Book review: Buried Lies, by Kristina Ohlsson

8 07 2017

Kristina Ohlsson is a Swedish security analyst and author. In English translation, she’s probably best known for her ‘Fredrika Bergman’ series of police procedurals which now runs to six titles (the first five of which have been translated): I’ve previously reviewed the third book in this series, The Disappeared, here. She has also written several children’s novels as well as nonfiction books.


Buried Lies (Lotus Blues, 2014, translated by Neil Smith) starts when Bobby, brother of the late Sara Tell, visits lawyer Martin Benner on a quest to clear his sister’s name. Sara died by jumping off a bridge, shortly before her trial date for a series of five self-confessed murders  across the US and Sweden. The evidence of Sara’s guilt appears unquestionable—not least the fact that she admitted to the murders herself, shortly after emailing police to reveal where in her house she had hidden mementos of the crimes—but Bobby seems genuine in his belief that his sister was innocent, and must have been framed. Against his better judgement, Martin starts an informal, after-hours investigation of the case surrounding the woman known to the media as ‘Sara Texas’. He’s assisted, against her better judgement, by his (former romantic, now legal) partner Lucy, but it gradually becomes clear they’ve gone deep into something much darker than they had expected.

This is a densely-plotted book, with so many fakes and feints that it becomes very difficult to keep track of the current version of reality as Martin understands it. I have to say that, all up, Martin isn’t a particularly appealing character—an arrogant, manipulative womaniser—and one has difficulty in seeing what Lucy ever saw in him, unless she has a fetishistic attraction to alpha-male cads. I also found myself irked by the ‘framing device’ used in the book: each of the novel’s seven sections is preceded by an after-the-fact transcript of an interview between Martin and a freelance journalist. The brief segments of transcript were, in my opinion, rather self-spoilerish and did not, in my opinion, add anything of substance to the narrative. However, this may merely be a device with which Ohlsson is familiar and comfortable: I seem to recollect that the other novel of hers which I’ve read, The Disappeared, also incorporated such material at intervals throughout the book.

Buried Lies isn’t exactly my preferred style of Swedish crime fiction: it’s a bit too high-contrast, high-octane, high-stakes, straying at times into airport-thriller territory. There’s a degree of unnecessary monologuing, and one finds oneself wondering, at times, just why certain people are bothering to self-incriminate by answering Martin’s seemingly-innumerable questions. But it’s also undeniably well-constructed and well-paced, and sets up the series very well for the next instalment.


Book review(s): another two Swedish murder mysteries

28 06 2016

This shows disconcerting signs of becoming a habit. But no matter …

I could, I suppose, establish the parallels between the two books under review here, much as I did for Lifetime and The Savage Altar last time around. But aside from a mutilated female victim, a not-exactly-by-the-book police investigation of the crime, a multiple-protagonist narrative and a solidly Swedish setting, there’s not a lot in common between these two books. No offhand Moomin references in these ones, either (although a reclusive, internationally-known retired children’s writer—that’s a retired writer for children, not a writer for retired children—does feature as a significant supporting character in The Disappeared).


The Ice Princess is the first novel by Camilla Läckberg (Isprinsessan, 2004, translated by Stephen T Murray), and introduces the crime-solving duo of Erica Falck, writer, and Patrik Hedstrom, detective, a pairing that has since been reprised in several subsequent books by Läckberg. The action in The Ice Princess is largely set in the western Swedish coastal fishing-village-turned-tourist-destination of Fjällbacka, and opens with the discovery of the body of Erica’s former close friend Alexandra Wijkner, a well-connected art gallery director, in a tub of frozen, blood-infused bathwater in the house Wijkner had been using as a weekend retreat. Alex’s wrists had been slashed, but there’s no suicide note; and if no-one knows of a reason why Alex should have taken her own life, nor are there any apparent motives for murder … until Erica starts looking closely into Alex’s past, and its interrelationship with her own.

This is a busy novel, full of clearly-delineated characters, many of whom get a guernsey as occasional ‘viewpoint characters’ within the narrative, though Falck and Hedstrom are the chief protagonists. It’s also a novel which is in no hurry to concentrate on the crime: there’s a lot of backstory, a lot of inner life, a lot of character exploration, all of which adds useful depth and promotes our investment in the protags. In particular, Erica’s frustration with her sister Anna’s ongoing subservience to a domineering husband (who has ambitions to force the sale of Erica’s and Anna’s deceased parents’ house, largely for his own monetary gain) is a useful additional facet to a finely-chiselled story. Läckberg does a nice line in blending the engagingly mundane with the grotesque, and only occasionally slips into the territory of two-dimensionality (most notably, I felt, with her uncharacteristically blunt portrayal of Patrik’s bumbling, self-important boss). The motive which ultimately emerges from the frozen bathwater is appropriately unsettling and logically coherent, and Erica and Patrik are a combination worth exploring further.


Kristina Ohlsson‘s The Disappeared (Änglavakter, 2001, translated by Marlaine Delargy; the Swedish title translates to ‘Guardian Angels’) is the third in Ohlsson’s ‘Fredrika Bergman’ series, in which the protagonist is an investigative analyst working with the Stockholm police. It opens, naturally enough, with the discovery of a body—or of most of a body; for, whoever the young woman was, the absence of her head and hands preclude rapid identification. It transpires soon enough, though, that the body which has for two years awaited its exhumation from a stand of trees on the outskirts of the Stockholm suburb of Midsommarkransen is that of Rebecca Trolle, a student at Uppsala whose disappearance has been the subject of a continuing investigation led by Fredrika’s police supervisor Alex Recht. The discovery of Rebecca’s body breathes—I hope you will pardon the expression—new life into the investigation, and Fredrika, keen to return to work after parental leave, is brought onto the team; but after two years the police are still unable to determine any motive for Trolle’s brutal slaying, and when, finally, the clues do start to emerge, they point in a direction which places Bergman in a highly conflicted predicament. Who can she trust?

Of the four Swedish crime novels I’ve read over the past two months, The Disappeared is the most solidly identifiable as a ‘police procedural’, principally because its main viewpoint characters—Bergman, Recht, and their colleague Peder Rydh—are all involved with the police investigation. Perhaps because of this, it has a flavour of methodicality, and sometimes seems to repeat itself, as an item of information is first revealed to one team member, and then to another. Nonetheless, it’s impressively detailed (as dead end after dead end is explored and rejected, while Bergman’s home life is thrown into turmoil), and the human elements in its various story arcs are sympathetically and effectively rendered. And the murders—for it soon becomes apparent that Trolle’s is not the only body among the Midsommarkransen trees—are satisfyingly opaque, if ultimately comprehensible.