions of Europe are bad thriller writers - nay, we actually think they spin better yarns than most of their brethren in England and across the Atlantic. It's just that they tend to be a bit on the morbid and moribund side when it comes to tone. You can almost see the darkness and the fog floating across the pages as you read most of them.
But not Hakan Nesser.
No, Nesser does not write what people call 'comedic crime.' He is as much a thriller writer as a Henning Mankell or an Arnaldur Indridason. However, unlike those worthies (who are both very good incidentally), his books are lit up with rays of wit and humour. If he reminds me of anyone, it is of Peter Lovesey. Their business is grim, and crime is never trivialised, but the main characters do not roam around moping and philosophising to glory. No, they do pull each other's leg occasionally and there is a fair bit of wit in the pages to keep you entertained, without making you go "oh, lord, what is the point of it all and why are we here."