Saturday 22 January 2011
S
However, those who did not appreciate Larsson's work need not fear: in both style and content, Nesbø is entirely his own man. The Leopard, the sixth Harry Hole novel to be published in Britain, is a big and meaty, but easily digestible, slab of a read, ably translated by Don Bartlett. At first glance, 610 pages might seem a little (or a lot) on the long side for what is, in essence, a serial killer/maverick cop story, but the labyrinthine plot and the large canvas (Hong Kong and Africa as well as Norway, and several points in between) justify the word-count.
As with Nesbø's other books, all the characters, both heroes and villains, are toting phenomenal amounts of personal baggage, none more so than Hole himself. He has a full checklist of the character requirements of the noir hero – being melancholic, alcoholic, intuitive, uncompromising, anti-authority and, although often unsanitary, astonishingly attractive to women (including his stunningly beautiful colleague Kaja, who, naturally, has a raft of problems of her own). He also has the requisite backstory, in the form of a lost love and a dying father with whom he has unfinished emotional business. Apart from this, he has near-superhuman powers of recovery, whether from a mammoth hangover, an avalanche, or the attentions of a frenzied psychopath. And boy, does he need them.
The story begins with Hole being recalled (somewhat implausibly) from Hong Kong, where he has fled after his last, traumatic case. He is in hock to the triads over gambling debts, and self-medicating with opium to stop drinking. Lured back by the lovely Kaja with the prospect of seeing his father, he reluctantly agrees to investigate the case of two women who have been found murdered in a way so spectacularly ingenious and revolting that it is the stuff (literally, in my case) of nightmares. With no forensic evidence or even a single clue, and the media circling like hungry sharks, Hole finds himself caught in the middle of a police turf-war over power and jurisdiction (not that this bothers him – he simply alienates both sides in equal measure).
The only connection between the victims is that they spent the same night in an isolated mountain hostel, and when another visitor is found murdered, it becomes clear that the killer is determined to pick off the rest of the guests. As well as making good use of that particularly Scandinavian USP the weather (or, more specifically, snow, snow and more snow), which provides dramatic plot developments in ways that writers who set their books in more temperate climes can only dream of, Nesbø deploys all the key ingredients of a cracking good thriller with expertise and verve. The ticking clock, the tension expertly racheted ever upwards, the changing scenery, the constantly shifting goalposts and his effortless, triumphant outpacing of the reader's ability to guess what's going to happen will keep you gripped to the last page. Suspend disbelief, immerse yourself and enjoy the ride. Oh, and don't have nightmares.
Laura Wilson's A Capital Crime is published by Quercus.
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