I made this blog to keep up with my reading. I'm already forgetting. Stupid stupid stupid.
Anyway, in brief then:
Dead Souls, by Ian Rankin. My first Rankin novel, I think. Not completely my cup of tea - I have an aversion to morose over-drinking grumpy male detectives. Might try a few more though (Rankin novels, not detectives, obviously, ha ha). Wasn't too keen on the story either - this is the one where a police friend of the hero (Rebus) commits suicide, the son of Rebus' first girlfriend goes missing, a serial killer come home to Edinburgh from the US. On the whole a bit meh.
Angel of Darkness, by Caleb Carr. This novel is written from the perspective of Stevie, Dr. Kreizler's young ward. I found "his way" of relating the events more interesting to read than the first book, The Alienist, and that in itself is amusing. That I should find the story-telling skills of the fictional Stevie character more entertaining than those of the equally fictional John Moore is a writing accomplishment in itself - I hope Carr keeps this up! The basket-case of this novel is a woman, cue much discussion of the sanctity of motherhood - real or imagined? Etc. Very enjoyable, although the ending is a tad too much. It appears to be written with the screenplay in mind - never a good idea. Shootouts on rooftops? Please, no. Although those were violent times...
The Fifth Rapunzel, by B.M. Gill. A serial killer has murdered four long-haired prostitutes, and Britain's best forensic pathologist has pinned a fifth murder on him, despite his protestations. Now the pathologist and his wife are dead, and their 18-year-old son is left alone in the world. Turns out that his father may have had his own reasons to lie about his findings in the 5th Rapunzel case.
Not a half bad book at all. No whodunnit, the ending is slightly unexpected as it features the sudden transformation of a minor character into a major one. Name of police hero: Maybridge - but he isn't a dominant part of the story, IMO. I'll try to find some more of Gill's work.
Marjaneh Bakthari: Kalla det vad fan du vill. Den här boken ska läsas om så bara för de lysande dialekt- och brytningsbeskrivningarna. Har man bara hört iranier prata kan man läsa mamma och pappa Irandousts repliker högt för sig själv och vips - man låter som en iranier! Råkul. Och malmöitiskan också - hur bra som helst. Som bok är den väl egentligen lite fragmenterad och hoppig att läsa. Däremot skulle det här kunna bli en riktigt bra film tror jag, om manuset lyfte fram historien om pappa Irandousts kompis, vars syster flytt, fastnat i Turkiet och tvingats prostituera sig. Den berättelsen, som jag gärna sett vara mer framträdande, ger hela boken en melankolisk klang.
Am currently reading a Dorothy Gilman book I bought for 5 kr at Myrornas. This is one of those rather no-name detective writers that exist in abundance and are never heard of. Not so bad though, so far. Better than Dan Brown... may his money turn to ashes. Although HUGE minus points for inventing an African nation. HUGE.