"Gloomy and withdrawn." That's a description that Indridason's Inspector Erlendur must, reluctantly, admit is pretty close to the mark. This is a man who hates theater, TV, sunshine, beaches and travel in general. (He admits to mild curiosity about Cologne Cathedral, of all places. But not strong enough to actually go see it.) This is a man who likes his pickled liver sausage (served with a hearty helping of porridge - yum!) extra sour, and for snacking, keeps a sheep's head in jelly in a container on his chilly Reykjavik balcony. In other words, this is a guy who makes Kurt Wallender look like a laugh-riot -- and just the man you want to be doggedly investigating a dodgy "suicide", and a forgotten 30-year old disappearance cold case. This while, of course, he deals with the demons, and a tragedy, from his own past.
This is a slow burn. If it's thrills and excitement you are looking for, Gentle Reader, I would suggest you go elsewhere. But if you're interested in the lives of ordinary people in a small country on the edge of the Arctic Circle, and you enjoy a dark, bleak quest for justice, with flashes of genuine humor, this is well worth the read.
This is a slow burn. If it's thrills and excitement you are looking for, Gentle Reader, I would suggest you go elsewhere. But if you're interested in the lives of ordinary people in a small country on the edge of the Arctic Circle, and you enjoy a dark, bleak quest for justice, with flashes of genuine humor, this is well worth the read.
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