A few years
ago I read the first of the Thóra Guðmundsdóttir mysteries but I wasn’t
particularly impressed so I never continued with the series (https://schatjesshelves.blogspot.ca/2017/08/archival-review-of-last-rituals-by-yrsa.html). After a recent visit to Iceland, I decided to
give Sigurðardóttir another try and chose this standalone novel. I’m afraid my impressions of the author have
not improved.
There are
three stories which are eventually tied together. Four people are taken by helicopter to the
remote Thrídrangar lighthouse perched on a rock
in the Atlantic. A storm and a delayed
pickup because of mechanical problems increase the tension amongst the stranded. A family returns from a house-swap holiday
and finds things in disarray in their home with no sign of the American family
who had stayed there. A police officer
is given a job clearing out old files while her husband Thröstur lies on the verge of death after a suicide attempt; she discovers
files about a case in which Thröstur, as a child, was a witness. She decides to investigate whether this old
case might have impacted her husband in the present.
There are
so many plot holes and coincidences that the plot is not credible: Sinister messages appear in the most isolated
places. A man manages to be very stealthy
despite the fact that repeated descriptions of his physical appearance suggest he
would not likely be capable of stealth? Would
a reputable journalist stage a photo for an article he is writing? A person would purchase a home in a
neighbourhood without recognizing it from his childhood? The trip to Thrídrangar is so poorly planned
that little food and water is provided and the weather forecast is not checked
beforehand? Also, withholding and distorting so much
information when narrating from the perspective of a character is a form of
cheap trickery: “Weariness wins out in
the end, though, so he is oblivious to the commotion up on the gallery later
that night.” And why would an innocent person
imagine something that makes him look guilty:
“Without his knowing where the words came from, a brief greeting sprang
into his mind: Welcome back, liar.”
I dislike
narratives that rely on police incompetence.
There are several examples of incomplete police investigations and a
senior police officer actually gives files to a civilian. And the police are especially stupid in
designating their chief suspect at the end; this suspect has no reason to ask
the titular question in the menacing messages since he has always known the
answer.
The plot is
rather predictable. The title clearly
suggests that people have lied. Who has
lied is obvious because the author emphasizes the signs of lying: “All the signs of a liar rolled into one.” By the end of Chapter 15, less than half way
through the book, any careful reader will identify the most dangerous person at
the lighthouse because of the lack of a reaction.
Sigurðardóttir
is often praised for her ability to create atmosphere. There is indeed a pervading sense of menace
throughout, but the same technique is repeatedly used. Something is always just out sight: “It felt as if someone were watching him” and
“An icy chill runs down his spine when he spots a dark shadow . . . The fog
closes in again and the shadow disappears . . . Nothing can explain the shape he thought he
saw” and “If she let herself, she would start tuning into the noises she
thought she could hear at the back of the storeroom . . . As if someone was
standing there, breathing heavily.”
The
scattered chronology can be confusing. A
reader would be advised to make notes on what happens when in each of the three
plots; each chapter begins with a date but the reader must remember these dates
to realize that events in the three plots do not occur simultaneously.
Yrsa
Sigurðardóttir is often called the Queen of Icelandic Crime Fiction, but she
hasn’t impressed me. I shall have to
read something by Sólveig Pálsdóttir and Lilja Sigurðardóttir (a
relative?), two other female Icelandic crime writers of note, to decide if Yrsa
has competition for the title.
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