nordic noir

Discalimer: This book has not yet been published in English - nor have ANY of the author's books. But reading this review, anyone can easily decide WHETHER it is worth publishing.

What could be more depressing in the case of notoriously gloomy Scandinavian crime novels than if the setting itself is oppressive? The Faroe Islands? The smell of fish, economic stagnation, and alcoholism. Remigiusz Mróz’s crime novel titled “Feröer” doesn’t exactly inspire a strong desire to travel there for vacation.

Of course, the Faroe Islands might not be such a miserable place, and Remigiusz Mróz might be saying this just to create the necessary mood for his book. (A Hungarian, for instance, would probably feel right at home. As for the fish smell, one would probably get used to it…) And what makes you doubt Mróz’s judgment entirely is that not only is the setting depressing, but the novel itself isn’t that great either…

Sixteen-year-old Poula Lokin, a popular player in the local handball team, goes missing. The island is in turmoil, locals organize search teams, and soon Danish police officer Katrin Ellegaard arrives at the scene. As time passes, it becomes increasingly doubtful that the girl will be found alive.

Hallbjorn Olsen, the father of Poula’s teammate, was the last one to see the girl alive. The situation is further complicated by the fact that Hallbjorn, who, adhering to the island’s traditions, bravely indulged in some alcohol that day, doesn’t remember a SINGLE SECOND of that evening. So, it’s not SURPRISING that he begins to doubt himself: is it possible that he killed Poula, and then, just to be safe, hid the body?

Ellegaard starts the investigation in a hostile environment, as the Faroese dislike the Danes more than the murderers, and among the Danes, they dislike the Danish cops EVEN MORE. She is forced into an alliance with Hallbjorn.

And then you start thinking that police officers from other countries would probably view the unorthodox methods of the Danish police with some suspicion. Not only do they involve complete strangers, even suspects, in the investigation, revealing everything to them, but they also take them along to interrogations. And those left out of the interrogations are the ones who should be questioned first. (The handball team members, darn it.)

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A Scandinavian crime series that doesn’t release episodes endlessly? Finally, some peace! The protagonist of Samuel Bjørk’s The Boy in the Headlights is severely troubled but otherwise a brilliant detective. The abundance of personal issues is a mandatory foundation for every Scandinavian crime novel, although brilliant detectives are relatively rare among them; they’re more often just diligent and hardworking. Okay, granted, Nesbo’s Harry Hole is genuinely brilliant to some extent, but in return, he’s an alcoholic. Based on all this, it seems that in the case of Scandinavians, intellectual abilities are directly proportional to problems—well, you can imagine what the situation is with poor Mia Krüger.

At the beginning of each episode, the girl is either suspended or undergoing psychiatric treatment. Sometimes, if she feels like it, she wants to slash her wrists, while being a heavy alcoholic too. But she’s likable otherwise. And for some reason, dang it, they always want to fire her from her job. The devil knows why. (However, her boss, the chubby Holger, always defends her.)

The Boy in the Headlights is not your usual template crime novel, that’s for sure; because it would be good if it were! But in this book, you’re bombarded with information from five different threads simultaneously, barely able to keep up, and you feel like you could use some brilliance yourself—because without a razor-sharp mind, you are unable to keep so many characters in mind.

Moreover, these characters in The Boy in the Headlights appear so rarely that you wouldn’t even remember them if your mind, this delicate mechanism, didn’t work with above-average efficiency. But sometimes, damn it, a bunch of unknown figures still pop up! Dum them!

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Oops, another Scandinavian crime novel, and to top it off, written by a blonde chick. What does this most likely mean? Well, that Fatal Isles is a psycho-thriller? More precisely? Whining and whimpering? Well, no, you’re mistaken (at least in this case). Once you successfully get through the opening pages, which dissect the aftermath of an alcohol-fueled night, going into excessive detail, Maria Adolfsson’s novel turns into a pro crime story.

The initial setup, with Karen Hornby, a criminal inspector, sleeping with her jerk boss, is entirely self-serving and could easily be dispensed with; and once the investigation kicks into gear, it won’t hold much significance. Though things get complicated, at least for Karen, as the victim turns out to be the prick boss’s wife. The boss is sidelined, and Karen takes over the investigation.

The setting, the Doggerland archipelago, where British and Scandinavian cultures mingle, seems highly fictional. If geography isn’t your forte, and you were planning to vacation here next year, you might be disappointed. (Your feet might dangle in the water, or those darn wind turbines might drive you nuts…) Your suspicion, however, is cleverly assuaged by the islands’ professional environmental and sociological depiction, which seamlessly integrates into Fatal Isles’ text.

It seems like a good place overall, maybe just finding the machismo in the police force a bit exaggerated. But as a one-time reader, it still affects you because you’d most likely prefer to smack the meddling colleagues with a larger-than-average shovel instead of the patient Karen.

Karen already has a low opinion of herself, and she somewhat harps on the fact that the investigation is progressing slowly. If you were her boss, you’d let her do her job; it’s evident she knows what she’s doing. She conducts her work professionally and conscientiously, and her investigation doesn’t turn into some sort of obsession, like, say, Bosch’s investigations (see Michael Connelly’s The Concrete Blonde).

Karen’s personal life isn’t intrusive either; even if some scenes end up slightly longer than necessary. And because of her past tragedy, which is slowly revealed to keep your curiosity piqued, you’re generally forgiving towards her.

The investigation runs on two tracks, but reading the flashbacks, you can still guess where the resolution might lie. Yet, thanks to the cunning dosing of information, you still manage to get a bit uncertain at times. And in the end, just when you think you know everything, you get quite surprised. Or, well, maybe not you. I, for one, was surprised.

And then, you might even get moved because, it seems, a blonde lady just can’t entirely shed her skin, and by the end of The Fatal Isles, she must include an almost unnecessary, yet emotional closure. But in the case of a fundamentally good crime novel, this can be forgiven. And its effect will surely be nullified in the next installment of Adolfsson’s Doggerland series.

8.1/10

Fatal Isles (Doggerland #1) by Maria Adolfsson
514 pages, Paperback
Published 2021 by Zaffre