5 posts tagged “iceland”
Translated by Victoria Cribb.
HYPOTHERMIA is among the very best of the books I've read this year. It's the sixth of the author's Erlendur series to be translated into English; it is truly a mature, masterful and utterly fantastic book.
It's a story stripped bare to the bone. A young woman, Maria, commits suicide at her holiday cottage on the shores of Lake Thingvellier. About 30 years ago, Maria's father Magnus fell from his boat and drowned in the same lake. Ever since then, Maria has been extremely close to her mother, Leonora, still living with her even after graduating from university and her marriage to a doctor named Baldvin, who moved in with the two women after his wedding to Maria. Leonora died of cancer two years before the book opens, during which time Maria gave up her job to nurse her mother, constantly at her side. Everyone assumes that part of the reason for Maria's suicide was her inconsolable loss.
Erlendur is only involved in this case tangentially, in that he is told of Maria's death because Maria's main house is in his jurisdiction, so it falls to him to inform Baldvin of her death. Baldvin is devastated. A few days later, however, Maria's friend Karen, who discovered the body, comes to see Erlendur, convinced that Maria cannot have killed herself. Not only was Maria in a positive frame of mind, but Karen has a tape of a recent session between Maria and a medium, in which Maria talked of her comfort in being in touch with her mother from beyond the mother's grave - the two women had talked about this in the mother's final days, and agreed on a method of communication if there is "life after death".
Although Erlendur is sceptical, he is irresistibly drawn to situations involving the missing and the disappeared. He's already looking into three old cases of young people who have suddenly and inexplicably vanished, reflecting on the impact these events have had on the families of the departed. Family members tend to get in touch a on birthdays or anniversaries of the disappearances to find out if there is any news, and Erlendur sees how time takes its toll as the parents of these vanished teenagers become more infirm and eventually die. Erlendur largely lives in his own past, as his own life was shaped by a traumatic event when he was 10 years old. He and his younger brother (aged 8) were out on the hillside in a blizzard, and both boys became lost in the storm. Only Erlendur was found, nearly frozen to death.
Reflecting on these events, Erlendur visits the friends and relations of Maria, the dead young historian. He becomes more interested in the accident in which her father drowned, and digs out the details of the old police investigation, which seemed to have been carried out in a rather perfunctory fashion. At the same time, in a familiar theme in these books, he pursues new leads in the cold cases with characteristic focus.
The events of HYPOTHERMIA occur in a bubble removed from any official criminal investigation - although Erlendur interacts occasionally with his colleagues, the story focuses on his "private" investigation of Maria's death and the old disappearances. Although Erlendur does not believe in the afterlife, he's driven by his own inner need to speak for the lost and the missing, and perhaps above all to seek to thaw out some of the hypothermia of the souls of those who are left behind - including himself.
Erlendur's family life is also a fairly significant part of this book, as his own two children gradually switch roles with Erlendur and his long-ago divorced wife. Eva Lind (mainly) and Sindri want their parents to meet and to reconcile themselves to the break-up of their relationship, but it is quite clear that they are incapable of even the slightest understanding of each other's point of view. Perhaps because of Eva Lind's determination that her parents achieve some closure, or perhaps because of the investigations he's involved in, Erlendur reads to Eva Lind from a book describing the events in which he and his brother were lost, and he reflects on the impact the events, and the book's publication, had on his mother and on his own decisions at the time of his mother's death - directly relevant to Eva herself.
It is hard to convey the sadness and depth of HYPOTHERMIA. The book's plot is completely solid, being an apparently simple tale of a man going round talking to various people, but underneath there are so many layers of the past, of emotion and mood, of different ways of looking at death, disappearance and the lost, descriptions of the ways of life on this bleak island, and how past ways are changing.
There are no dramatics in this story, no exciting set-pieces or thrilling climaxes. The book is simply a rich, thoughtful, mature and compelling work, sympathetically translated. These Icelandic books have much in common with Michael Connelly's Harry Bosch series, in particular the lonely perspectives of the protagonists Harry and Erlendur in speaking for the dead and disappeared of however many years ago - but each is a unique creation. I loved HYPOTHERMIA, with its ageless, deeply sad stories lying beneath its pages.
LAST RITUALS is an 'academic mystery': that is, the crime takes place in a university department (a student is murdered), and the solution depends on the uncovering and understanding of the victim's research, as well as of the broader mores, religion and witchcraft in medieval Europe. Yet the book is by no means heavy-going; the opposite in fact. LAST RITUALS is an assured novel, ably translated by the late Bernard Scudder. I recommend it very highly.
When the book opens, history student Harald Guntlieb is found dead in a small room at the university. He seems to have been strangled, but there are one or two other unpleasant details about the state of the body that force the unsympathetically portrayed police to call the death a murder. They rapidly arrest Halldor, a fellow-student who works part-time at the hospital morgue.
Harald comes from a fabulously wealthy German family, who are not satisfied that Halldor is the killer. Their lawyer, Matthew, begins to investigate on their behalf, but cannot progress very far because he doesn't speak Icelandic and does not know all the ins and outs of the country's legal and police procedures. He, together with the dead man's mother, therefore ask Thora, a local lawyer, to collaborate.
Thora, a divorced mother of a teenage boy and a younger girl, does a good job at running the family as well as holding down a partnership in a small firm. She jumps at the chance to work for the Guntliebs as a relief from her rather mundane professional cases, and her curiosity is immediately piqued by the documents on Harald's life and academic research which Matthew provides, giving her and the readers of the book a historical and biographical framework for what follows.
Thora is an attractive heroine: she's practical, capable and intelligent as well as having a dry sense of humour and an enquiring mind. Her domestic concerns are real enough, interesting and vivid, but without dominating the book. She's curious about everything: I particularly liked her encouragement of the pathologist who did Harald's autopsy to describe the molecular basis of muscle contraction. The description he provides is a little gem of knowledge. Similar examples are provided economically, accurately but not intrusively throughout the book - for example when a museum curator remarks in passing: "As a rule, people don't know anything: they can't even tell a revenant from a poltergeist."
LAST RITUALS is a straightforward telling of a macabre tale. Although the author does not mince words in describing some nasty events, she does not dwell unnecessarily on the horrors, but presents them in a pared-down style as part of the broader canvas of the narrative (similar in this respect to Helene Tursten's excellent Inspector Huss series). LAST RITUALS is far stronger and more effective by its refusal to dwell on the gruesome details of Harald's life and death, while at the same time having its spine-chilling moments - mostly in the sections where the (factual) activities of the medieval authorities' treatment of suspected witches and other poor souls are described.
The book is a classic detective story, in that Thora, with Matthew in support and being supportive, persists in questioning everyone as well as taking an academic interest in Harald's research, ultimately uncovering a treble mystery: that of the Guntlieb family's past; some ancient historical research that Harald and the rest of the university department were embarked upon; and the nature of the relationship between Harald and his alarming circle of student friends, who are clearly hiding some unappetising secrets.
As Thora and Matthew gradually put together all the threads of these interlocking stories, which all need to be understood before the circumstances of Harald's death and its immediate aftermath are clear, Thora herself has to cope with a domestic crisis in her own family involving her son. The 'confrontation' scene in this regard is absolutely brilliant: I laughed out loud, lost in admiration at the way Thora handles everyone involved, and the way the author juggles her cast. Thora is a great creation and I like her a lot. She and Matthew have a bantering, witty relationship that is nicely understated, reminiscent of Nick and Nora Charles. I hope I'll be encountering them again soon.
Is there such a thing as a perfect crime-fiction novel? Probably not, but if there were, this would surely be a strong contender. Arnaldur Indridason's latest novel in the Inspector Erlendur series continues the upward trend in quality, confidence and storytelling that I have come to hope for, even dare to expect, with each new outing. Tragically, Indridason's translator, Bernard Scudder died before he had completed work on ARCTIC CHILL, but Victoria Cribb has stepped in and the result seems to be a seamless one.
The first few chapters of the book tell simply the story of a young Thai/Icelandic boy, Elias, found frozen in the snow, stabbed to death, a few yards from the block of flats that is his home. The police investigation continues, initially in a straightforward mode but gradually tightening its grip as icily as the climate, becoming colder and bleaker as the pages turn.
The main plot of the book is the attempt by Erlendur and his team to find out who killed the boy (and why). Hampered by communication problems, the police have to interact with the boy's mother via an interpreter. As her story emerges, we see the loneliness and determination of this hard-working Thai woman, trying to make a life for herself and her two sons after being abandoned and divorced by her Icelandic husband. The break-up of the marriage meant that both boys had to attend a new school, and much of the core of the book concerns the attempts of the police to dig into the cliques and cultures there, where a few teachers are cooperative but the majority, and most of the students and their families, most definitely are not.
At the same time, the police themselves are irritated by each other and by the people they have to investigate. In this book, we learn more about Erlendur: the life-changing event in his youth that made him turn to police work; the tragedy of his brother, who died in a blizzard when the boys were out together; and the life-long effects of this event on Erlendur, whose brother still accompanies him, years later, like an alter-ego. Erlendur's children, now grown up, appear to be more mature in this novel. Eva Lind in particular seems to have transcended some of her problems and attempts to connect with her morose father. Erlendur's past is also bought home to him by the terminal illness of his old boss Marion, and his knowledge that with her passing, much of his own history will have gone.
These psychological elements do not slow the pace of the book. This author is brilliant at speaking to the reader at the level at which the reader desires, so one can either ignore the economically presented character studies and get on with the plot, or revel in them and find further insight behind the sparse prose. For me, this author understands internal suffering all too well, and can convey the sadness of daily life in a dispassionate yet empathetic way.
Returning to the plot: a previous case involving a missing woman threads its way through the investigation of the dead schoolboy. Eventually, both cases are resolved in a way that is satisfying and, although sad, with some optimism for the family of the boy. I was moved by this book, all the more so for its unsentimental tone and its on-the-nail portrayal of depression.
A skeleton is discovered in the bed of a lake that is drying out after an earthquake has caused some seismic disruption. The body is accompanied by old Russian recording equipment; clearly the person did not die recently or have a natural death. Many policemen would not be interested in solving such an old crime, but Inspector Erlunder's boss has no hesitation in calling him back early from holiday to investigate. (Erlunder is the kind of person who has a holiday on his own in his flat and begins to miss work on about the second day.)
Erlunder and his team soon run out of leads as they chase up all the people reported missing in Iceland 40 or 50 years ago, but find no link to the victim in the lake. Erlunder can't let go, however, and visits a succession of embassies in a hilariously droll series of interviews with minor and major diplomats to try to make sense of the discovery. At the same time, one of the missing-persons cases intrigues him: a salesman called Leopold failed to return home to his lover one day, leaving his car outside a station. Erlunder is intrigued by the woman and the effect on her subsequent life of Leopold's disappearance, perhaps reminding him of his own lost brother or his daughter, the wayward Eva Lind. He follows Leopold's tracks to the farm where he was supposed to pay the last call before he disappeared, and follows the trail of the missing car, a Ford Falcon.
The interplay between the detectives is drolly portrayed, with Sigurdur Oli as smug and rigid as ever - until his own personal happiness is threatened - and Elinborg is obsessed with her cookery book which is being published and publicised in parallel with the investigation. Erlunder himself becomes momentarily sociable, attending a party in honour of the author, almost relating to his son, Sindri, who seems by far the best adjusted of Erlunder's family, and tentatively proceeding with his relationship with Valgerdur, whom we met in Indridason's previous book, VOICES.
But the special beauty of the book, and the reason for its haunting quality, is the story of Tamas, Ilona and the group of students who study together in Leipzig in the 1950s. They are young, idealistic communists who have been selected by the party for further education - the children of workers and farmers who are the vanguard of the new post-war Soviet utopia. Their story is told by one of the group in flashback, as Erlunder's investigation comes inexorably closer. The euphoria of youthful dreams of changing the world for the better, the gradual but total crushing of belief, and the exposure of the corruption and cruelty at the heart of the system are brilliantly told. As the detectives discover, East Germany pursued almost total surveillance of its citizens: the Stasi had 97,000 employees who spied on the populace with the help of more than 100,000 active but unofficial collaborators; 1,000,000 people provided the police with occasional information; reports were complied on 6,000,000 people; and one department of the Stasi had the sole function of watching over other security police members. THE DRAINING LAKE is a satisfying mystery novel by a superb author who has no need of a high body count or special effects to create an exciting and compelling story, but above all it is a moving account of the human cost of these horrifying statistics.
VOICES, the third book by Arnaldur Indridason to be translated into English, is even better than the first two, and that's saying something, as SILENCE OF THE GRAVE, the previous outing for Inspector Erlendur, deservedly won last year's CWA Gold Dagger. Each book covers a narrower canvas than the previous one, but reveals and explores more of Erlendur's psyche. This increasing depth and focus is, for me, what makes this crime-fiction series among the most excellent I have read.
The doorman at a Reykjavik hotel is murdered in his basement room on-site, wearing his "part-time Santa Claus" outfit, just before Christmas. Erlendur and his team investigate the death of this long-term employee, whom his colleagues neither noticed nor liked, against the disapproval and even hostility of the hotel staff. Erlendur suffers a kind of seasonal paralysis, and rather than return to his empty, dingy flat at the end of the first day of the investigation, impulsively takes a room at the hotel - more to spite the manager than anything else. It isn't a nice room and the heating doesn't work, but it forms the nucleus for the story over the few days that follow, as Erlendur observes and absorbs the "voices" and rhythms of the hotel, and has to try to explain to various colleagues and his daughter why he isn't "home for Christmas", even though he is not fully aware of his reasons.
As Erlendur discovers more about the victim and the sad life he led, the title of the book becomes apparent. The "voice" of the victim, all-powerful as a child, has gradually diminished over the years until nobody knew or cared about the man he had become; his voice has, literally, disappeared. Simultaneously, Erlendur sinks into an introspective mood, triggered by the long-ago events and family dynamics he uncovers in the murder investigation. Driven by a hopeless urge to find a way to relate to Eva Lind, his tragic daughter, to prevent her falling back into her old life, he struggles to connect with the voices of his own past. Both for his daughter and for his hopes of a new relationship after his disastrous marriage and subsequent years of solitude, Erlendur is forced to relive a childhood tragedy, and acknowledge its effects on himself and his parents.
Another "voice" is that of a badly beaten boy, whose mother is in a mental hospital and whose short-fuse father is about to go bankrupt. Erlendur's colleague Elinborg is convinced that the boy's father is to blame for the attack, rather than the alleged perpetrators (some schoolboys), and has been trying to coax the silent child to speak out from his hospital bed. Will the boy find his voice and testify, or will the police team find his voice on his behalf, to protect him from the perpetrator, before the case collapses due to lack of evidence or witnesses?
None of the underlying themes and tensions in the book impede the pace. The story of the two crimes and their investigation are deftly handled, being believable and sad, rather than lurid and/or ultimately stretching credibility, like so many genre examples. Indridason is masterly in the way he makes the story of each crime suspenseful yet at the same time an elegy for sad and lonely lives of most of those involved. Part of the book's strength lies in the investigation of past emotional landscapes, which adds insight and emotion to what could otherwise, in terms of basic plot structure, be as shallowly exciting as Agatha Christie. The author (and his translator, who seems to have served him well) has written a spare, direct text, with dashes of grim humour and neat character observations, that slips by so that you have finished the book before you've noticed. But the voices will echo on, and you’ll be waiting keenly for the next instalment.
