Category Archives: Arnaldur Indriðason

I Can’t Face Another Day*

Even in today’s world of better understanding of mental health, many people still don’t feel comfortable talking about suicide. It can be incredibly difficult to talk about the depression and sadness that lead people to take that step. But, of course, we need to.

And suicide doesn’t just affect those who take their own lives. Those left behind are devastated, and often feel a deep sense of guilt and, often, shame. Because mental health issues such as depression often contribute to suicide, it’s not something people have tended to discuss openly, but we should.

Suicide is there. And it causes a great deal of pain. The recent deaths by suicide of Kate Spade and of Anthony Bourdain have brought suicide into the public conversation, but it’s a tragic reality for many families. And we see that in crime fiction, too. In fact, it’s interesting to note how often characters don’t want a death to have been suicide. They don’t want to bear the guilt that comes with suicide. Or, they don’t want to believe a loved one was depressed/upset/etc. enough to commit suicide. Or…

There’s a mention of suicide in Wilkie Collins’ The Moonstone. In that novel, Rachel Verinder receives a valuable diamond called the Moonstone for her eighteenth birthday. It may not be the generous gift it seems to be, though, because it is said to be cursed. And misfortune soon befalls the Verinder family. On the very night Rachel receives the diamond, it’s stolen from her room. Then, second housemaid Roseanna Spearman disappears and is found to have committed suicide. This devastates her family, and, of course, saddens the members of the household where she works. Sergeant Cuff investigates the theft of the diamond, and, over the course of the next two years, traces its whereabouts and finds out who stole it. And we see how the theft and suicide are related.

Agatha Christie mentions suicide in more than one of her stories. In And Then There Were None, for instance, we are introduced to Miss Emily Brent. She is one of ten people who are invited to a house on Indian Island, off the Devon coast. On the night she and the others arrive, each one is accused of causing the death of at least one other person. In the case of Miss Brent, it’s the death of Beatrice Taylor, a former housemaid who threw herself into a river. Miss Brent insists that Beatrice’s death was not her fault; in fact, she’s quite smug about it on the surface. That night, one of the other guests dies of what turns out to be poison. Then, there’s another death later that night. Now, it’s clear that the guests have been lured to the island, and that their lives are in danger. Miss Brent is not immune, as we learn when she is killed by what looks like a bee sting. And it’s interesting to see that, as we get to know her a bit, we see that she is more haunted by Beatrice’s death than she lets on.  Suicide also impacts The Murder of Roger Ackroyd and The Hollow, among others.

There’s an Ellery Queen novel in which a suicide towards the end of the novel rocks Queen to the core. Without going into details, Queen feels that he bears some of the responsibility for this suicide, and he finds that very difficult. Among other things, this shows a bit of Queen’s human side, if I may put it that way. And it shows a bit of the impact a suicide can have on those left behind.

We also see that impact in Giorgio Scerbanenco’s A Private Venus. Davide Auseri happens to be in Milan one day, where he meets Alberta Radelli. On impulse, he invites her for a drive to Florence and a day there. She agrees, and the two find they enjoy each other’s company. At the end of the day, Alberta begs Davide to take her with him, and not back to Milan. He demurs, and she insists. Then, she threatens to commit suicide if he doesn’t take her. He refuses again. Not long afterwards, Alberta’s body is found in a field outside Milan, and it seems she’s carried out her threat. The thought that he is responsible for this suicide devastates Davide, leaving him inconsolable. He takes to heavy drinking, and even trips to rehabilitation facilities don’t help. Now, his father is deeply concerned about his son, and hires Dr. Duca Lamberti to help. Lamberti isn’t sure what he can do, but he agrees. As he gets to know Davide, he finally learns the truth about the young man’s depression. Lamberti finally concludes that the only way to solve this is to find out what really happened to Alberta Radelli, so as to relieve Davide of his guilt. It turns out that Alberta was murdered, but the novel has a very vivid depiction of a someone consumed by grief and guilt because of a suicide.

Nicolas Freeling’s Double-Barrel begins as Amsterdam police detective Piet Van der Valk is seconded to the small town of Zwinderen. Someone has been sending vicious anonymous letters to various residents, and they’ve had terrible consequences. In fact, two of the recipients have committed suicide. The local police haven’t been able to find out who wrote the letters, but whoever it is bears some responsibility for those deaths. As Van der Valk and his wife, Arlette, get to know the people in town, they learn that more than one person has secrets to hide…

In Arnaldur Indriðason’s Jar City, Reykjavík police inspector Erlendur and his team investigate the murder of a seemingly inoffensive elderly man named Holberg. At first, it looks like a robbery gone horribly wrong. But soon enough, the evidence suggests something different. So, Erlendur and the team look into the victim’s past. They learn that he’d been accused of rape more than once. The first to make that accusation was a woman named Kolbrún. When she went to the police, they didn’t take her seriously; in fact, they humiliated her. Her distress was so great that she committed suicide. Although this all happened years ago, Kolbrún’s sister, Elín, still grieves. She is also still bitter about the way the police handled the case, and blames the police, at least in part, for her sister’s suicide. Erlendur knows that Elín is suffering, but he also knows that she may be an important source of information. So, he takes the risk of talking to her about what happened. She is no friend of the police, but she ends up being helpful.

It doesn’t take a detective, or crime fiction, really, to know how awful suicide is, both for the person who takes that step, and for those who are left behind. It’s hard to remember at times, but we don’t have to go through life’s pain alone. For anyone who’s thinking about suicide, here are some people to talk to:

 

Australia – 1300 22 4636

Canada – 1-833-456-4566

India – 91-22-27546669

Ireland – 087 2 60 90 90

New Zealand – 0508 828 865 (0508 TAUTOKO)

Spain (Also serves some Latin American countries) – 717-003-717

UK –  08457 90 90 90

USA – 1-800-273-8255

 

If I didn’t list your country, that doesn’t mean there isn’t help. There is. Reach out.

 

We can all do our bit to help. If someone needs to talk, we can listen – without judgement. We can help find resources. We can take it seriously when someone is depressed and check in to be sure that person has support. We can’t make life’s sadness go away. But we can stand together to get through it.

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Elton John’s Funeral For a Friend/Love Lies Bleeding

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Arnaldur Indriðason, Ellery Queen, Giorgio Scerbanenco, Nicolas Freeling, Wilkie Collins

There’s a Million Different Voices*

Authors of series use several strategies to keep their series interesting over time. One strategy some authors use is to have different protagonists within the same series. It can be a challenge to balance those different protagonists’ voices with the need for a consistent context for the series. Some authors, though, have done it quite successfully.

Tana French’s Dublin Murder Squad series makes use of several protagonists’ voices, and that makes sense, as the Garda Síochána’s Murder Squad is a team of people. The first novel, In The Woods, features Rob Ryan. That novel also includes Cassie Maddox, although she plays a less central role. But she takes the ‘starring’ role in the next novel, The Likeness. And, as different members join the squad and leave it, different characters are featured in the novels. And that’s realistic, as in real life, people do join units, transfer, and so on. Among other things, this strategy has allowed French to develop different characters, and provide different perspectives on the crimes that are investigated.

The central protagonist in Arnaldur Indriðason’s Reykjavík series is Inspector Erlendur. He works with a team that includes police detectives Sigurdur Óli and Elínborg. While Erlendur makes many of the decisions, he relies a great deal on his colleagues, and they know that. As the series goes on, they feature more strongly in the novels. In fact, in the ninth and tenth novels in the series, Erlendur doesn’t even appear. His colleagues do the investigation. This strategy allows readers to get to know those characters better, and it allows for story arcs and character development that might otherwise be more difficult. What’s more, it arguably adds interest to the series.

We see a similar thing in Håkan Nesser’s Inspector Van Veeteren series. At the beginning of the series (the first novel is Mind’s Eye), Van Veeteren is the leader of his investigation team. So, several novels feature him in the lead role. But he works with a team of other people, whose work he trusts. As the series goes on, Van Veeteren decides to retire from active police work, and he buys a bookshop. This means that the investigating now needs to be done by other people. And that’s what happens, for instance, in The Unlucky Lottery. In fact, that book’s original title is Münsters Fall (Münster’s Case). In the novel, Intendant Münster does the primary investigation when Valdemar Leverkuhn is murdered in his own bed, just after winning a lottery prize. Later, in The Weeping Girl, another colleague, Ewa Moreno, is the featured protagonist. The original title for that novel is Ewa Morenos Fall (Ewa Morenos’ Case). In it, eighteen-year-old Mikaela Lijphart goes missing. Moreno had met her once and hasn’t forgotten her. So, she gets involved in the case. And she finds that it’s connected to the disappearance of Mikaela’s father, two murders, and some very dark secrets from the past. It’s not that Van Veeteren completely disappears; the other detectives consult with him on a regular, if informal, basis. But the baton is passed, if I may put it like that.

S.J. Rozan has an interesting approach to featuring more than one sleuth as the main protagonist. Her series features two New York PIs. One is Chin Ling Wan-ju, who usually goes by Lydia Chin, the American version of her name. The other is Bill Smith. They’ve got very different backgrounds and are twenty years apart in age. As the series starts (with China Trade), Chin is twenty-seven. She’s from a traditional Chinese family; in fact, her mother would very much rather she give up investigating, meet a Chinese husband, and settle down like a ‘proper’ daughter. Still, she knows Chin will find her own way. For her part, Chin is just as American as she is Chinese. Yet, she respects several of the old traditions, and she works to maintain a solid bond with her mother. Smith is from a military family, so he doesn’t have deep roots. He has his own PI business, and teams up with Chin for some cases. Some of the novels in this series are written from Chin’s point of view, and some from Smith’s. This allows Rozan to explore both characters, and let readers see each from the other’s point of view. It also allows for different sorts of cases and clients.

Fans of Robert Crais’ work know that his main series features two sleuths: Los Angeles PIs Elvis Cole and Joe Pike. They have very different personal styles, communication styles, and outlooks. But they complement one another, and each respects the other’s skills. In the first novels, Elvis Cole is the main protagonist. The stories are told from his perspective, and we see Pike through his eyes. In several of the later novels, though, the stories are told from Pike’s point of view. Readers follow his movements, and Cole is less in the limelight. This strategy has allowed Crais to explore different sorts of cases, and to let his characters develop. Not everyone likes both sets of stories equally, but they have allowed Crais a lot of flexibility.

And that’s an important reason for using different protagonists in a series. It allows flexibility. What’s more, the author can develop characters, introduce a variety of cases, and keep a series engaging.

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Traffic’s Hidden Treasure.

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Filed under Arnaldur Indriðason, Håkan Nesser, Robert Crais, S.J. Rozan, Tana French

When They Built You, Brother, They Broke the Mold*

brothersAn interesting post from Cleo, at Cleopatra Loves Books, has got me thinking about the roles that brothers play in fiction. There are plenty of stories about the bonds we may have with sisters, and that’s all to the good. But our bonds with brothers are also important, and they’re different to the bonds we have with sisters.

Bonds with brothers play important roles in crime fiction. And it’s interesting to see how they’re woven into plots in different ways. That’s realistic, though, if you think about it. There are many different kinds of relationships we could have with a brother.

Fans of Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes will know that he has an older brother, Mycroft. Dr. Watson doesn’t learn about Mycroft’s existence until The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter. In that story, Mycroft has heard a strange story from Mr. Melas, who lives on the floor above him. When Sherlock and Dr. Watson visit Mycroft at the Diogenes Club, they hear the story, too. It seems that Mr. Melas was abducted for a specific reason: he is bilingual in Greek and English. And someone forced him to translate during a very unsettling interrogation. This problem leads to a case involving greed and inherited property. And it shows an interesting side of Sherlock Holmes. In one scene, he and his brother are looking out a window and have a conversation about two men that they see:

“Look at these two men who are coming towards us, for example.’
‘The billiard-marker and the other?’
‘Precisely. What do you make of the other?’
The two men had stopped opposite the window. Some chalk marks over the waistcoat pocket were the only signs of billiards which I could see in one of them. The other was a very small, dark fellow, with his hat pushed back and several packages under his arm.
‘An old soldier, I perceive,’ said Sherlock.
‘And very recently discharged,’ remarked the brother.
‘Served in India, I see.’
‘And a non-commissioned officer.’
‘Royal Artillery, I fancy,’ said Sherlock.
‘And a widower.’
‘But with a child.’
‘Children, my dear boy, children.’
‘Come,’ said I, laughing, ‘this is a little too much.”

The conversation shows that private sort of language that brothers can develop. It also has hints of the competition, however friendly, that come up between brothers.

There’s an interesting brother/sister relationship in Agatha Christie’s Dumb Witness (AK Poirot Loses a Client). In that novel, wealthy Emily Arundell has a potentially fatal fall down a flight of stairs. As she’s recuperating, she begins to think her fall was no accident. So, she writes to Hercule Poirot to ask him to investigate. She’s not specific in her request, but Poirot is intrigued by her letter, and he and Captain Hastings visit Miss Arundell. By the time they get there, though, it’s too late. She has died of what’s put down to liver failure. Poirot isn’t satisfied, though. And, at any rate, he feels a responsibility to his client, although she has died. So, he and Hastings investigate the matter. They find that this death was a murder, and that more than one person had a very good motive. Two of the suspects are Miss Arundell’s niece, Theresa Arundell, and her brother, Charles. Both are desperate for money, and Charles had even said something to his aunt that easily be could construed as a threat. Throughout the novel, it’s interesting to see how Theresa and Charles try to protect each other, even as neither completely trusts in the other’s innocence. They understand one another at a very deep level.

In Martin Clark’s The Legal Limit, we meet brothers Mason and Gates Hunt. They’ve been raised in an abusive environment, but they’ve survived. Gates did his best to protect his younger brother, and Mason feels a sense of duty towards Gates for that reason. Mason takes advantage of every opportunity he gets, and ends up going to law school on a scholarship. For his part, Gates squanders his considerable athletic talent, and ends up living on money he gets from his mother and from his girlfriend’s Welfare payments. One day, Gates has an argument with his romantic rival, Wayne Thompson. The fight starts again later that night, when the Hunt brothers are coming home from a night out and encounter Thompson. The argument spirals out of control and before anyone really knows what’s happened, Gates has shot Thompson. Mason still feels a strong sense of loyalty and gratitude to his brother, so he helps Gates hide the gun and cover his tracks. The years go by, and the Hunt brothers move on in life. Mason becomes a prosecutor for the Commonwealth of Virginia. Gates starts having brushes with the law, culminating in an arrest for cocaine trafficking. He’s given a lengthy sentence, and asks his brother to help get him out of prison. This time, Mason refuses to support his brother. Gates threatens him, saying that if he doesn’t help, Gates will implicate him in the still-unsolved Thompson murder. Mason knows that his brother isn’t above making good on that threat, and that’s exactly what happens. Now, Mason has to defend himself against a murder charge. One of the themes in this book is brotherly protectiveness and the loyalty that can engender – even when it can prove dangerous.

Fans of Arnaldur Indriðason’s series featuring Reykjavík Inspector Erlendur can tell you that Erlendur is haunted by an experience he had as a boy. He and his younger brother, Bergur, were caught outdoors in a blizzard. Erlendur survived the storm, but Bergur was lost. The storm was so severe that no trace of him was ever found. Elendur has been carrying the weight of guilt and responsibility ever since, and a big part of the reason for that is that he is the older brother. A part of him feels that he should have protected Bergur, even though, as an adult, he understands that it’s not as simple as that.

And then there’s William Kent Krueger’s Ordinary Grace. This coming-of-age story features thirteen-year-old Frank Drum and his younger brother, Jake. It’s the early 1960s in small-town Minnesota, and the Drum brothers are looking forward to baseball, going down to the local river, and relaxing. Everything changes when a boy that the Frank and Jake knew is killed on a railroad track. People say it was an accident, but it may not be. Then, murder strikes their own family. When that happens, the brothers have to depend on each other in ways they haven’t before. And they learn new things about each other. It’s a fascinating look at the way brothers perceive one another.

Relationships with brothers can be complicated. But they’re also fascinating. So, it’s little wonder we see them so often in crime fiction. I’ve only had space here for a few examples. I know you’ll think of more.

Thanks, Cleo, for the inspiration. Now, folks, give yourselves a treat and visit Cleo’s terrific blog. Fine reviews await you there.

ps. The ‘photo is of the brother/sister dance at a friend’s wedding. It was a truly lovely wedding, and I couldn’t imagine a better depiction.
 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Bruce Springsteen’s Terry’s Song.

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Filed under Agatha Raisin, Arnaldur Indriðason, Arthur Conan Doyle, Martin Clark, William Kent Krueger

Heavenly Shades of Night Are Falling*

fear-of-the-darkWe all have our fears, and sometimes even phobias. One of the more common fears people have is fear of the dark. For those people, the scene in the ‘photo you see isn’t peaceful or romantic. It’s frightening. If you think about it, fear of the dark is understandable. Things and places look different in the dark, even if they’re familiar. Shadows can take on different dimensions and look a lot more threatening. And if you consider our origins as a species, there are certainly predators that came (and still come) out at night. So a heightened feeling of danger at night probably made sense. And plenty of people still prefer daylight.

That instinctive reaction to the dark plays a role in crime fiction, and that shouldn’t be surprising. Among other things, weaving fear of the dark into a story allows the author to create a tense atmosphere, and tap readers’ instincts. What’s more, adding in a fear of the dark can make for an interesting layer of character development.

Agatha Christie made use of that instinctive fear of the dark in And Then There Were None. In that novel, a group of people is invited for a trip to Indian Island, off the Devon coast. For different reasons, each accepts the invitation. When they arrive, they’re surprised to learn that their host isn’t there. But they settle in as best they can. After dinner on that first night, each is accused of having been responsible for at least one other death. Just about everyone protests innocence; but later that evening, one of the guests suddenly dies of what turns out to be poison. The next morning, another is found dead. It’s soon clear that there’s a murderer on the island, and that the survivors are going to have to find out who it is if they’re to stay alive. At one point, a storm cuts off power, and everyone is affected. Even the more stalwart among the guests feel the need to keep the candles lit, and that feeling adds a real layer of tension to the story.

We see a similar situation in Louise Penny’s The Cruelest Month. In that novel, a well-known Hungarian psychic, Madame Blavatsky, is staying in the small Québec town of Three Pines. During her stay, she’s persuaded to hold a séance. The first attempt isn’t a success, so another is scheduled during the Easter break. It’s to be held at the old Hadley house, which fans of this series will remember. The atmosphere of the house is eerie enough (if you follow the series, you’ll know what I mean). And when everyone arrives, it’s only lit by candles:
 

‘The darkness seemed darker, and the flickering flames threw grotesque shadows against the rich wallpaper.’
 

The setting is creepy enough, but everything turns much worse when Madeleine Favreau suddenly dies of what turns out to be an overdose of a diet drug. The darkness, and our sense that it’s dangerous, is used effectively here.

Sometimes, fear of the dark can be a helpful clue to a person’s character. In one plot thread of Arnaldur Indriðason’s Hypothermia, for instance, Reykjavík police inspector Erlendur gets interested in the death of a woman named Maria. The first theory of the crime is that she hung herself out of despondence at the death of her mother, Leonóra, with whom she was extremely close. But Erlendur learns something very interesting: Maria was afraid of the dark, so she didn’t go out at night. Why, then, would she have left the house during the night to hang herself? It doesn’t quite add up for Erlendur and he pursues the case more deeply.

Camilla Grebe and Åsa Träff’s Some Kind of Peace introduces readers to Stockholm psychologist Siri Bergman. She’s been devastated by the death of her beloved husband, Stefan, and the trauma has had some powerful impacts on her. She is afraid of the dark, so she always keeps her home well-lit, even when she’s sleeping. Still, she functions well enough professionally, and has a stable list of clients. Then one day, she gets a letter that makes it clear she’s being stalked. What’s worse, someone manages to get her case notes, so all of her confidential sessions are now accessible to her stalker. It’s not long before she is sure that someone is watching her; now, the very lights that make her feel safe at night may actually be making her more vulnerable. Matters get far worse when the body of a client, Sara Matteus, is found in the water on Bergman’s property. And there’s a suicide note that links the death to Bergman. At first, she is a suspect. But soon enough, it’s clear she’s being framed. So, she has to work to find out who the killer is and why she’s being set up.

R.J. Harlick’s sleuth is Meg Harris, who inherited a property called Three Deer Point, in Outaouais, in Western Québec. Meg’s recently left an abusive relationship, so when the series starts (with Death’s Golden Whisper), she’s still dealing with that trauma. And her ex-husband, Gareth, is not as eager to let go of their relationship as Meg is. It all makes for a great deal of stress, which isn’t made any easier when Meg gets caught up in a land rights dispute and a case of multiple murder. One of the lasting effects of being with an abusive partner is that Meg is afraid of the dark. It doesn’t completely debilitate her, but it’s definitely there.

And that’s the thing about fear of the dark. It may not be completely debilitating, but for a lot of people, it’s real. And for some people, it’s incapacitating.

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Buck Ram, Morty Nevins, Al Nevins, and Artie Dunn’s Twilight Time.

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Arnaldur Indriðason, Åsa Träff, Camilla Grebe, Louise Penny, R.J. Harlick

We Come From the Land of the Ice and Snow*

Arctic ClimatesOne of the things about living in an extreme climate is that priorities can be quite different to what they are where it’s more temperate. The people who live in such climates have adapted to them, because they know that nature can be very unforgiving.

Some of the harshest living conditions in the world can be found in and near the Arctic Circle. For one thing, it’s dark or twilight-ish for half the year, and there’s no real sundown for the other half. For another, there are the temperatures and weather conditions. And yet, people live there and have created societies there. And there’s crime there, too – at least fictional crime.

Arctic-Circle crime fiction arguably has an added layer of suspense because of the element of the climate. And that can create tension and even conflict in a plot. Space doesn’t permit me to mention all of the great crime fiction that features that part of the world, but here are a few examples to encourage you to reach for that parka and light the fire.

We get a look at life on Ellesmere Island and the vicinity in M.J. McGrath’s Edie Kiglatuk novels. Kiglatuk is a half-Inuit hunting guide – one of the best there is. She’s learned how to survive under all sorts of conditions, and she knows how to make the most of whatever’s available. In these novels, we learn not just what it’s like to be a hunting guide, but also what life is like in the communities of Ellesmere Island. The diet of the people who live there is quite different to what it is in more temperate places, and people rely on small planes and radio to get supplies and information in and out of the area. There’s a distinct culture there, and a real difference between the people who live in that area, and those who come from more southern parts of Canada.

Scott Young wrote two mysteries, Murder in a Cold Climate and The Shaman’s Knife, featuring Inspector Matthew ‘Matteesie’ Kitologitak of the RCMP. In Murder in a Cold Climate, he investigates the shooting death of Native activist Morton Cavendish at the tiny airport in Inuvik. In The Shaman’s Knife, he investigates two murders that occur in Sanirarsipaaq, a tiny Inupiaq settlement on Victoria Island. In both novels, we see how the climate impacts people’s lives. For one thing, there’s a lot of use of small planes, sleds and snowmobiles, since the roads aren’t reliable. For another, there’s a certain sort of hospitality that’s extended. People don’t have much of a chance at survival if they’re outdoors for too long, so it’s the custom to look out for others, if I can put it that way. There are other subtle and not-so-subtle ways, too, in which Young conveys the realities of life in Canada’s Northwest Territories.

Life’s just as tough across the border in Alaska, and Stan Jones’ Nathan Active series makes shows readers what it’s like there. Active is an Inuit who was raised by adoptive parents in Anchorage. Now an Alaska State Trooper, he’s been reassigned to Chukchi, where his birth mother happens to live. So, beginning with White Sky, Black Ice, Active learns more about his own people, and his identity as an Inuit. The people of Chukchi are faced with the same harsh climate as are the people of the Northwest Territories. So in these novels, too, we see plenty of use of small planes and snowmobiles instead of cars. Just as interesting, people rely on radio to get messages to one another. Even personal messages are sent via Chukchi’s public radio station, nicknamed Kay-Chuck. And that makes sense, in a place where telephone signals aren’t reliable, if they’re even available. Jones also depicts some of the non-climate challenges that the people of Chukchi face. (Un)employment, alcohol and drug abuse, and culture loss are some of the issues that are addressed in these novels. Despite them, though, we see how well-adapted the Inupiaq are to their environment. For another look at life in Alaska, there’s also the work of Dana Stabenow. She’s written two series about that part of the world One features PI Kate Shugak; the other features Alaska State Trooper Liam Campbell.

In Åsa Larsson’s The Savage Altar (AKA Sun Storm), we are introduced to Stockholm attorney Rebecka Martinsson. In the course of events in this novel, she returns to her hometown of Kiruna to help an old friend, and ends up getting involved in a dangerous murder investigation. This series follows Martinsson, as well as police inspectors Anna-Maria Mella and Sven-Erik Stålnacke. Kiruna is a small place with its own distinct culture. The people who live there have adapted themselves to the harsh climate, and adjusted to life in a place where it’s dark or twilight for half the year.

One of the more interesting looks at that harsh, Arctic climate comes from Antti Tuomainen’s The Healer. This story takes place mostly in a dystopian-future Helsinki. Climate change has wreaked havoc on the planet, and left millions of people homeless refugees. So the city has become overcrowded and the police are badly understaffed. As a result, Helsinki is descending into anarchy. Those who can do so are leaving for the north of Finland, where a decent life is still thought possible. In that situation, people aren’t really as concerned about the harsh climate, because of the way the planet has changed, and because it’s at least better than the city. Against this backdrop moves Tapani Lehtinen, a writer whose journalist wife Johanna has gone missing. She was working on a major story about a man who calls himself The Healer. He’s taken responsibility for several murders of CEOs and their families – people he blames for the current conditions on Earth. Lehtenin believes that if he can follow the leads his wife was following, he’ll find her. As he searches, he runs into much more and bigger danger than he’d thought.

And I don’t think I could do a post about Arctic climates without mentioning Arnaldur Indriðason’s series featuring Reykjavík Inspector Erlendur. As it happens, Reykjavík is the northernmost capital of a sovereign state. So, as you can imagine, Erlendur and his team have to contend more than once with the elements. In fact, fans of this series can tell you that one of the story arcs in this series is Erlendur’s ongoing search for his brother Bergur, who was lost in a blizzard when the brothers were boys. Blizzards in that part of the world are savage, so it’s not surprising that no trace of Bergur was found. It’s haunted Erelendur ever since.

And that’s the thing about Arctic climates. They can be extremely harsh and unforgiving. And yet, people make lives there, and create rich social structures. Which Arctic-set novels and series have you enjoyed?

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Led Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song.

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Filed under Antti Tuomainen, Arnaldur Indriðason, Åsa Larsson, Dana Stabenow, M.J. McGrath, Scott Young, Stan Jones