Wow. It's been a long while since I've read a thriller that really distracted my from life. This one did. It's the first of a trilogy written by a Swedish chap, Stieg Larsson, (Steeg Lar-shon) who, poor bloke, wrote the books and then died of a heart attack before they were published. He was only 49, not much older than I am. (Well, okay, I give in. Quite a bit older - years even)
This one went on to become a best seller and his family are apparently squabbling over the incoming fortunes, as we tend to do as humans.
Nevertheless, this book was completely wonderful - if you are into thrillers.
I heard a lot about it, ordered it and started reading. For about twenty pages, I was almost asleep, wondering if this was yet another book millions had thought magical, except me. But a couple of pages later, I was enthralled.
Quickly, bedtime got earlier and earlier and it was one of those books I didn't want to end. The language is superb and the character developments are beautifully done. The suspense is fingernail stuff and the plot really engages you and compels you to read on and on.
I really loved every character - and there are quite a number of them, each described beautifully. Of course, you can't help but fall in love with Salander.
I just keep thinking what a shame he died. And, once the next two books are published and I read them, what will I do?
I regret two things about reading it. First that it ended and secondly that I didn't read it during Hygge season.
