The Thirst by Jo Nesbo

I must confess a certain ambivalence to Jo Nesbo's Harry Hole series that goes well beyond the rather naughty associations encouraged by the protagonist's name or the unjustified impression he creates that Norway is a country overwhelmed with mass murder and mayhem.

I first discovered Nesbo around ten years ago when two titles, The Redbreast and The Devil's Star, were first translated into English.  I was captivated by his intricate plotting, well-developed characters, astute psychological insights, plausible red herrings and wonderful turn of phrase.  There was a depth and understanding that made Nesbo my second favourite author of police procedurals, after Ian Rankin. So, whenever a new Nesbo is released in English, I immediately clear my schedule.

The most recently released title is The Thirst, the eleventh book in the series.  Harry has given up police work to teach at the Police College.  He is sober, happily married, and feeling for the first time contentment and happiness.  What could possibly go wrong? Maybe a new serial killer stalking the streets of Oslo.  The killer seems to be using the dating website Tinder and kills his victims using prosthetic iron teeth and then drinking their blood.  Harry is called in to help, initially refusing to cooperate, but then changing his mind when certain elements of the crimes seem familiar to him.  It may turn out that this is not a new killer, but one that Harry has crossed paths with in the past, one who bested Harry, the only one who got away.

The novel lives up to all I have come to expect from Nesbo: a plot with lots of twists and turns, nuanced characters with secrets in their past which may or may not relate to the killer, red herrings a plenty, generous servings of suspense, and a fluid prose style that carries you along as if you were rafting down a swift moving river.

Unfortunately, I find the novel marred by the source of my ambivalence: the violence.  I know, I know, the whole point of murder mysteries is to explore how individuals and societies respond to violence.  It is why I enjoy the genre so much.  But in recent years, the violence seems to be escalating, as if there is a competition to see how many new and depraved ways a serial killer can torture, maim or dispatch his (it usually is a his) victims.  There is also a deep vein of misogyny as the victims are usually women and the killers are often sexually motivated. I fear that Nesbo has fallen into the trap of trying to crank up the gore with each outing.

So here I sit, ambivalent: a little uncomfortable with my own guilty pleasure, unwilling to fully endorse one of my favourite authors, but still unable to turn away from the most recent "Harry Hole."

Four smileys out of five (but only if you don't object to a bit of sadism): 😀😀😀😀