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Note: This novel was WINNER of France’s Le Grand Prix de Litterature Policier for Best International Crime Novel of the Year when it was published in Sweden (2008).

“Peace was illusory.  Under the surface there was just as much evil as anywhere else inhabited by human beings….but it was even more sinister here.  Hatred, envy, greed and revenge, all of it concealed underneath a huge lid that was created by sentiments such as: ‘What would people say?’ ”

At age thirty-six, Swedish author Camilla Lackberg is not only winner of  the French Grand Prix de Litterature Policier (2008) but also winner of the People’s Literature Award and the Author of the Year Award in Sweden.  Second only to Stieg Larsson in sales in Sweden, she is the sixth most popular author in Europe. Her unique style and sense of plot have made her an international standout, and this book, the first of her seven novels to released in the United States, has already been translated into twenty five languages.

The Ice Princess begins mysteriously with an unnamed person finding the body of a woman in a filled bathtub in a house so cold that ice has formed around her.  Her wrists are slashed in an apparent suicide, but despite the gory scene and the rivers of frozen blood, the visitor believes that “his love for her had never been stronger.”  When the body is re-discovered by someone more responsible, who then calls the police, the woman is identified as Alexandra “Alex” Wijkner, nee Carlgren, a gallery owner from out of town who had grown up in the house and whose family still owns it.  Recently, she had been in the habit of coming to this house in rural Fjallbacka on weekends, and she has been dead about a week.

Erica Falck had been her best friend until Alex unexpectedly abandoned Fjallbacka and moved away without warning when she was ten.  When Erica visits Alex’s parents to express her condolences, they ask her to write an article about Alex for the local newspaper.  As she begins to look into Alex’s life at the time that she and her family suddenly disappeared from town and in the years afterward, Erica begins to find that the writer’s block she has been fighting while working on a biography, overdue at the publisher, begins to disappear.  Erica, now age thirty-five, soon finds herself working informally with Patrik Hedstrom, a local policeman who had loved her from afar when they were schoolmates, and this love is rekindled.

In the course of the novel, the lives of many people in town unfold.  Though they are of different social levels, the town is small; everyone knows everyone else and has contact with everyone else.  Lackberg creates her characters from the inside out, letting the characters drive her story.  The plot develops in a leisurely way as the author presents scenes from the characters’ lives and lets the reader see them as people.  Each has some secret life that is not shared with the rest of the town.  Eilert Berg, for example, the fisherman who finds Alex’s body and reports her death, is henpecked, but he has secret plans to escape after fifty years of marriage.  Anders Nilsson, an alcoholic artist who never bathes or changes his clothes, has been having an affair.  Henrik Wijkner, Alex’s husband, may not be the suave and buttoned-up man he seems to be.  Elderly Nelly Lorentz, cold and wealthy,  despises Alex–for unknown reasons–though she seems to like her unlikeable sister Julia.   Artist Anders Nilsson’s mother Vera has worked for Nelly Lorentz for many years but wishes her dead.  And Alex, herself, has secrets which, when revealed, will change the lives of many people in Fjallbacka.

Fjallbacka, photo by Markus Kallender

For readers accustomed to crime novels filled with macho heroes, extravagant action, chases, shoot-outs, and fights to the death, Lackberg may come as a bit of a surprise, though the novel certainly has plenty of action.  Her characters are not larger than life—they reflect real life.  They are generally ordinary people, rooted in reality, who, when faced with extraordinary events, try to deal with them in their own ordinary way.  On a few occasions, when a character does something that might be construed as “dangerous,” the character does so out of a kind of naïve curiosity, rather than through any heroic sense of breast-beating and “doing this to save humanity.”  As the various characters live their lives and discover tiny pieces of information, which they sometimes keep to themselves,  thinking them unimportant, the reader, begins to acquire a bigger picture of the circumstances surrounding Alex’s death which the police are not privy to.  The suspense is enhanced by five anonymous, first person passages, scattered throughout the novel, which reveal the inner world of one or more characters.  As information is slowly revealed, the source(s) of these meditations become clear.

Steven Murray, translator of the novel

As in real life, there are some small issues which do not get resolved, and we do not know why one or two people just don’t tell the truth.  Did they make a mistake?  Or is this deliberate?  And when two or more people get together here, there are often psychological discordances which the reader feels and which hinder the characters’ communication on all levels—as in real life.  Lackberg, the literary juggler, keeps many balls in the air at once, and as an additional death occurs and deaths from the past are explained, resolution, if not reconciliation, occurs.  The final revelation of the biggest secret, which underlies all the action in the novel, stuns with its depth of depravity and the lengths to which certain people will go to preserve secrecy–a sophisticated and carefully conceived mystery which will delight those whose interests lean toward the inner worlds of the characters rather than their willingness to take up the sword.

Photos, in order: The author’s photo is from the Gothenburg Book Fair: http://commons.wikimedia.org

Her website is here: http://www.camillalackberg.com

The photo of Fjallbacka is by Markus Kallender, here: http://www.panoramio.com

Steven T. Murray, in the last photo (from his blog: http://www.blogger.com, is the translator of this novel.  Murray has also been the translator for all of the Stieg Larsson novels (under the pen name of Reg Keeland),  five novels by Henning Mankell, three by Camilla Lackberg, and three by Karin Alvtegen, among many others.  His bio is here: http://freshfiction.com A story explaining why he uses a pen name for the Larsson books is here: http://seattletimes.nwsource.c0m

Alan Glynn–WINTERLAND

“Ireland has seen nothing like the scale of Richmond Plaza since the early sixties.  What’s been going on in the country recently, what’s been going UP, is mold-breaking by contrast [with the past]…Richmond Plaza, forty eight stories and in with a shout to be one of the tallest buildings in Europe.”

In this powerhouse example of the very best Irish noir, Alan Glynn exposes the venality that sometimes drives politicians, builders, contractors, and power brokers to abandon any pretense of morality and act solely in their own best interests.  Everyone has an “angle” here, even those who are supposedly on the side of “right,” and violence is not only possible but likely when someone is threatened.  Dramatic, smart, action-filled, and slyly understated in its literary style, this novel is a can’t-put-it-downer of the first order, one of the best I’ve read in a very long time.

When the obnoxious Sean Rafferty, a twenty-six-year-old “pasty-face” with a link to drug gangs, is murdered, his aunt Gina, a young businesswoman, is shocked, and hastens to console her much older sister Catherine, Sean’s mother.  Within twenty-four hours, her uncle, also named Sean Rafferty and someone to whom she has always felt close, dies in what is assumed to be a driving accident.   The younger Sean worked for Terry “the Electrician” Stack, a man linked to drug suppliers operating out of the Netherlands, but there were no gang wars going on.   The elder Sean Rafferty was a partner in BCM, a structural engineering firm involved in the Richmond Plaza development.  BCM was hired to work with Paddy Norton, chairman of Winterland Properties, the developers of Richmond Plaza, and with Martin “Fitz” Fitzpatrick, his security expert.  Before long, the reader, like Gina, suspects that there was an error, and that the wrong Sean Rafferty may have been killed first.

As the action evolves, the reader also learns of another car accident from more than twenty years ago, which left a young boy the only survivor in his family.  This boy, Mark Griffin, raised by his aunt and a hostile uncle to whom he has never been close, is now grown up and has never learned the circumstances surrounding the accident that killed his family.  Gina Rafferty, determined to find out how and why her brother Sean was killed, soon makes contact with Mark Griffin, and together they begin to look into the history of the Richmond Plaza development and the two car accidents that claimed their family members.  As the body count begins to rise, and as Gina and Mark find themselves threatened, the dark reality of this building project looms in the foreground, and the whole structure of the government and its lucrative private relationships with builders and contractors come under scrutiny.

Leinster House, where the Irish Parliament meets

Alan Glynn, throughout the novel, roots both his prose and his plot in the realistic–the natural–creating action that is a plausible outgrowth of circumstances, instead of a sensational melodrama.  His descriptions are simple metaphors and similes, not long passages geared to establishing atmosphere and mood.  The Garda, investigating a crime scene, for example, are wearing over their uniforms, “yellow reflective jackets that make them look like Teletubbies,” and one of the characters “has the face of an overfed rat,” simple descriptions that establish a scene without overwhelming it with fancy words or elaborate descriptions.  Glynn keeps the reader constantly involved, his pacing and his revelations of new information gradually increasing the complexity of the plot and making the action more urgent and compelling.  Most of this new information comes from the action and the spot-on dialogue related to it—earthy, profane, and casual.  The characters state outright what they mean and then get on with their business, for good or bad.  In this respect the novel resembles the best of theatre— no time is wasted talking around the subject.

Sandymount Strand, where a dramatic scene takes place. Martello Tower is in the background.

All the characters have individual quirks, and the “good” characters here–Gina and Mark–are more aware of where they are and what they are doing—less naïve, and more grounded–than most characters in similar mystery-thrillers.  Though Mark Griffin is the moral compass of the novel, neither he nor Gina is above resorting to violence in order to protect their investigation or their own interests.  Gina is a manipulator, someone who is willing to involve a criminal in her investigation and then leave him on his own to face whatever consequences may be coming, in order to get what she wants.  Anyone can be bought, bribed, or threatened into betraying someone else or what they believe in.  As the dark reality of the Richmond Plaza building project evolves, the reader becomes convinced, as never before, that morality is always relative—at least in the Dublin that Alan Glynn depicts here.   Classic “Irish noir.”  (On my Favorites List for 2010)

Notes: The photo of Alan Glynn and an interview appear here:  http://crimesceneni.blogspot.com

Leinster House, where both houses of the Irish Parliament meet (and where a major character regularly met with politicians) is shown here:  www.tripadvisor.com.  (Photo by IsabelG)

One of the dramatic final scenes takes place at Sandymount Strand, pictured in the final photo.  Martello Tower, also mentioned in the book, was erected in the early 19th century as a bulwark against Napoleon and is the flat-roofed building in the middle of the background.  www.geograph.ie

“This girl has problems, no?”

The second film from the Millenium Trilogy of novels by Stieg Larsson, The Girl Who Played with Fire, like its predecessor, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, hews closely to the plot line of the novel. Without any introduction, the life story of Lisbeth Salander continues where it left off, as she tries to navigate a world which damaged her to the point that she has difficulty relating to all humans. This film features the same cast in the lead roles as The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo though both the director and the cinematographers have changed. Lisbeth Salander (Noomi Rapace), a computer hacker extraordinaire, has returned from a year of traveling the world, during which time Mikael Blomqvist (Michael Nyqvist), publisher of Millenium magazine, moved on with his life. Millenium Magazine is investigating the sex trade and its relationship to the drug trade, and a young freelancer who has been hired by Millenium has uncovered evidence that officials at the highest levels of the legal and political system are involved.

Rapace as Lisbeth and Nyqvist as Blomqvist had remarkable chemistry in The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, but they are rarely in the same scene in this film. Like the book, this film is Lisbeth’s story, and as her background unfolds, the reader comes to know how and why she was institutionalized and why she is so damaged. Like the book, also, this film is weaker than its predecessor, though lovers of the trilogy will still find it fun to watch. Some nudity, horrific violence, and explicit sex also appear here, as they did in the previous film. Though this is a bloodier film, it seems somehow less dramatic, more formulaic.

With its change of director and cinematographers, this film lacks the icy sparkle and brittle atmosphere of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. The scenes in this film are as dark as they were in that film, but the sharp visual contrasts and dramatic changes of lighting, which added to the suspense and mood in the first film, are missing here. It becomes more of an action film than an intense character-based study filled with menace, mood, and almost palpable suspense, and it is less coherent than the previous film.

Two characters, Ronald Niedermann (played by Micke Spreitz), the sadistic giant who cannot feel pain, and Holger Palmgren (played by Per Oscarsson), the man who was Lisbeth’s early and much admired guardian before he was replaced by Nils Bjurmann, add special drama to the film, the first because he is so terrifying, and the second because he seems so needy and so honorable. Unfortunately, Holger Palmgren, who is known to readers of the novel, is not clearly identified in this film, and newcomers to the series will have little, if any, idea who he is, when he appears, or what his role has been in Lisbeth’s past life.

Those who enjoyed the book will probably also like the film. It is not as moody or atmospheric as the first film, and it is loose in its construction (as was the novel), but it moves the story line along so that those who see it will probably be anxious to see the final film installment, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest.

Notes: The photos of Blomqvist, Niedermann, and Lisbeth Salander are all stills from the film which appear on  http://www.allmoviephoto.com

The trailer for this film is here:

Note: Cristina Garcia, who was nominated for the National Book Award for Dreaming in Cuban, has been the recipient of a Guggenheim Fellowship and a Whiting Writers’ Award.

“Knots of grief.  Can grief be a gift?

I fear it will make me your enemy but you must

Trust me: I offer this in peace.”–Cristina Garcia, to her lost brother

In deciding to explore the complex and agonizing story of her brother’s life, Cuban author Cristina Garcia abandons her usual prose and writes in poetry, a form more appropriate for the intense feelings she bears toward her brother, a sick and broken man who was routinely victimized by his family as a child. Tracing her brother’s life from his birth in 1960, when the family became one of the first families to escape to New York from Castro’s Cuba, she recreates his life through poetry, up to 2007, when this book was first published.  The short poems in free verse require the reader to fill in some blanks, and as one does, the growing horrors of this child’s life; the author’s own feelings of guilt for being unable (for whatever reason) to stop the torments her brother endured; her intense resentments against her parents, especially her mother; and her abiding sadness for the shell of a man her brother has become threaten to overwhelm the reader in the same degree that they must have overwhelmed the author.

A variety of points of view enable the author to convey a full picture of her brother’s life.  His best friend and the woman he almost married both share their memories–and his betrayals of them.  Sometimes the author remains an objective narrator, and sometimes she addresses her brother directly.  In the five “Deseo” poems, for example, she tells him, and the reader, what she wishes for him:  “to recover the lost wealth/of boyhood,”  “to unloose the lost grace between us,” and  “to turn back the clock, shield us from terror.”  She asks him to “give up your religion”  and “un-nail yourself/from your cross.”  To each of these, her brother provides imagined  “Repuestas” –answers—telling her that “Our childhood is dead./Nothing is left but this:/ your words against mine.”  He reminds her that “A word from you/might have stopped [the abuse]./ You were good/with words.”   And he now believes “It’s too late for me and you./ Nothing’s true except what the body tells.”  In a final blow, she imagines him telling her to “Save your unburdenings, sister./ I’ve got enough problems/as it is/ Uneasy?  Try tranquilizers.”

The chronological ordering of the poems allows the author to create a loose narrative that explains the hostility and dysfunction in the Garcia family and shows how a gentle, sweet, and trusting boy became an addled wreck of a man.   On the day he was born, according to his aunt,  his mother asked  “Quien es?”—“Who are you?”—when her son was put into her arms.  She blamed him for the fact that he was her third child in thirty-five months, that her teeth fell out, that she became fat, and that no one thought she was pretty anymore.  As a child anxious to please, the boy gave away toys and candy to friends, learned to dance from his sisters, nearly killed himself trying to learn how to ride a bike, but failed to star when he had a chance to score the winning run in Little League baseball.  After that, he “kept on losing.”

His father beat him.  His mother ran away to South America, and upon her return pretended she did not recognize him.  He had his first joint at the age of twelve, and when he was kicked out of the house almost immediately after that, he never returned, remaining on his own in Red Hook, part of Brooklyn.  Eventually diagnosed with bipolar disorder, the boy became a man who tried much and failed at everything.  His miserable life eventually inspires the author to ask, “So what are we waiting for, hermano?/The lesser tragedy of death?”

In her powerful, often overwhelming, examination of a life utterly destroyed, Garcia unflinchingly examines the role of their cold, unfeeling parents; the streets into which her brother was thrust and in which he had to try to make a life even before he became a teenager; of her brother’s own responsibility for many of his problems; and, ultimately the responsibility she and her sister may bear for failing him in  moments of his youth when their actions might have made a difference.  Her poems are all the more intense because the author compresses so much into so few words and because she is so clearly agonizing over her brother’s fate and her own level of responsibility, if any, for it. THE LESSER TRAGEDY OF DEATH is a heartfelt exploration of a dysfunctional family who did not have the ability or the will to act any differently, a collection of poems which attempts to give meaning to a life that might otherwise have been lost completely.

ALSO by Cristina Garcia:  HERE IN BERLIN

Notes: The author’s photo by Norma Quintana appears here: www.examiner.com. Her website is here:  http://www.cristinagarcianovelist.com/

Red Hook is in South Brooklyn and is where her brother lived.   The sign photo is from www.apartmenttherapy.com.

Enjoying fine summer weather, residents of Red Hook gather on a pier at an abandoned industrial site along a section of the East River.  See wirednewyork.com

what I really want people to say when they read me is ‘what’s this empire of signs, this chit-chat, this descent to the dregs of belles-letters…is this stuff for real, and where does it start, and where the hell does it end?’ and my mischievous answer would be ‘this jumble of words is life, come on, come into my lair, check out the rotting garbage….”—Broken Glass, chronicler of Credit Gone West.

Alain Mabanckou, a Congolese author who now teaches French literature at UCLA, writes an often hilarious, non-stop narrative full of life and excitement, a narrative which, at the same time, is also mordant in its depictions of life.  His story, much like life itself, is one constantly unreeling narrative in which there are no periods, the only words deserving of capital letters being names and places.  Unlike the more “literary” stream of consciousness novels with which we are more familiar, this one is so unpretentious, so natural, and so conversational that the reader never has to stop to puzzle about where ideas begin and end or what the author might mean.

The main character, a Congolese alcoholic named Broken Glass, is memorializing the sad stories of his fellow patrons of a bar called Credit Gone West in the beachfront city of Pointe Noire in the Republic of Congo.  A teacher, until he was accused of pedophilia for drunkenly baring his buttocks to his class, Broken Glass has traveled the world through books, loving the adventures of Tarzan, Tintin, and Santiago the fisherman, while he was a child, and then going on to study and enjoy the French classics.  Ultimately he tells the “civilized” literary world that “Until the day your characters start to see how the rest of us earn our nightly crust, there’ll be no such thing as literature.”

Stubborn Snail, the hard-working proprietor of the bar, has asked the sixty-four-year-old Broken Glass to record and pass on the history of Credit Gone West.  When Broken Glass demurs, Stubborn Snail tells him, “I’ve tried it a few times myself, but it never works out, I just don’t have that little bug that writers have, that you have, it shows when you talk about literature, your eyes light up and you look all wistful, but I don’t think it’s frustration, or bitterness either…”  The Snail also wonders “whether you didn’t start drinking in imitation of the writer whose name I’ve forgotten…a famous writer who drank like a fish.”

"Bicycle Chicken," an image which reappears throughout this book

Given a notebook by Stubborn Snail so he can record his thoughts, Broken Glass is allowed to stay at the bar as long as he wants, writing, and he is supplied with the red wine on which he depends.  Neither he nor the Stubborn Snail believes the old African saying that “when an old person dies, a library burns.”  As the Snail says, “depends which old person, don’t talk crap, I only trust what’s written down.”  Broken Glass’s  stream-of-consciousness vignettes of the bar’s patrons unfold at their own pace.  The Printer, who has “done France,” now regards his white wife in Paris as a witch because she betrayed him. Mama Mfoa, “the bald soprano,” runs a “bicycle chicken” shop near the bar, where the barbecue may be cats or dogs, and Mouyeki, a sorcerer/swindler, claims that he can perform better miracles than Christ.  Eventually, the reader learns the sad stories of Broken Glass and the Stubborn Snail, from which they have recovered in varying degrees.

Slangy, funny, and filled with unique observations, Broken Glass’s story reveals much about his society and about himself.  Mompero, the bartender, for example, “has a face of stone, eyebrows like a circumflex, lips like a sink plunger,” while the other bartender, Dengaki, is “more skillful with a knife than a butcher turned serial killer.”  The customs of the country and its traditions—death announcements and the aftermath, for example—come to life in juxtaposition with Broken Glass’s highly literate references throughout the novel to France’s most notable literary achievements, references so natural that they become the speaker’s “throw-aways.”   His commentary on dysfunctional politics, about the Congo’s French colonial heritage, and about the regular betrayal of men by women is integrated into the little life stories of his bar-companions to give a broad picture of the society as they see it. Broken Glass has learned to make the best of what life offers and not to expect more—at least no more than can be found in the bottom of a bottle.  Literate, perceptive, and filled with unique observations, Broken Glass is one of the rare novels which can find moments of great humor in stories of otherwise overwhelming sadness.

Notes: The author’s photo is from http://lailalalami.com

The photo of  “bicycle chicken,” to which there are numerous references in the novel:  www.trekearth.com. This is often tough, free-range chicken, which nevertheless arrives alive at the market.  It is different from “television chicken,” which is frozen chicken, sometimes thawed and spoiled, which is then cooked in a microwave.

Pointe Noire is in the Republic of Congo, as opposed to the larger Democratic Republic of Congo, formerly Zaire:  http://www.worldatlas.com

An analysis of Mabanckou’s fiction may be found here:  http://www.economist.com

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