Icelandic thriller writer missing in Christie-inspired Nordic noir

Canadian readers are familiar with the phrase “love where the nights are long,” as coined by Irving Layton. Icelandic readers, it could be argued, might be familiar with the phrase “death where the nights are long.”

Fans of Scandinavian Noir mysteries will recognize Ragnar Jónasson for his previous Hulda series, Dark Iceland series and the novel Reykjavík, which won him international attention.

Here he continues with the second volume of a new series, and the continued maturing of young detective Helgi Reykdal.

As with the previous Death at the Sanatorium, the author’s fascination with Agatha Christie continues.

Jónasson has translated over a dozen of Christie’s mysteries into Icelandic, and since she wrote 66 books, he plans to continue.

Germane to the book in hand, once again Helgi’s recommended reading list at the start of the book includes Christie and other respected members the Golden Age of mystery writers.

This approach runs through the book, with Helgi’s search for guidance from fictional cases and an homage to his father, who owned a used bookstore and left a mystery library to his son.

This time the absence of a famous Icelandic mystery writer not only makes the heart grow fonder, but also sets several aflutter when Elin S. Jonsdottir (who wrote her novels using a pseudonym) fails to show up for her weekly get togethers with friends. (First-time readers may wish to stick with first names for all characters).

A free spirit who lives alone, at first it seems to be in character, but slowly absence becomes disappearance, and Helgi contacts friends and her publisher to flesh out her character.

Each one has a secret to protect, and their hesitancy encourages Helgi to treat the case with more urgency.

The disappearance allows Jónasson to tip his hat at the real-life disappearance of Christie, and as with an Agatha Christie mystery, surface appearances are just that. In keeping with the Scandinavian Noir approach, the language is plain and direct.

The complexity comes in the form of a device used in the first book. Each chapter heading indicates the year. That’s because two separate cases are being investigated, as Helgi seeks an answer in the present and doggedly searches for answers to a bank robbery case from decades earlier that was investigated by the detective whose office he now occupies — Hulda Hermannsdóttir (of Jónasson’s Hulda series), who suddenly retired from the force .

Along with the mysteries, readers are introduced to recognizable modern conundrums — to rent or buy, living in a rural setting or a big city, (Reykjavík now has a population of 138,000, where it once would have been comparable to Brandon), the pecking order according to income, office politics and Helgi’s love life — he now seems to be sailing on calmer waters than he was in Death at the Sanatorium with the formidable Bergthora.

As with the Golden Age mystery writers, Jónasson plays fair with his readers and adheres to the code they established — no last-page revelations, no supernatural resolutions and an ending that guarantees a third in the series.

Ron Robinson will never be the speed reader that Nick Martin must have been.