Knife, Jo Nesbo

I’ve been a fan of Jo Nesbo from the early days of The Bat, Cockroaches and The Redbreast. I loved his gritty, raw style – so different from some of the more anodyne British and American authors (with a few notable exceptions, of course). His peak, for me, came with The Snowman and The Leopard, both of which I am happy to re-read at any time. With a first reading of Knife, however, I fear we may have reached the end of the road.

Hole’s wife, Rakel, gets killed in the first few chapters and. predictably, he descends into a miasma of drink and bad decisions. It’s all getting a bit old and I’m not sure how many more books he can stagger through without succumbing to liver disease. However, he manages to stumble and stagger through an inordinate number of red herrings and suspects before finally solving the crime. A sub-plot runs alongside the main one, which Harry mucks up and ignores before ‘brilliantly ‘ tying it into the final resolution.

For reasons I cannot fathom, the afore-mentioned suspects each have an interminable backstory which goes on for pages until the original plot has been all but forgotten. There are quite a few lengthy discourses on technicalities and practicalities which scream, “Look at all the research I did”. For the first time ever, I found myself skipping pages in a Nesbo novel.

There were flashes of Nesbo’s brilliance but they were too few and too far between. The unrelenting misery of Hole’s life, along with over-writing and, quite frankly, convoluted and unrealistic plotting nearly led me to giving up. After enduring the risible ending, I wished I had.

Sadly, another favourite author bites the dust.

We need to talk, Kris

The old Silver Tongued Devil himself

Kris Kristofferson has been my favourite singer / poet / writer for most of my adult life. His songs are often whispering along in the background while I’m writing or working on my photographs. I know all the words – they’ve become background noise. Today, though, the words to When I Loved Her began to register in a way they never did before. Kris ends the song with the words, “And I’ll never understand … why I lost her”. So, I thought I ought to help him out.

Well, she didn’t look as pretty as some others I have known
You just called her ugly or, at best, plain
And she wasn’t good at conversation when we were alone
You mean she was boring or you just didn’t listen?
But she had a way of making me believe that I belonged
So she stroked your ego?
And it felt like coming home … when I found her
Were you missng your mother?

‘Cause she seemed to be so proud of me just walking holding hands
It was nice basking in her admiration
And she didn’t think that money was the measure of a man
Didn’t have to buy her presents or take her out
And we seemed to fit together when I held her in my arms
That’s nice, particularly as she was so undemanding
And it left me feeling warm … when I loved her

‘Cause she brightened up the day like the early morning sun
Always agreed with you, made breakfast?
And she made what I was doing seem worthwhile
Praised your work, bigged you up
It’s the closest thing to living that I guess I’ve ever known
Yup, you really had it made
And it made me want to smile … when I loved her

I know some of us were born to cast our fortune to the winds
Is this where you do something for her?
And I guess I’m bound to travel down a road that never ends
No, we’re still talking about you
But I know I’ll never look upon the likes of her again
Why on earth would she leave, oh wait ….
And I’ll never understand … why I lost her

Found and Lost, like something from the Lost Property Office; never once mentioned by name; only referred to as an appendage to Kris. She didn’t get lost, she ran for the hills.