I see I forgot to review the second book in Jørn Lier Horst and Thomas Enger’s new detective/journalist mystery series, starring Oslo police inspector Alexander Blix and writer Emma Ramm.
Smoke Screen opens tragically, with a bang, as a bomb goes off during Oslo’s New Year’s Eve celebration. Emma, who was left with a phobic fear of “countdowns” due to the horrific case she just finished, has gone to Oslo harbor for the midnight fireworks, just to face the big countdown involved. A tragic choice – her new boyfriend, who had come down to be with her, is killed in the explosion.
Another victim of that bombing is a woman named Patricia Semplass, who has been sought by the police for ten years, as a suspect in the kidnapping of her own daughter. Meanwhile, her husband, in prison for killing a man involved in the kidnapping, has received a photograph of a young girl in the mail. He is convinced it’s his daughter, who hasn’t been seen since the kidnapping.
Blix and Emma both get caught up in an investigation that just seems to grow more convoluted and contradictory as it goes. In the end, both their lives will be endangered, and a tragic choice will be made by the least likely person.
Smoke Screen wasn’t bad. I still don’t like this series as well as Horst’s Wisting books, but there were genuine surprises, and the attitude here remains more positive than in your general run of Scandinavian Noirs, so I give it a thumbs up.
I’ve always had a mild fascination with Hollywood and Hollywood stories. A deal showed up on Carl Reiner’s memoir, My Anecdotal Life, so I picked it up. It was an amusing book, though it won’t mean as much to younger people as it does to Boomers like me.
The son of an immigrant Jewish watchmaker, Carl Reiner took acting lessons at his brother’s suggestion, and went on to enjoy a long and successful career as a comedian, writer, and producer. He’s best known for playing second banana to Syd Caesar on Your Show of Shows, being Mel Brooks’s straight man in the 2,000 Year Old Man routines, and creating and producing the Dick Van Dyke Show. He also did Broadway plays and movies (who knew he wrote a Broadway comedy pronounced the funniest thing he ever saw by no less an authority than Grouch Marx, which died thanks to a noncommittal Times review?).
According to Reiner himself, he had a stock of show biz stories he used to tell his friends, and they encouraged him to put them in a book, and this is it. It’s not presented in chronological order (which I consider a flaw), but they’re pretty good stories, especially in the cases where you know who the participants are.
My Anecdotal Life does fail in one of the pleasures most of us look for in show business stories – it’s short on dirt. We all know today what we all suspected from the beginning, that Hollywood is a nest of vipers that even regular vipers give a wide berth. But you’d never know it from this book. Except in the cases of a couple critics, Reiner doesn’t say anything at all if he can’t say something nice. He comes off as a pretty nice guy himself.
The writing was… okay. I would have expected a funny man to be more deft with words, but I suppose a lot of it was in the presentation in the original telling.
I was a little worried about politics, as Reiner was a well-known liberal. That element was pretty scarce until the very end, where he throws in a couple chapters related to his involvement with the anti-war movement in the Vietnam years, plus a touching anecdote about meeting Pres. Clinton. But it wasn’t too bad.
Not a bad book. Minimal rough language. The book shows its age in including the occasional sentiment that wouldn’t pass muster with the politically correct crowd today, especially regarding men and women.
I think it’s fair for you to assume that you’re going to read a lot here about the Atlantic Crossing miniseries (coming to PBS Masterpiece beginning April 4), one of my proudest projects as a translator.
“I don’t think anybody knew how long lockdowns were going to happen,” [Executive Producer Susanne] Simpson said. “Atlantic Crossing” was something she’d known about for six months prior to the outbreak, but she’d never pursued it because it was a Norwegian production. “Once I was able to see the show it wasn’t a very hard decision,” she said. “Atlantic Crossing” tells the story of the relationship between Crown Princess Marta (Sofia Helin) of Sweden and Norway and President Franklin Delano Roosevelt (Kyle MacLachlan).
For some reason, my indespensible contibutions as a translator are not mentioned in the article, but it does talk about the writers, Alexander Eik and Linda May Kallestein. Linda May, I think it’s OK to tell you, is my boss. Aside from her fine screen writing, she is a top Norwegian-to-English script translator, and the person who got me into the business.
You probably don’t know about this because I’ve been so discreet on the subject, but I did a whole lot of translation on the Norwegian miniseries, Atlantic Crossing (teaser above). It’s also possible I may have mentioned that it will be broadcast for the US on PBS Masterpiece this spring.
I promised to let you know when we learned the actual broadcast date. The premiere date has been revealed at last — Sunday, April 4, 9:00 p.m. Eastern, 8:00 Central (all the rest of you are expected to do math). The official announcement is here.
Today was an eventful one by the standards of my life. I had my annual appointment with the tax preparer. It’s a new preparer this year. My old preparer died. A couple days ago. She wasn’t a robust person, but still, a shocker. (Not Covid)
I also had to do some actual physical work. It snowed overnight, and my neighbor who usually takes care of snowblowing, couldn’t, because the his snowblower broke down. And, oh yes, he has a concussion.
I am surrounded by devastation.
I was able to tell the ladies at the tax place about Atlantic Crossing, though. I doubt it makes up for a death on staff, but it was the best I could do. Aside from paying their exorbitant fee.
I don’t like February much. Maybe April will be better.
As I never tire of telling you, I’m not a huge fan of Scandinavian Noir as a literary genre. My samplings indicate that most such books ought to be classed as depressants and dispensed only with a doctor’s prescription. However, I make an exception for Jørn Lier Horst’s William Wisting novels. (I first discovered Wisting, as I also never tire of telling you, while helping to translate the Wisting TV series, now available on the Sundance Channel).
It’s been a while since a new Wisting book has been released in English, though. But I was happy to discover that author Horst has teamed up with another Norwegian mystery author, Thomas Enger, to produce a new police series, about an Oslo detective named Alexander Blix. The first book in the series is Death Deserved.
Alexander Blix is a top-notch detective, but somewhat the worse for wear. Years ago he was involved in a shooting that’s still studied at the police academy. He was exonerated, but his career has always been under a shadow. His former partner (and former friend) is now his boss.
When a legendary female long-distance runner disappears from her home, almost the only clue left behind is a race number (1) taped to the TV. Since the woman had recently published a memoir entitled, Always Number One, that number seems to have something to do with the criminal’s motives.
Over the next few days famous people start disappearing or being murdered all around the city, each of them associated with a particular number. It looks like somebody is doing a macabre countdown.
The first person on the original crime scene was a young celebrity reporter, Emma Ramm. Suddenly she’s covering her very first hard news story – and Blix can’t resist helping her out a little. He has a secret reason for this, which the reader will learn in time.
Meanwhile, Blix is dealing with having a celebrity in his own family. His daughter, of whom he has seen little since her mother left him, is currently a contestant on a big Norwegian reality show along the lines of Big Brother. And gradually he begins to suspect that the celebrity-hunting murderer may have his eye on whoever wins that show.
I liked Death Deserved, though not as much as the Wisting books. It suffered (in my opinion) from the natural defects of the criminal mastermind story – this sort of thing never happens in the real world, and gets pretty implausible as the plot works itself out.
But the final showdown was exciting and well crafted, with a certain emotional resonance that pleased me.
There’s one excursion into the world of big evangelicalism – a sequence involving a venal celebrity pastor. Not surprisingly, they don’t get the jargon right – but the man’s a plain grifter, so I suppose it doesn’t matter much. I was pleased that the translator, Anne Bruce, translated “prest” as “pastor” rather than “priest,” which is my preferred interpretation. In fact, the translation as a whole earned my coveted admiration.
I also note, with appreciation, that the translator got a thank you in the Acknowledgements (which are otherwise too long and too cute).
A very recent addition to the Netflix film lineup is the fact-based film, The Dig, about the excavation of the Sutton Hoo Anglo-Saxon ship burial beginning in 1939. This was, needless to say, of considerable interest to me. And it’s a pretty fair movie.
Ralph Fiennes plays Basil Brown, a self-taught archaeological excavator who is hired by the widowed Mrs. Edith Pretty (Carey Mulligan) to do a dig of a grave mound on her property. The nearby Ipswich Museum tries to lure Brown away to excavate some Roman ruins, but he stays on the Sutton Hoo dig, convinced that it might be Anglo-Saxon rather than Viking, a significant rarity. When Brown uncovers the distinct traces of a ship burial, the site suddenly becomes an archaeological sensation. Noted British Museum archaeologist Charles Phillips (Ken Stott) stomps in to take control, causing Brown to withdraw in offense for a time. He is drawn back, however, by Edith’s young son Robert (Archie Barnes), who sees him as a father figure. Soon progress on the dig turns into a race against time, as war approaches and all non-essential public works will have to be shut down.
The film is beautifully filmed and emotionally touching. The sense of impending death hangs over all, the idea of robbing a grave offering counterpoint to portents of the bloodbath that’s approaching for the whole country. Edith herself suffers from heart disease, and knows she hasn’t long to live (she’s portrayed as a woman in her 30s in the film, though the real Edith Pretty was in her 50s. Nicole Kidman was originally slated for the role).
Contemporary glosses are obligatory of course, especially in the case of female archaeologist Peggy Piggott (Lily James), who is portrayed, with an eye to the feminists, as a sort of insecure nerd-babe in a loveless marriage, hired solely because she’s light in weight and less likely to crush artifacts. In fact (according to Wikipedia), she was an experienced and accomplished team member. A fictional adulterous romance is invented for her (with Edith’s fictional brother Rory, played by Johnny Flynn).
The ending is slightly anticlimactic, and melancholy. It saddened me that, even in a portrayal of a more Christian England, no reference is made to Christian hope in the many conversations about death and the afterlife. The lesson of the film seems to be that we’re all part of a great chain of lives stretching back into infinity, and forward, who knows how far? No doubt that’s comforting to some people.
Good movie, and sometimes educational, though I wish they’d told us more about the Anglo-Saxons, their culture, and the artifacts. Still, recommended.
“That’s the point of dating,” she said. “To, like, get to know someone.”
“The guy’s a communications major—ironic given his lack of verbal acuity—and he barely maintains a two-point oh. Been on academic probation twice. And he had a jaywalking ticket—”
“Uh, you just butchered six dudes in an impound lot.”
“Context is everything.”
Imagine you finished reading a James Bond novel, and felt you’d been made a wiser and better person.
That’s the effect (at least for this reader) of reading Gregg Hurwitz’s Orphan X series of thrillers. It’s a pretty neat trick, one any author ought to admire.
As you may recall, our hero, Evan Smoak, has lived three lives so far. First he was an orphan in a group home, abandoned and hopeless. Then he was recruited into the government’s super-top-secret Orphan program, becoming a deadly covert assassin. Then, after extricating himself from that life, he became The Nowhere Man, living in a luxury condo in LA, answering calls for help from the desperate, saving them if he can. But as Prodigal Son begins, he’s transitioned to yet another new life. Pardoned through a special deal with no less a personage than the president of the United States, he has given up his vigilante career, and he finds himself untethered in the cosmos. He is a physically fit minimalist with OCD. His human contacts are few. There’s Joey, a 16-year-old girl he rescued from the Orphan project, who does computer hacking for him and has become a sort of surrogate daughter. There’s his neighbor Mia, the single mother of a boy who desperately wants a father figure. There’s real chemistry with Mia, but she works for the DA’s office, and has figured out she doesn’t want to know too much about his life.
Then Evan gets a call over his secure phone, from a woman who claims to be his mother. He refuses to believe it at first, but finally he goes to meet her in Buenos Aires. She wants him to save the life of a man named Andrew Duran, a man who owes money to loan sharks and is working at a city impound lot, trying to make his child support payments. Evan can’t figure out why she cares about this guy, but it’s something he can do for his mother. Of course, that means breaking his deal with the president. And it will put him in the sights of a lethal brother-sister assassin team and the richest man in the world, who has lots of high-tech military-industrial-complex toys.
The stakes keep rising, the twists and turns and setbacks escalate to impossible levels. And yet, the really compelling thing about Prodigal Son is Evan’s personal journey. Meeting his mother after all these years sets him to contemplating what it means to be human, realizing that he has to find some way to connect with humanity. And step by step, he starts doing just that. It’s touching and inspiring – and sometimes funny.
Loved this book, in spite of the slightly preposterous plot (standard in the series) and the cliff-hanger ending (to be fair, all the plot threads had been tied up, so this was more of a cliff appendix). Highly recommended. Cautions for language and violence.
I suppose I should update you on the food gifts we got for Christmas. I mean, that’s what friends do, right?
My sister-in-law sent us a remarkable ready-to-eat package of salmon, pork, beef, and reindeer from Alaska Sausage and Seafood. Jerky sticks, sausage, and smoked salmon made a few good lunches. We opened the salmon for New Year’s Eve while watching the BBC’s 1995 Pride and Prejudice. Not pretentious food, but it’s not a pretentious show either.
I may not know how to eat meat sticks. Are they just an add-on? It’s not like you can wrap a bun around one or two and call it a sandwich. No one ever calls a hotdog a sandwich but I suppose it is. Speaking of which, this tweet:
Going to start selling "writer's kits" over the Internet. Based on my current work habits, they'd consist of a small glass of Scotch, a few cubes of cheddar cheese and an Oasis mix CD (and a Twitter login?). #amwriting#milliondollaridea
Going to start selling “writer’s kits” over the Internet. Based on my current work habits, they’d consist of a small glass of Scotch, a few cubes of cheddar cheese and an Oasis mix CD (and a Twitter login?).
To which, writer Tony Woodlief replied, “Read this as ‘writer’s kilts’ and instinctively reached for my credit card.”
I also received Ghirardelli dark chocolate mint squares and a box of Andies. This has settled me on the only snacking chocolate I care to have year round. Keep your M-Ms, your Reese’s, your Cadbury eggs. I love Andies and these Ghirardelli’s are superb. I could make room for Peppermint Patties.
I gave the family a big bundle of tea from Tea For All Reasons, a company owned by an friend who took it over from her mother. I bought the Doctor Who sampler and the Jane Austen sampler. Some are delicately blended teas, others boldly satisfying. Starry Night in the Doctor Who set is honestly beautiful. It smells wonderful and looks like its name due to the cornflowers and blueberry. If you love tea and want to break away from the typical blends you find in most stores, look through the many options on this site.
I’ve got a little translating work today, which puts me behind in my reading. So instead of a book review, here’s an analysis of another kind of storytelling — a video on Buster Keaton’s comedy film techniques. I’m a huge fan of Keaton. In my world, Charlie Chaplin is nowhere.
After workmen discover a pair of mummified human fingers (female) while remodeling a country hotel, the local police begin a search for some missing person who could possibly belong to them. Meanwhile various prostitutes are disappearing, possible victims of a serial killer.
The timing could have been better for Detective Mike Nash. One of his best team members has just left on vacation (or holiday, as they say over there), and he himself is having trouble handling the absence from his life of the woman he’s fallen in love with. But he’ll need to bring his best game to handle what’s going to be the most horrific case he’s seen in his whole career.
The book is Chain Reaction, by Bill Kitson. I found that I’d already read one of the books in this series. At the time it didn’t impress me enough to continue with the next, but I found Chain Reaction quite enjoyable, after a string of disappointing reads lately. Mike Nash is a relatable cop, and the story was well told, with a nice twist at the end. Too many woman cops in the cast, as is the custom these days, but the book was good.
Recommended. The main cautions are for disturbing themes.
