Book Report: Jar City

17. Anraldur Indriðason, Jar City (2000) (10/22/24)

A friend of mine on FB remarked recently that she'd discovered a new Nordic Noir author whom she appreciated, Arnaldur Indriðason. As I do, I checked him out—and realized that I owned one of his early books: the third in the series of fourteen featuring the saturnine inspector Erlendur, and the first to have been translated into English. 

After my couple of months with Gus, Call, and the rest of the Lonesome Dove crew traversing the American plains, it was quite a switch to end up in rainy autumnal Reykjavík tracking down a brutal murderer. But I settled in.

The story itself was pretty good, beginning with the killing of an old man, and leading into past incidents of rape, organ theft and genetic disease, and Erlendur's passionate doggedness. He himself has lost his way, after divorce and two children who themselves aren't finding purpose; but the desire to delve down to the truth of a crime continues to motivate him. He still cares about the people around him, especially those who are victims of crimes, even if he has some work to do on himself. (And in this book, in his stumbling way, he begins to connect with his daughter.)

I found the language rather stilted, no doubt a result of a spare writing style in the original Icelandic and the British, no doubt literal, translation. I kept wondering if the story could be brought to more "life" if it were translated more loosely

But the story was what mattered, and it delivered. Will I read more Indriðason? Maybe. But I'm glad I finally read this one, which has been sitting on my shelf for quite a long while now...