Book review(s): two Finnish crime novels

28 09 2016

Another doubled-up Scandicrime book review.

If there’s a connection here, it’s that both writers started young—they were both authors of YA novels before they’d finished their teens. (Oh, and there’s one more connection, to which I’m probably particularly attuned: as with the first pair of Swedish murder mysteries I reviewed, each of these books makes passing reference to the Moomins.)

Leena Lehtolainen is a Glass Key-nominated Finnish crime novelist whose first book, begun at the age of ten, was released when she was just twelve. She’s best known for her ‘Maria Kallio’ series of mystery novels, now numbering around a dozen titles, of which the first five have been translated into English. It’s tempting to see her protagonist Kallio as a somewhat autobiographical character—like Lehtolainen, her parents are teachers, her hometown lies close to one of the regional cities of central eastern Finland, several hundred km north of Helsinki, and (for the first few books, at least) author and character appear to match in age.


In Copper Heart (Kuparisydän, 1994, translated by Owen F Witesman), Maria Kallio has returned temporarily to her hometown Arpikylä, a small (fictional) mining town in northern Karelia, on a six-month placement as the town’s sheriff while the incumbent is on leave. Also absent from the scene is Maria’s boyfriend Antii, a mathematician completing his PhD in Chicago. Kallio is expecting that the half-year back in Arpikylä will be much less eventful than her experience within the Helsinki police force, and for the first two months of the sinecure this expectation holds true, until at the opening night for a new ‘museum of mining’ (which, it is hoped, will turn around the town’s flagging economic fortunes following the closing of its exhausted copper mines) one of Maria’s acquaintances, Meritta Flöjt, a local politician, established artist, and the sister of Maria’s erstwhile punk-bandmate Jaska Korhonen, falls to her death from the top of the mining museum’s tower. Initial indications are that the fall may well have been accidental—Meritta had been drinking earlier in the evening, and was known as something of a risk-taker—but as the investigation proceeds, it becomes clear that there are signs of foul play. Moreover, since it’s a close-knit community, there’s every likelihood that the killer is someone Kallio knows well: her former teenage crush ‘Johnny’ Miettinen, Meritta’s fellow politician and artist Matti Virtanen, acclaimed local athlete Kaisa Miettinen (Johnny’s cousin), or any of a half-dozen other suspects.

Copper Heart takes its time getting started: there’s a long opening sequence in which Lehtolainen lays out the setting and introduces us to the many characters involved. (I have to confess that I found this sequence sometimes bewilderingly crowded: it’s difficult to keep straight all of the characters, possibly because the names are somewhat confusing to unaccustomed English-speaking readers. Fortunately, there’s a dramatis personae at the front of the book, to which I found myself referring on more than one occasion.) It’s a busy novel, and sometimes feels meandering. Kallio’s somewhat confessional first-person voice is intrusive in places: depending on your preferences along the ‘tell vs. show’ continuum, the prose can pose a barrier to immersion. Nonetheless, I found myself warming to the story, as much for the detail of small-town character interplay as for the process of investigation. It helps that Kallio is a rather quirky, innately likeable protagonist. And despite its age—the book is, after all, over two decades old—it has a definitely contemporary feel, with references to Russian mafiosi, skirmishes between Finnish skinheads and Somalian refugees, and the economic difficulties experienced by districts in which primary industry has suffered a downturn. (Plus it’s hard—for me, at least—not to like any book which laments, in passing, the creeping saccharinisation that has befallen Tove Jansson’s iconic Moomin legacy. Inspector Twiggs would, I think, approve.)

Compared to Lehtolainen, the Tampere-based author, critic and translator Salla Simukka started late: her first book was not written until she was eighteen, leading to publication at age twenty-one. She has written a large number of YA novels, and has won the Topelius Prize and the Finland Prize for her writing.


As Red As Blood (Punainen kuin veri, 2013, again translated by Owen F Witesman) is the first volume in the ‘Snow White’ (or ‘Lumikki Andersson’) YA thriller trilogy. Lumikki, a student at an art-focussed senior high school in Tampere, is resourceful, smart, and quick-witted, with her strong drive for self-preservation—something acquired through bitter childhood experience, the roots of which we’re slow to learn—at odds, at times, with her fearless risk-taking. When she finds a large quantity of blood-soaked banknotes hanging up to dry in the school darkroom, she’s tempted to just not get involved … until her curiosity gets the better of her judgment, and she’s embroiled.

Simukka’s writing is vivid, sometimes playful, and Lumikki (who bears the name usually accorded, in Finnish translations of Grimm’s Fairy Tales, to ‘Snow White’) is a fascinating character, individualistic and thoughtfully intuitive. Her observations of the people around her are highly insightful, her heightened self-awareness supplies an unusual view of her surroundings, and her techniques for staying out of, or getting out of, trouble seem genuinely effective … providing one has the chutzpah to pull them off. But Limukki knows less about what she’s walking into than does the reader, and she puts herself in deadly danger.

As Red As Blood isn’t really a murder mystery: it opens with a death, that of Natalia Smirnova, who for a short time was in possession of the now-bloodstained banknotes, but we don’t have to wait long to learn who’s responsible for Natalia’s death. It’s to Simukka’s credit that she’s able to get into the minds of Lumikki’s various acquaintances and antagonists as effectively and revealingly as she is into the mindset of Lumikki herself. And, though the book is clearly intended for a young adult readership, it makes its case without any hint of condescension or compromise: it’s comfortable in its own skin, much as is Lumikki herself. All up, the book is both propulsive and thoughtful, and I’ll confess more than a passing interest in what happens next, in As White As Snow.




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