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Inspector Erlunder has spent his career evading the phantoms of his past, and now he finds himself twice haunted—first, at a séance attended by the victim of a suspicious suicide, and again by the puzzle of two young people who went missing thirty years ago. There’s also the ghost of the detective’s disastrous marriage—which, despite the pleas of his drug-addled daughter, Erlendur refuses to confront. And there's his lingering obsession with the case of his beloved younger brother, who vanished without a trace when they were boys. Erlendur can run from his ghosts for only so long, and when they finally catch up with him, he is forced to face the devastating truth of his tormented past.
A brilliant novel of suspense from Iceland's frigid shores, Hypothermia is Scandinavian crime fiction at its best.
A suicide reminds a veteran inspector of previous sad cases—and of ghosts from his own past.
María, a historian, is found hanged in her country cottage by her childhood friend Karen, with whom she'd planned a getaway weekend. María's husband Baldvin, a doctor, is equally distraught by her death. Though his wife showed no signs of depression, flashbacks from her perspective tell a different story. Not only was she melancholy since the death of her beloved mother Leonóra a couple of years ago, she had an intense interest in the afterlife and was consulting with psychics. While not questioning the coroner's conclusion of suicide, grim Inspector Erlendur (Arctic Chill,2009, etc.) is bothered by several details of the case, not least Baldvin's decision to have María cremated. For many years, an elderly man named Tryggvi has periodically visited Erlendur for news of his son, a university student who vanished one evening. In light of María's death, Erlendur feels compelled to reexamine this case and a handful of others more carefully. At length, he discovers some surprising and significant details. At the prompting of his daughter Eva Lind, clean after years of drug abuse, he agrees to a meeting with his ex-wife and offers a deeply felt account of the childhood death of his younger brother, an incident that has indelibly shadowed his life for decades.
Though series fans may miss sidekicks Elinborg and Sigurdur Oli, relegated to minor roles, they'll welcome another haunting mystery from the Gold Dagger Award winner, whose work transcends genre.
“Indridason fills the void that remains after you're read Stieg Larsson's novels.”—USA Today
“A superb series . . . expertly handled.”—Chicago Sun-Times
“Indridason shifts smoothly from the personal to the procedural. Everything's in balance, cliches are nonexistent, the plot and pacing are irresistible, the resolution just right. . . . What's Icelandic for 'we have ourselves a winner'?”—Newsday
“Every one of these writers is good [Hakan Nesser, Kjell Eriksson, Ake Edwardson, Helene Tursten, Karin Fossum], but in my book, Arnaldur Indridason is even better.”—Joe Queenan, Los Angeles Times
“Indridason combines psychological acuteness with great stylistic economy and a pleasing pace.”—The Independent (London)
“Haunting and compelling, this novel has an intense personal quality that keeps you reading.”—The Oklahoman
Praise for the Inspector Erlendur series:
“The best new series I’ve read this year. Arnaldur Indridason is already an international literary phenom—and it's easy to see why. His novels are gripping, authentic, haunting and lyrical. I can't wait for the next.”—Harlan Coben
“Arnaldur Indridason is a writer of astonishing gravitas and talent.”—John Lescroart
“No wonder Arnaldur Indridason won so many awards. He's a great storyteller, and American readers will overwhelmingly agree.”—C.J. Box, Anthony Award winning author of Blue Heaven
“Excellent . . . compelling . . . the denouement of this astonishingly vivid and subtle novel is unexpected and immensely satisfying.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Classic mystery fiction, both compassionate and thrilling. Indridason is one of the brightest stars in the the genre's dark skies.”—John Connolly
“Remarkable . . . another top-notch story from Indridason, its lyrical melancholy matched by the depth of its characterizations.”—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
“Dark, haunting . . . touched me in a way that few mystery novels do.”—Hallie Ephron, The Boston Globe
“A wonderfully storyteller. It's impossible to put the book down once you begin reading.”—The Globe and Mail
“Fans of mystery in general and Henning Mankell and Karin Fossum can only exult.”—Library Journal (starred review)
“Indridason has definitely vaulted onto the A-list of Scandinavian crime authors.”—Booklist
HYPOTHERMIA 1
The emergency line received a call from a mobile phone shortly after midnight. An agitated female voice cried:
‘She’s…María’s killed herself…I…it’s horrible…horrible!’
‘What’s your name, please?’
‘Ka – Karen.’
‘Where are you calling from?’ the emergency operator asked.
‘I’m at…it’s…her holiday cottage…’
‘Where? Where is it?’
‘…At Lake Thingvallavatn. At…at her holiday cottage. Please hurry…I…I’ll be here…’
Karen thought she would never find the cottage. It had been a long time, nearly four years, since her last visit. María had given her detailed directions just to be on the safe side, but they had more or less gone in one ear and out the other because Karen had assumed she would remember the way.
It was past eight in the evening and pitch dark by the time she left Reykjavík. She drove over Mosfellsheidi moor where there was little traffic, just the odd pair of headlights passing by on their way to town. Only one other car was travelling east and she hung on its red rear lights, grateful for the company. She didn’t like driving alone in the dark and would have set off earlier if she hadn’t been held up. She worked in the public-relations department of a large bank and it had seemed as if the meetings and phone calls would never let up.
Karen was aware of the mountain Grímannsfell to her right, although she couldn’t see it, and Skálafell to her left. Next she drove past the turning to Vindáshlíd where she had once spent a two-week summer holiday as a child. She followed the red tail lights at a comfortable speed until they drove down through the Kerlingarhraun lava field, and there their ways parted. The red lights accelerated and disappeared into the darkness. She wondered if they were heading for the pass at Uxahryggir and north over the Kaldidalur mountain road. She had often taken that route herself. It was a beautiful drive down the Lundarreykjadalur valley to Borgarfjördur fjord. The memory of a lovely summer’s day once spent at Lake Sandkluftavatn came back to her.
Karen herself turned right and drove on into the blackness of the Thingvellir national park. She had difficulty identifying the landmarks in the gloom. Should she have turned off sooner? Was this the right turning down to the lake? Or was it the next? Had she come too far?
Twice she went wrong and had to turn round. It was a Thursday evening and most of the cottages were empty. She had brought along a supply of food and reading material, and María had told her that they had recently installed a television in the cottage. But Karen’s main intention was to try to sleep, to get some rest. The bank was like a madhouse after the recent abortive takeover. She had reached the point where she could no longer make any sense of the infighting between the different factions among the major shareholders. Press releases were issued at two-hourly intervals and, to make matters worse, it transpired that a severance payment of a hundred million krónur had been promised to one of the bank’s partners, someone whom a particular faction wanted to fire. The board had succeeded in stirring up public outrage, and it was Karen’s job to smooth things over. It had been like this for weeks now and she was at the end of her tether by the time it occurred to her to escape from town. María had often offered to lend her the cottage for a few days, so Karen decided to give her a call. ‘Of course,’ María had said at once.
Karen made her way slowly along a primitive track through low-growing scrub until her headlights lit up the cottage down by the water. María had given her a key and told her where they kept a spare. It was sometimes useful to have an extra key hidden at the cottage.
She was looking forward to waking up tomorrow morning amidst the autumn colours of Thingvellir. For as long as she could remember people had flocked to the national park in the autumn, since few places in the country could boast such a brilliant display of colour as here by the lake where the rust-red and orange shades of the dying leaves extended as far as the eye could see.
She started to ferry her luggage from the car to the sun deck beside the door. Then, putting the key in the lock, she opened the door and groped for the light switch. The light came on in the hallway leading to the kitchen and she took her little suitcase inside and placed it in the master bedroom. To her surprise, the bed was unmade. That was not like María. A towel was lying on the floor of the lavatory. When she turned on the light in the kitchen she became aware of a strange presence. Although she was not afraid of the dark, she felt a sudden sensation of physical unease. The living room was in darkness. By daylight there was a superb view of the lake from its windows.
Karen turned on the living-room light.
Four solid beams extended across the ceiling, and from one of them a body was hanging, its back turned to her.
Shock sent her crashing back against the wall and her head slammed into the wood panelling. Everything went black. The body hung from the beam by a thin blue cord, mirrored in the dark living-room window. She didn’t know how long it was before she dared to inch closer. The tranquil surroundings of the lake had in an instant been converted into the setting for a horror story that she would never forget. Every detail was etched on her memory. The kitchen stool, out of place in the minimalist living room, lying on its side under the body; the blue of the rope; the reflection in the window; the darkness of Thingvellir; the motionless human body suspended from the beam.
Karen approached cautiously and caught sight of the swollen blue face. Her ghastly suspicion proved correct. It was her friend María.
Copyright © 2007 by Arnaldur Indridason. English translation copyright © 2009 by Victoria Cribb. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
macabr
Posted October 2, 2010
The atmosphere of HYPOTHERMIA is cold. The weather is cold and so are many of the characters, cold to the needs and the fears of those who trust them.
Maria is devastated by her mother's death. Leonora had been dying for two years, slowly being consumed by cancer. Maria is married to Baldvin, a doctor, but it is the relationship with her mother that has determined her life. Since her father's death when Maria was ten, Leonora has protected her daughter from all danger and over-protected so that Maria was afraid to move beyond the boundaries established by Leonora. Not deeply involved in this life, she is obsessed by the next one.
Inspector Erlendur is given the task of meeting with Baldvin after he has been notified of his wife's death. The doctor maintains there was nothing in his wife's behavior or attitude that suggested that she was contemplating suicide. He acknowledges that Maria was still consumed by her mother's death but he thought she was improving. But Erlendur is approached by Maria's best friend, Karen, the woman who found the body at the summer cottage. She gives Erlendur a tape that was made during a seance and she tells the inspector that Maria believed in dreams and that Leonora was going to send her a sign if there was, indeed, life in the next world.
The old man was back to see Erlendur, a visit he has made, first with his wife, for nearly thirty years. His son, David, had disappeared without a trace but the old man is convinced beyond question that he did not commit suicide. Erlendur has kept the case open for the sake of the father; now the old man tells Erlendur that this will be his last visit. He is dying and is living in a nursing home and he is resigned to dying without ever knowing what happened to his son.
A woman disappeared at the same time as David. The woman, Gudrun, was a student who disappeared while her parents were traveling in China and Japan. Reliable phone contact wasn't a given and calls over such a long distance had to be booked in advance. They didn't realize their daughter was missing until they returned to Europe, two months after Gudrun had last been seen. They blamed themselves for being out of touch but they, too, insisted that she would never have committed suicide.
Erlendur has no reasonsable excuse for continuing to investigate Maria's suicide. He has no reasonable expectation of being able to solve the missing persons cases after nearly thirty years, but Erlendur is compelled to keep searching just as he his compelled to continue searching for his brother, lost in a blizzard when Erlendur was ten and his brother only eight. He has always felt guilty that he survived and his brother did not.
Erlendur is surrounded by ghosts. Maria, her father, Magnus, her mother, Leonora, David, Gudrun, the man lost in the blizzard and his brother, Bergur.
Indridason is a master of psychological manipulation. It is the characters that move the story, not the events. His characters are perfectly normal and, sometimes, perfectly evil.
4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.Inspector Erlunder is a sad and solitary man. He's haunted by the ghosts of unsolved crimes as well as the long ago disappearance of his brother and his failed marriage. He's hounded by his troubled daughter and son to try to rekindle a relationship with his ex-wife, something neither of them wants.
Amidst all of his personal angst, he's currently investigating the suspected suicide of a young woman while still puzzling over two young people who went missing over 30 years ago. Slowly and methodically, Erlunder unfolds a sinister plot surrounding the young woman's death, as well as fitting together the pieces of the puzzle of the thirty year disappearance.
HYPOTHERMIA is a quiet mystery. Without pages filled with blood and gore, the focus is on Indridason's characters and Indridason intricately weaves Erlunder's own story into the cases he's trying to solve in this chilly Icelandic suspense novel. Lynn Kimmerle
2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.
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Posted July 5, 2012
Loved this book...it's an old fashioned murder mystery, Nordic style.
Past and present are woven seamlessly to create a whodunit with plenty
of twists and turns and a mystical feel. Can't wait to read the others in the series!
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted March 14, 2012
I read this in 2 days... it's one of those books you literally can't put down... I even carried it to my appointments so I could fine a few minutes to keep reading it...
Treat yourself....
Hypothermia stay true to the cold feeling of this series. The mystery in this book didn't captivate me as thoroughly as some of the others in the series. Nevertheless, the weaving of two mysteries into one was phenomenal and in the end left me with great anticipation for the next. At this point I will probably read anything Mr. Indridason puts out.
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Posted October 7, 2011
I love Inspector Erlunder. Can't wait for the next book (in paperback).
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Posted September 25, 2011
Really atmospheric, difficult, dark- if you like Henning Mankell, or any of the other Scandinavian writers like Jo Nesbo this will really appeal to you.
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Posted January 4, 2011
Started reading it and couldn't put it down!! Really liked it,but there could've been more to the ending.
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Posted October 10, 2010
What the overview has to do with the story is the real mystery!
0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.Indridason is one of my favorite authors and I wish that his books were available on the nook. Make sure to read the review from Publisher Weekly because the synopsis for this book is for the wrong book. The description under the synopsis if for the book "The Drainage Lake" by the same author and is also quite good.
0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted June 26, 2010
Love his books. Want it on nook!
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Posted June 5, 2011
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Overview
Inspector Erlunder has spent his career evading the phantoms of his past, and now he finds himself twice haunted—first, at a séance attended by the victim of a suspicious suicide, and again by the puzzle of two young people who went missing thirty years ago. There’s also the ghost of the detective’s disastrous marriage—which, despite the pleas of his drug-addled daughter, Erlendur refuses to confront. And there's his lingering obsession with the case of his beloved younger brother, who vanished without a ...