I bought this book on sale for the Kindle back when it seemed like Norwegian crime fiction was a thing. Is it still a thing? I don't know, but it was a thing, right? Anyway, I thought it was a thing and so I bought this and in retrospect a silly number of other Karin Fossum books when they were on sale, and I remember thinking, "Boy, I hope these don't suck," as I clicked through and kept buying. Click. Click. Click.
I'm reading 52 books in 52 weeks for 2013, and I've weighted my reading list toward crime fiction and so I thought this would be a good one to work in early on: because if I liked Karin Fossum's books, I'd have something to look forward to when the next one came up on the list a month or so later. Alternately, if I didn't like, I'd have time to swap out the other books for something I would like.
Fortunately, I quite liked Don't Look Back. In fact, I can probably say I loved it. I mean, was I eager to dive back into the book whenever I had a free moment? I was. Did I feel affection toward the main characters? I did. Did I get that delicious aching tension that happens approximately two-thirds of the way through a book you're really enjoying, where you're torn between ripping through the remaining pages because you really want to know what will happen and lingering on each page so you can stay in the world of the book? I got that. So, yeah, let's say I loved Don't Look Back and give me another month or three to figure out if I'm not just flush with the pleasure of reading a very good book or not.
The review. Did you want the review? I guess that's what we do here, right? Give you the synopsis, the opinion, the telling detail, the almost-too-apt closing line?
Well, even if so, I'm going to skip the synopsis and you'll thank me for it later. Let's just say a police detective and his partner are investigating a crime in a small Norwegian town. Everyone in the town knows one another, has opinions about one another in their own semi-taciturn way. As the pair investigate, the omniscient narrator moves easily from the inside of one person's head to the next with a stylistic confidence I found exciting. (Fossum has more than one chapter start inside the head of a villager and then, as soon as the policemen are on the scene, she leaps right inside their POV.)
But once in their heads, Fossum hangs about not to plant clues for the reader but to illuminate the delicate processes of grief, loss, and shock. In a way, the book is about the reverberations left in the wake of death. A glib elevator pitch for Don't Look Back might be: it's like if Ross MacDonald had written a novelization of the Twin Peaks pilot.
Even if that allows you to guess at the contours of the plot and perhaps a certain amount of the theme, it doesn't give Fossum her due. Her work seduces you with its understated empathy for every character in the book. Even as much as I came to enjoy the interplay between kindly Inspector Sejer and his young assistant Skarre, you feel Fossum has no more affection for them than she does for all the other characters. That seems to me to be a rarity in the field of mystery fiction, where the investigator has an MVP status among the writer or (if it becomes a series) the readers, or both.
Although such maturity and poise is to be appreciated in its own right, it actually helps heighten the themes of Don't Look Back: because no character is too slight, no death goes unfelt...even as its aftershocks are impossible to predict. Don't Look Back is an enjoyable, touching, thoughtful read. I can't wait to get to the next.