The likes of Stieg Larsson, Jo Nesbo and Henning Mankell might have grabbed most of the spotlight in the recent (indeed ongoign) Scandinavian thriller writer wave, but they are only the tip of what seems to be quite an astounding crime and thriller writing iceberg. And perhaps one author who actually more than matches that illustrious trio is Arnaldur Indridason, with his Murder in Reykjavik series, featuring Detective Erlendur, a quiet, efficient man with a keen sense of justice.
Strange Shores is being called the last book in the Erlendur series. It is the first one I have read (I have not seen others in bookstores, alas - time to head to the Kindle once again) and I certainly hope that Indridason does not retire him. For, Strange Shores has a feature that one does not often see in thrillers.
Elegance.
Thrillers are supposed to be full of twists and turns, thrills (that's where they get their name from), suspense and a fair deal of action. Which is why some worthies look down upon them. They are too much about drama, they insist. They try to solve a plot, they don't tell you about the people and society involved, they say.
What do I say to that? Just this: Read Strange Shores.
For, make no mistake Strange Shores is a thriller. There is a mystery involved. Detective Erlendur returns to his hometown to solve two, in fact: to discover the fate of his brother who got separated from him in a snow storm when he was very young, and of a woman called Mattildur, who disappeared in the same storm. Erlendur is digging up the past, so to speak. Two missing people. Was there even a crime involved? He just needs to know. It is never clear why, but there's no denying the gentle obstinacy of this policeman.
And it is gentle indeed. Erlendur is no Holmes, conjuring deduction out of random objections. He is no rude Morse. Or a badgering Dalzeil. Or a brutal Reacher. He just seems...mortal. Full of failings. There are times when he is too embarrassed to talk to people, when he feels out of place. He is no superhero. He does not pull out guns. He is just a normal guy trying to solve something that has been eating away at him. There are no strong arm tactics here. Erlendur indeed almost never uses his badge to resolve matters. Just words. Some clever. Some not so. He is dealing with a number of very old people, not all of whom welcome his prodding into a not too pleasant past. And sure enough, secrets long locked away tumble out.
Indridason tells the story from two perspectives - switching from past to present. But unlike Gillian Flynn, he does not stun as much as surprise. If Gone Girl is a Capuccino, Strange Shores is Assam Tea. No, you will not jump up in shock at a particular revelation, but you will feel the chill in the breeze as you picture the two children promising each other not to "let go" in that snow storm. You will feel your heart beat when a man remembers a love he lost. No, this is not a cheerful book - Scandinavia does seem to come with this cloak of sublime melancholy - but when you have finished the last page, you will feel oddly satisfied and yet lonely.
Strange Shores is more a tale of discovery of loss than a thriller. And it is told in the tradition of a Ruth Rendell. It is not gritty and grim. It is elegant and elegiac. It is brilliant. There will some who will call it depressing. But that does not detract from its beauty. In many ways, it is like a Rahul Dravid innings in a Twenty20 match - showing that elegance is possible even in a hectic world that claims to have no time for it.
Don't go away, Detective Erlendur. There are other mysteries.
(Strange Shores by Arnaldur Indridason is available on Amazon. Click the picture above or the link below to purchase it.)
Strange Shores is being called the last book in the Erlendur series. It is the first one I have read (I have not seen others in bookstores, alas - time to head to the Kindle once again) and I certainly hope that Indridason does not retire him. For, Strange Shores has a feature that one does not often see in thrillers.
Elegance.
Thrillers are supposed to be full of twists and turns, thrills (that's where they get their name from), suspense and a fair deal of action. Which is why some worthies look down upon them. They are too much about drama, they insist. They try to solve a plot, they don't tell you about the people and society involved, they say.
What do I say to that? Just this: Read Strange Shores.
For, make no mistake Strange Shores is a thriller. There is a mystery involved. Detective Erlendur returns to his hometown to solve two, in fact: to discover the fate of his brother who got separated from him in a snow storm when he was very young, and of a woman called Mattildur, who disappeared in the same storm. Erlendur is digging up the past, so to speak. Two missing people. Was there even a crime involved? He just needs to know. It is never clear why, but there's no denying the gentle obstinacy of this policeman.
And it is gentle indeed. Erlendur is no Holmes, conjuring deduction out of random objections. He is no rude Morse. Or a badgering Dalzeil. Or a brutal Reacher. He just seems...mortal. Full of failings. There are times when he is too embarrassed to talk to people, when he feels out of place. He is no superhero. He does not pull out guns. He is just a normal guy trying to solve something that has been eating away at him. There are no strong arm tactics here. Erlendur indeed almost never uses his badge to resolve matters. Just words. Some clever. Some not so. He is dealing with a number of very old people, not all of whom welcome his prodding into a not too pleasant past. And sure enough, secrets long locked away tumble out.
Indridason tells the story from two perspectives - switching from past to present. But unlike Gillian Flynn, he does not stun as much as surprise. If Gone Girl is a Capuccino, Strange Shores is Assam Tea. No, you will not jump up in shock at a particular revelation, but you will feel the chill in the breeze as you picture the two children promising each other not to "let go" in that snow storm. You will feel your heart beat when a man remembers a love he lost. No, this is not a cheerful book - Scandinavia does seem to come with this cloak of sublime melancholy - but when you have finished the last page, you will feel oddly satisfied and yet lonely.
Strange Shores is more a tale of discovery of loss than a thriller. And it is told in the tradition of a Ruth Rendell. It is not gritty and grim. It is elegant and elegiac. It is brilliant. There will some who will call it depressing. But that does not detract from its beauty. In many ways, it is like a Rahul Dravid innings in a Twenty20 match - showing that elegance is possible even in a hectic world that claims to have no time for it.
Don't go away, Detective Erlendur. There are other mysteries.
(Strange Shores by Arnaldur Indridason is available on Amazon. Click the picture above or the link below to purchase it.)
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