I’m always late to the party.
Henning Mankell’s Kurt Wallander mysteries are nothing new to the readers of serial crime novels. And these days it seems almost trendy, or worse – trendy but slow, to read something Swedish. Nevertheless, I’m walking out onto this limb fully aware.
Mark Lawson wrote about why he loves Henning Mankell’s Wallander series in The Guardian in 2003, you can read what he had to say HERE, but his review is a bit on the short side and somewhat unsatisfying. There is so much more to say about what there is to love about both the novels and the unbloodyrelentlessly miserable but nonethless endearing Detective Wallander than Lawson gave up. The mysteries are tight, the police work is fascinating, the characters are realistic and full of the itchy oddities that real people are made up of, and the grey, grey, grey Scandinavianness of it all, punctuated by the fleeting rarity of color – but not flashy red or kelly green or royal blue that Stieg Larsson gave us, but maybe, just maybe if you’re very lucky you might glimpse a sliver of teal or lavender.
There are 11 Wallander novels, and now…behold, what joyous discovery I have made:
It’s almost enough to get me through my period of mourning after finishing The Wire (R.I.P. Omar).