SWEDISH CRIME NOVEL: THUD

Last night, I tried to read a "winner of the best Swedish crime novel," it said on the cover, THREE SECONDS, by Roslund & Hellstrom, whoever the hell they are. 

Honestly, it didn't work for me. I found the writing clunky and expository and not very clear, and it seemed to be trying way too hard, not to tell a story or create a world, but to jack up the reader. Snore.

I spent the first three or four pages trying to figure out who the hell the two characters in the story were and what they were up to. Not a good way to begin a novel.

I always told my students, back when I used to teach this stuff, that you have to orient the reader first.

We want to know who the characters are, where they are, why they are there, what they are trying to do, and what their problem is.

You know, in journalism they call it the five W's and the H: who, what, where, when, why, and how.

In fiction, you should show the characters in action and imply who they are and what they are up to. You should show enough evidence, or tell enough, that the reader's question is, how can they do that? Or, will they survive? Or, will they reach their goal?

The questions should not be, who the hell is this, and what the hell are they doing? To me, those are the wrong questions. That is confusion, not suspense.

I suppose some people might enjoy being confused, and I guess there is a fine line between confusion and suspense, although it seems obvious to me.

Anyway, this book starts out with a drug "mule" on a boat, but we don't know anything else about him. He has swallowed drugs and he is scared shitless. Then the narrative cuts to some mysterious character at some government training center with guns going off and a mock kidnapping attempt.

Who cares? Snore.

If you want crime suspense, I recommend James Lee Burke. His novels always keep me spell-bound. I also liked early Patricia Cornwell, before she got too successful. And early Thomas Harris.

I liked Ken Bruen and Jason Starr, and their series of comic crime novels about Max Fisher, the most egotistical and self-centered "hero" who ever "lived."

It's hard to find good fiction of any kind. I don't believe in the usual genre distinctions. To me, a good novel is a good novel. Period. And they are damned hard to find.

-- Roger

© Copyright 2011, Roger R. Angle