#BlogTour #Review - Winterkill by Ragnar Jónasson

Winterkill
Ragnar Jónasson (trans David Warriner, from the French ed)
Orenda Books, 21 January 2021 (PB)
Available as: e, PB, HB
Source e: PB advance copy
ISBN: 9781913193447 (HB)

I'm grateful to Orenda Books for sending me an advance copy of Winterkill, and to Anne Cater at Random Things Tours for inviting me to take part in the tour.

Winterkill will be eagerly welcomed by Jónasson's many fans, returning, as it does, to Ari Thór, now promoted to Inspector in Siglufjörður, the most Northerly town in Iceland which we have seen previously in other volumes of the Dark Iceland sequence.

The book is pretty self-contained and if you're new to Ragnar Jónasson's writing it would be easy to start here but I'd advise reading the earlier books first - in publication order - to get the best experience. Ari Thór has been through a lot, and you'll understand him a little better if you have lived through it with him. Also, you know, spoilers.

That said, Winterkill does feel a bit like a coda to the series, offering a glimpse - a welcome glimpse - of Ari Thór's future. And how better to do that that though an enquiry into a mysterious death? Inner, a schoolgirl, apparently sneaked into an apartment block late on night, went up to the rooftop balcony, and threw herself off. 

Or did she? Was somebody else involved? A cryptic message in Unnur's diary, and an accusation scribbled on, of all places, a care home bedroom wall, arouse Ari Thór's suspicions. It's inconvenient, especially at Easter, when his estranged partner Kristín has brought their son Stefnir for a rare visit. Their presence gives Ari Thór mixed - and conflicted - feelings about throwing himself into a case, but it doesn't cause friction with Kristín (indeed, it's painful to see this, demonstrating how cool things have become between them). We know, don't we, that Ari Thór will do the right thing?

As he digs into what happened, a strange and sad story emerges. Ragnar Jónasson rather brilliantly brings to life the character of the dead girl - while we never actually "see" her in the book, and she seems to left very little trace in life, what isn't here, combined with the evidence of her family and few friends, actually paints a powerful and arresting portrait of Unnur. It's all the more moving for not being obvious, overblown, or dramatic and it really made me wonder about all those people one meets who may have stuff going on which you just never suspect or know about. That impression is heightened with Siglufjörður being a place where, as Ragnar Jónasson demonstrates, almost everyone knows almost everyone else, or might even be a third cousin. 

Can you keep secrets in a place like that? Apparently yes...

This is a very engaging book to read. Mystery and tragedy aside, Ari Thór's evolving relationship with Kristín and Stefnir is well conveyed and gives readers of the series some closure. And, murder and mystery aside, his relationship with his new protégé is rather amusing; Ari Thór sets out assuming that Ögmundur will respect and seek to emulate him just as he did with Tómas, but in fact Ögmundur seems an unambitious, incurious type who does the least he can and complains about being left to it when Ari Thór's not around! This crystallises a certain mood in the book. Ari Thór is torn between trying to revive or recreate the past (Kristín, Tómas) and pressing on into the future. Ari Thór once though he might have a chance of transferring to Reykjavik to work with Tómas again, but that seems off the agenda. Siglufjörður is developing, growing, finding new success in tourism, the place no longer being so cut-off as it used to be. Can Ari Thór adapt, or not?

Regardless, that modern infrastructure is still not proof against harsh Icelandic weather. The climax of the book comes in the dark when, just as the case seems to be resolving, a power cut descends on Siglufjörður leaving Ari Thór and Ögmundur stretched trying to cope with all the fallout from Unnur's death. It's a dramatic end to the book - and to the sequence - and one that captivates to the last page.

Finally, this edition is an English translation of the French edition. You might think that would distance the book somewhat from the mood and tone of the original. I don't know Icelandic (that would be wonderful!) so can't make that comparison but to me, David Warriner's English version captures both an atmosphere of darkness and the coming of change, Ari Thór's poised-ness between past and future among a fascinating community of people who are beautifully evoked. 

The e-book of Winterkill is available now - see the Orenda website for sources and for more information. You can preorder the paperback from your local bookshop or online from Hive Books, bookshop.org, Blackwell's, Foyles, WH Smith, Waterstones or Amazon (NB some links to PB, some to HB, depending what the various sites offered!)

The blogtour continues! 

For some more super reviews see the poster below. 

Blogtour review - White Out by Ragnar Jónasson

White Out (Dark Iceland)
Ragnar Jónasson (translated by Quentin Bates)
Orenda Books, 1 November 2017
PB, 215pp

Today I'm joining the blogtour for White Out, a book I've looked forward to reading and reviewing. I'm grateful to Orenda Books and to Anne for a copy of the book and for inviting me to take part in the tour.

A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year...

Ari Thór is back in Jónasson fifth Dark Iceland book (though - reader beware! - they have not appeared in order, so the events in this book occurs earlier than in some I'd already read).

Here, he's drawn by his ex boss Tómas into investigating a death taking place just before Christmas. Rather than leave the heavily pregnant Kristín home alone over the festive period, she accompanies him to Kalfshamarvik. There, Ari Thór and Tómas find an isolated group living in a remote house on the north coast - the edge of the inhabitable world.

A young woman, Ásta  has been found dead at the foot of a cliff - the same cliff where her mother and sister died. Did she travel there from Reykjavik to kill herself?

What really happened to the rest of her family?

Mystery interweaves with the lives of all the others who live on the isolated headland - brother and sister, Thóra and Óskar, local farmer Arnór and wealthy businessman, Reynir. For that matter, Ásta's past is something of a mystery. This story is perhaps a much more conventional mystery story - almost a classic setup - that the Other Dark Iceland books that I have read. There isn't the thrillery sense of other books in this sequence. To begin with, Ari Thór isn't called on to do more than observe and question, we have a very, very narrow field of suspects and the setting is drawn in such a way that wider entanglements such as political corruption or organised crime seem unlikely.

Rather we have an intense psychological study of the four residents (not forgetting Arnor's wife, of Asta and even, to a degree, of Ari Thór and Tómas themselves.  Motivations, locations and lies are slowly teased out and layer after layer of the past turned over and exhibited.

Ragnar Jónasson

Why did Ásta return?

What does Oskar get up to when he shuts himself away in his room?

What is Thora hinting she knows?

But above all, are those deaths all linked?

With no certainty that a crime has actually been committed, Tómas is under pressure to wrap things up quickly. His superiors would, it is implied, welcome the whole thing being sorted before the Christmas holiday. Similarly Ari Thór wants to return home to spend Christmas alone with his family.  You can feel the tension rising as things probe more complicated than they seemed. It's a short book, but an intense one, with a claustrophobic atmosphere oddly heightened by the Christmas cheer being doled out on the radio, in the hotel, in the church.

That makes it, in my view, an excellent Christmas read (we need a touch of darkness alongside the enforced jollity) and it is an excellent primer on Icelandic Christmas customs, too, which may have picked up some of the cultural baggage of the UK and USA but clearly still retain much of their distinctiveness.

As ever, Quentin Bates's translation is excellent, achieving both familiar, natural English that makes the translatedness near invisible but also a distinct sense of difference appropriate to portraying a different country.

#Blogtour: Rupture by Ragnar Jónasson - Extract and giveaway!

I'm delighted today to offer something a little special... thanks to Karen at Orenda Books I have the first chapter of Ragnar Jónasson's new Dark Iceland novel, Rupture, and a chance to win some goodies... a signed, limited edition hardback copy of the book, a bookmark and some Icelandic

chocolates to eat while you read it!

To enter, retweet the pinned Tweet on @bluebookballoon advertising this post before 12 noon on Saturday 4 February. I'll choose a winner at random after that.

Chapter 1

It had been an evening like any other, spent stretched out on the sofa. 

They lived in a little apartment on the ground floor of an old house at the western end of Reykjavík, on Ljósvallagata. It was positioned in the middle of an old-fashioned terrace of three houses, built back in the 1930s. Róbert sat up, rubbed his eyes and looked out of the window at the little front garden. It was getting dark. It was March, when weather of any description could be expected; right now it was raining. There was something comforting about the patter of raindrops against the window while he was safely ensconced indoors. 

His studies weren’t going badly. A mature student at twenty eight, he was in the first year of an engineering degree. Numbers had always been one of his pleasures. His parents were accountants, living uptown in Árbær, and while his relationship with them had always been difficult, it was now almost non-existent; his lifestyle seemed to have no place in their formula for success. They had done what they could to steer him towards bookkeeping, which was fair enough, but he had struck out on his own. 

Now he was at university, at last, and he hadn’t even bothered to let the old folks know. Instead, he tried to focus on his studies, although these days his mind tended to wander to the Westfjords. He owned a small boat there, together with a couple of friends, and he was already looking forward to summer. It was so easy to forget everything – good and bad – when he was out at sea. The rocking of the boat was a tonic for any stress and his spirit soared when he was enveloped by the complete peace. At the end of the month he’d be heading west to get the boat ready. For his friends, the trip to the fjords was a good excuse to go on a drinking binge. But not for Róbert. He had been dry now for two years – an abstinence that had become necessary after the period of serious drinking that began with the events that had unfolded on that fateful day eight years earlier. 

It was a beautiful day. There was scarcely a breath of wind on the pitch, it was warm in the summer sun and there was a respectable crowd. They were on their way to a convincing win against an unconvincing opposition. Ahead of him lay training with the national youth team, and later that summer the possibility of a trial with a top Norwegian side. His agent had even mentioned interest from some of the teams lower down in the English leagues. The old man was as proud as hell of him. He had been a decent football player himself but never had the chance to play professionally. Now times had changed, there were more opportunities out there. 

Five minutes were remaining when Róbert was passed the ball. He pushed past the defenders, and saw the goal and the fear on the goalkeeper’s face. This was becoming a familiar experience; a five–nil victory loomed. 

He didn’t see the tackle coming, just heard the crack as his leg broke in three places and felt the shattering pain. He looked down, paralysed by the searing agony, and saw the open fracture. 

It was a sight that was etched into his memory. The days spent in hospital passed in a fog, although he wouldn’t forget the doctor telling him that his chances of playing football again – at a professional level, at any rate – were slim. So he gave it all up, and sought solace in the bottle; each drink quickly followed by another. The worst part was that, while he made a better recovery than the doctor expected, by the time he was fit, it was too late to turn the clock back on his football career. 

Now, though, things were better. He had Sunna, and little Kjartan had a place in his heart as well. But despite this, his heart harboured some dark memories, which he hoped he could keep hidden in the shadows. 

It was well into the evening when Sunna came home, tapping at the window to let him know that she had forgotten her keys. She was as beautiful as ever, in black jeans and a grey roll-neck sweater. Raven hair, long and glossy, framed her strong face. To begin with, it had been her eyes that had enchanted him, closely followed by her magnificent figure. She was a dancer, and sometimes it was as if she danced rather than walked around their little apartment, a confident grace imbuing every movement. 

He knew he had been lucky with this one. He had first chatted to her at a friend’s birthday party, and they’d clicked instantly. They’d been together for six months now, and three months ago they had moved in together. 

Sunna turned up the heating as she came in; she felt the cold more than he did. 

‘Cold outside,’ she said. Indeed, the chill was creeping into the room. The big living-room window wasn’t as airtight as it could have been, and there was no getting used to the constant draughts. 

Life wasn’t easy for them, even though their relationship was becoming stronger. She had a child, little Kjartan, from a previous relationship and was engaged in a bitter custody battle with Breki, the boy’s father. To begin with, Breki and Sunna had agreed on joint custody, and at the moment Kjartan was spending some time with his father. 

Now, though, Sunna had engaged a lawyer and was pressing for full custody. She was also exploring the possibility of continuing her dance studies in Britain, although this was not something that she and Róbert had discussed in depth. But it was also a piece of news that Breki would be unlikely to accept without a fight, so it looked as if the whole matter would end up in court. Sunna believed she had a strong enough case, though, and that they would finally see Kjartan returned to her full time. 

‘Sit down, sweetheart,’ Róbert said. ‘There’s pasta.’ 

‘Mmm, great,’ she said, curling up on the sofa. 

Róbert fetched the food from the kitchen, bringing plates and glasses and a jug of water. 

‘I hope it tastes good,’ he said. ‘I’m still finding my way.’ 

‘I’m so hungry it won’t matter what it tastes like.’ 

He put on some relaxing music and sat down next to her. 

She told him about her day – the rehearsals and the pressure she was under. Sunna was set on perfection, and hated to get anything wrong. 

Róbert was satisfied that his pasta had been a success; nothing outstanding, but good enough.

Sunna got to her feet and took his hand. ‘Stand up, my love,’ she said. ‘Time to dance.’ 

He stood up and wrapped his arms around her and they moved in time to a languid South American ballad. He slid a hand under her sweater and his fingertips stroked her back, unclipping her bra strap in one seamless movement. He was an expert at this. 

‘Hey, young man,’ she said with mock sharpness, her eyes warm. ‘What do you think you’re up to?’ 

‘Making the most of Kjartan being with his dad,’ Róbert answered, and they moved into a long, deep kiss. The temperature between them was rising, as was the temperature in the room, and before long they were making their way to the bedroom.

Out of habit, Róbert pushed the door to and drew the curtains across the bedroom window overlooking the garden. However, none of these precautions stopped the sounds of their lovemaking carrying across to the apartment next door. 

When everything was quiet again, he heard the indistinct slamming of a door, muffled by the hammering rain. His first thought was that it was the back door to the porch behind the old house. 

Sunna sat up in alarm and glanced at him, disquiet in her eyes. He tried to stifle his own fear behind a show of bravado and, getting to his feet, ventured naked into the living room. It was empty. 

But the back door was open, banging to and fro in the wind. He glanced quickly into the porch, just long enough to say that he had taken a look, and hurriedly pulled the door closed. A whole regiment of men could have been out there for all he knew, but he could make out nothing in the darkness. 

He then went from one room to another, his heart beating harder and faster, but there were no unwelcome guests to be seen. It was just as well that Kjartan was not at home. 

And then he noticed something that would keep him awake for the rest of the night. 

He hurried through the living room, frightened for Sunna, terrified that something had happened to her. Holding his breath, he made his way to the bedroom to find her seated on the edge of the bed, pulling on a shirt. She smiled weakly, unable to hide her concern. 

‘It was nothing, sweetheart,’ he said, hoping she would not notice the tremor in his voice. ‘I forgot to lock the door after I took the rubbish out; didn’t shut it properly behind me,’ he lied. ‘You know what tricks the wind plays out back. Stay there and I’ll get you a drink.’ 

He stepped quickly out of the bedroom and rapidly removed what he had seen. 

He hoped it was the right thing to do – not to tell Sunna about the water on the floor, the wet footprints left by the uninvited guest who had come in out of the rain. The worst part was that they hadn’t stopped just inside the back door. The trail had led all the way to the bedroom.

Blog tour - Black Out

Image from http://orendabooks.co.uk/

Black Out (Dark Iceland 3)
Ragnar Jónasson (Translated by Quentin Bates)
Orenda Books, 30 June (e)/ 30 August (p) 2016
PB, 247pp
Source: I'm grateful to Karen at Orenda Books for a copy of this book

Black Out is the third in this series featuring Icelandic detective Ari Thór Arason and the town of Siglufjörður. It is, however, the second in reading order. The first book to be published, Snow Blind, was the beginning. The second, Night Blind, which I reviewed here, jumps forward a number of years and shows where we are ending up, with a coda in which Jónasson presents a piece of prose by his father, describing the coming of Spring to Siglufjörður - a symbolic ending to the whole sequence, I think: the darkness is fading, and life returns to the little community.

That may be the endpoint but I think we're destined for some more dark days in the meanwhile as Arason and his family and colleagues more towards the light. And none more so that here. In this book, Arason is preoccupied by the breakup of his relationship with Kristín, something that distracts him from his work and - eventually - leads him into a very foolish act (we begin to understand why, at the start of Night Blind, he's been passed over for promotion).

Arason's colleague Hlynur also has preoccupations of his own and these practically paralyse him as a member of the team.  Over the course of the book Hlynur's subplot of abuse and revenge plays in counterpoint with a wider theme, the havoc that cruelty, control and abuse can play as they cascade down generations.

As the story opens, a tunnel is being built to connect Siglufjörður more easily to the rest of the island and change is in the air. Better connections will bring new problems (as we see later in Night Blind). But even before they're complete, a young man, Elías, who was working on the project, is murdered. It rapidly becomes clear that he had fingers in many pies, but even so, who would want him dead? Tómas, who is still Inspector in Siglufjörður, has his work cut out with the crime - not only are his team under par but his wife has moved to Reykjavík and he's not sure whether to follow her there or abandon his marriage.

At the same time, Ísrún, a TV journalist, heads north from Reykjavík to cover the murder. We see some flashbacks of her life which show she, too, is preoccupied and has secrets. And so do other characters we meet in this book...

Out of this dense mesh of secret histories, hidden pain and repressed hatreds, Jónasson constructs a satisfyingly dense and murky mystery. Taking place in the middle of the summer, it's nonetheless very, very dark (especially for one character who never sees daylight throughout) and has overtones of tragedy: lives blighted by bad experiences, the abused becoming abusers, promise turned to ash which in turn blights others just as the ash from the Eyjafjallajökull volcano pollutes Reykjavík.

Overall it's a tense, fast moving narrative with some grim secrets at the heart. The story does perhaps dot around a bit, with separate flashbacks for different characters, so you have to keep focussed - it's probably a book to read in one or two goes. Definitely a worthy followup to Snow Blind and Night Blind - and I'm looking forward to the remaining books in the sequence: the darkness is definitely gathering.

One final note: I was struck by the sheer numbers of characters here who either tried to become doctors and failed, or turned to the bad in one way or another: apart from Kristín herself whose career is successful, but whose family life has collapsed, we meet a would-be doctor who crashed and burned, eventually turning to petty crime; a doctor who killed patients under the influence of drink and now lives in hiding, a psychologist who has abandoned that career for another.... there's also a certain dentist. I can't help feeling that for a population the size of Iceland's this is an awful lot of doctors!

Blogtour review: Nightblind by Ragnar Jónasson

Nightblind
Ragnar Jónasson (translated by Quentin Bates)
Orenda Books, 2016
PB, 215pp

I'm grateful to Karen at Orenda Books for a copy of the book. This review is part of the Nightblind blog tour - see below for details of other reviews.

Nightblind takes place in the long dark of a near Arctic winter (the map in the front of the book shows how close the village of Siglufjörður is to the Arctic circle).

Set in a fishing village in northern Iceland, the story follows up Snowblind and features the same central characters, but five years later. Ari Thór Arason is now working for a new Police Inspector, Herjólfur, his friend Tómas having moved on - but he's about to face his greatest challenge when Herjólfur is gunned down in cold blood,  a shocking and startling event anywhere, but an unheard of one in peaceful Iceland. Naturally there is intense media interest, and pressure from the higher ups for a swift conclusion (as long as it doesn't upset anyone important).

As the investigation proceeds, the crime only acquires new layers of complexity - from iffy local politics to drug dealing, domestic violence and, interleaved with the main narrative, a first hand account by a psychiatric patient, apparently confined in hospital but subject to "treatment" that only makes their condition worse. And the unwarranted nature of the crime attracts publicity - which itself threatens some characters with unwelcome consequences from pasts they hoped to leave behind. Added to this are strains in the domestic lives of many of the main characters, especially Ari, so that the unravelling of the original crime becomes almost the least of problems.

Then the book becomes very dark indeed.

I really enjoyed this story. I hadn't read Snowblind so didn't know what to expect, but Jónasson skilfully establishes Siglufjörður (a real place) as a vivid location: through its history (repeated economic shocks from the loss of a fishing industry and the more recent financial collapse with a tentative revival based on tourism), isolation (in winter the town depends on tunnels for contact with the rest of the island: one vivid sequence describes the danger of travelling the old mountain roads) and, or course, that pervasive winter darkness. He also sketches believable characters: the petty crook, the small town mayor on the make who wants, of course, to come up smelling of roses, the woman who has lived decades with a dark secret (apologies if you think I'm overusing the word "dark" in this review - it applies to this book in so many different ways).

Add in a taut, ever moving plot which - after all the twists and turns - discloses a surprising degree of contemporary resonance and you have a book which will surely prove very popular. It's not a lengthy read but I found this refreshing compared to the normal run of somewhat bloated contemporary crime: better write 200 pages where every word counts than spin out the same material to 350 or 400.

And I should says something about the translation: while I don't know any Icelandic, Quentin Bates had produced excellent, readable English which doesn't (names apart) in any way suggest to me that the work has actually been translated

The book ends with a lyrical passage by Jónasson's father, describing the coming of Spring to Siglufjörður - the darkness is fading, and life returns to the little community. It is a beautiful and hopeful piece - despite the fact that Jónasson clearly intends to continue driving up the murder rate in his fictional version of the town!

An excellent read. I gather that the next books will now fill in that 5 year gap, and I'm looking forward to visiting Siglufjörður again soon.