My review of this book is now up over at The Book Book.
So is another reviewer’s, as of yesterday — and we’re just following on the heels of the first, from a year ago. Clearly a book that draws reviewers like flies!
I liked the book very much although (as you can see from the review) just why sort of escapes me. You’ve got to get out of the gate fast with a grabber of an opening, we’re told, or no one will buy your crime story/mystery/thriller (and probably your collection of baby names). This one doesn’t start that way; nor, throughout, does it share the sort of propulsive arc which the vast majority of such stories have.
In a way, it’s something like being at the ocean shore, watching the waves. Those six were sort of interesting, weren’t they? And then, oh boy, here comes the seventh!…
…and then suddenly you notice the water is being drawn away from you, towards the horizon, and waaaay out there is a narrow line growing gradually thicker, and then you remember what all these symptoms mean and you think:
Holy crap, a tsunami!
At which point you start looking around frantically for an exit which, alas, does not exist.
If you think you can get used to this rhythm, absolutely give Dragon Tattoo a try. Even if you think you can’t, well, if you’re comfortable with crime stories/thrillers/mysteries/baby-name books in general, it still might be worth a look. It might catch you by surprise, as it did me.
DarcKnyt says
Interesting. I like the description you gave for the gradual build-up of tension. Tsunami. Great metaphor.
I’ll have to see if the library ’round here has this one. Thanks! :)
Froog says
Did you see this parody by Nora Ephron in the New Yorker last month?
cynth says
Since I am not and never have been a fan of violence (especially sexual violence–rape, brutality in any form), I find reading books that have this in them off putting–I usually close them upon coming upon those scenes never to be finished or peek at the ending to make sure it comes out all right. Since I read the book all the way through, even though I sort of wanted to stop at those scenes and skip to the end–I couldn’t. The action in those sequences lifts the plot along, yes, like a tsunami, only instead of being on the beach, you’re riding the wave when you realize what it’s become.
People keep asking me if I liked it. I don’t know how to answer.
marta says
I’ve read a ton of reviews on this book and a lot about the author, and nothing has persuaded me to read this book. One teacher at my school tried to teach it. That teacher quit in the middle of the term and the replacement teacher had to finish teaching the book. The class was a disaster. The students were not comfortable discussing the book in class–a mix of nationalities, ages, and religions. Maybe all the complaints I heard have turned me off.
John says
Darc: Hope you like it — will be interested to know what you think!
Froog: No, I had not seen that. Thank you for the tip; it’s hilarious! (Parody is tricky to write, because sometimes it reveals more about the writer’s shortcomings as a reader than it does about the parodied work. But Ephron manages not to cross that line.)
cynth: On not knowing if you liked it — are you looking forward to reading the sequel?
That’s very interesting, about wanting to skip the rough scenes but not being able to. I mentioned in the review that I couldn’t say if the reason those scenes “work” for me is intrinsic — because they’re expertly written as action scenes, for example — or because I was simply relieved by the long passages when relatively little happened.
marta: I can see it would be a highly polarizing book. That teacher who tried to teach it was either brave or foolish, maybe a little of both — especially given the mixed audience in the class — and my heart goes out to his/her replacement.
Tessa says
I’ve read all three and I think the first was probably the best. That said, I loved all of them – and therein lies the problem. Fact is, in my opinion, they are turgidly written, banal and downright tedious through long passages. And yet, I just could not put them down.
In the second book, for example, the girl goes to Ikea to buy furniture for her new apartment – and damned if he doesn’t name and describe every single stick of it! And yet …
I usually loath this kind of potboiler. I managed to labour through about three chapters of The DaVinci Code before tossing it, and in many ways this trilogy is no better. And yet …
It’s all Lisbeth Salandar’s fault. She’s such a compelling character that she makes up for the rest of it.