With apologies to John Masefield, 'I must go down to the shops again', lest I incur the wrath of 'she who must be obeyed' but before doing so, a quick word on Jo Nesbo's latest thriller The Leopard. As you regulars will know, I always take time to praise any writers new to me in the 'pulp fiction' genre which I adore. I praised Nesbo's previous books, particularly The Redbreast, and so I was delighted when a friend loaned me a copy of The Leopard but, alas and alack, it was such a disappointment. Within the first few pages I quite lost patience with Harry Hole, his hero, whose characteristics hitherto could be put down to mild eccentricity but which have now developed into self-indulgent psychosis. This is a great sprawling book which roams from Hong Kong to the wilds of northern Norway and thence to the 'heart of Africa'. The only gain, as far as I could judge, was an increase in my utter confusion. These Scandinavian thrillers are a always a bit of a struggle with their strange, unpronouncable names and thus a constant turning back of pages is needed in order to remind one's self who or where such-and-such a person or place is in the complicated scheme of things. All this stretched my pathetic, and rapidly failing, powers of concentration too far. I don't mind concentrating on a complex thriller but not a complete Chinese maze which can only be navigated using a mirror! And I'm afraid to say that Harry Hole has turned into a self-indulgent dick!
More later when I have braved the shops.
I can only imagine the source of your confusion. But you did mention "Harry Hole" ventured to the heart of Africa.
Might I ask, did he venture there by any chance, through Libya?
Posted by: JK | Saturday, 26 March 2011 at 19:13