Book Report: The Bat

21. Jo Nesbø, The Bat (1997, but not published in English until 2012) (8/28/2020)

Some time ago my sister-in-law Heidi gave me several books in Norwegian, for my Norwegian torture partner, Thelma, and me to crawl our way through. So far we've read four of them: Naiv. Super, Harens år, Doktor Proktors prompepulver, and Pippi går om bord. We started in 2016, meeting once a week (or so). It's been an excrutiatingly slow process. And yet somehow we carry on.

We are currently reading Flaggermusmannen by Jo Nesbø. And we have been for well over a year, judging by the completion date of Pippi. And yet, we are just a little over halfway done. Thelma moved recently to Seattle, so we went on a bit of hiatus, and now we are reading "together"—separately—every Wednesday (that we remember to) at 3 o'clock.

The last chapter I read made me realize I've forgotten so much, I decided to pick up the English and refresh my memory. And once I'd gotten to my recent stopping point, chapter 28, I just plowed on. Reading the Norwegian is about the Norwegian; it's not about keeping up any story suspense. Maybe it'll even make it a little easier to read now that I know what happens—and who dunnit.

Flaggermusmannen (meaning "the bat man"—the bat being an allusion to death in Aboriginal mythology) is the first of Nesbø's books featuring flawed detective (aren't the best ones always flawed?) Harry Hole—pronounced Hoo-leh. Or as all the Aussies in this book call him, Harry Holy.

Because yes, it is set in Australia, mostly Sydney. Harry has been called in to "assist" in an investigation of the murder of a young Norwegian woman. Which right there calls on us to suspend disbelief: does that really happen? Don't most police forces just carry on investigating, even if the victim is a foreign national, without the "help" of an outsider?

I have also read Nesbø's third Harry Hole book (the first one translated into English), The Redbreast, much of it set in WWII, and I was impressed by the writing, the research, the intricate plot, the characters, the motivations. It was excellent.

I can't say the same for The Bat, though it's a fine first novel. Well, "fine" as in good enough. The story isn't smooth; some of its relationships are weak; it's didactic (long-winded accounts of Aboriginal myths, though interesting, that don't actually move the story along); there's irrational violence; lots of coincidence; questionable metaphor. And motivation? It's a stretch.

But one very good thing about this book is that we learn a whole lot about Harry: his backstory. Which is important for the rest of the series.

Part of me thinks Nesbø took a trip down under, and decided to write off the trip by writing a novel. If that's the case, well, good on him; he did a creditable job. And then he went on to write some really good stuff. He became a writer. You've got to start somewhere.

Plus, he got to go skydiving into the bargain. I'm envious.

Okay, that wasn't a report. But it's what I have to say about the book. And now: six more months of Norwegian torture to get to the end of it—for a second time.

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It's been nine days since I posted last, so nine days of mounting Covid statistics—only, they may be slowing down? That would be great. Today's numbers: 7,619 confirmed cases (up 957 since the 19th); 475 hospitalizations (up 75); and 55 deaths (up 9).

I am considering Portugal as an escape hatch if Trump wins again in November.

Stay safe.