Tainted tosh

When a lone septuagenarian (I LOVE that word!) is murdered in his apartment in Reykjavík, detective inspector Erlendur Sveinsson is called in to investigate. As he digs into the murdered man's background, so he unravels a sordid tale of rape, a fatal genetic disease, incest and suicide - with a drug-addicted daughter as a side. Just the ingredients for a rip-roaring police procedural right? WRONG.

For the first time in years I feel confused and unsure about a book and I don’t like it one bit. I think I liked Erlendur; he’s my kind of detective; quiet and morose with a whiff of wit. He smokes too much, I can relate to that. His floundering efforts to save his daughter ranged from heart-string-pulling sentimentality to the downright pathetic. But, like the character of Sigurdur Oli, the plot was sparse and underdeveloped, all the vaguely exciting elements of the story were underplayed, like the whole genetic pool thing, fascinating but barely mentioned.

For my first foray into the criminal underworld of Iceland, this was a serious disappointment. Too much lackin’ and too little learnin’ to be had. So this ‘prize-winning international bestseller’ can go jump.

5/10