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A review by dphilton
Blood on Snow by Jo Nesbø
2.0
Up front: this isn't my genre. I don't really know what to expect from a crime thriller type book. But, a friend mentioned reading a lot of Jo Nesbø so I thought I'd give him a try. I went to the library and grabbed the first audio version I saw. Books on CD still work in my 2008 Corolla. And the windows still roll down with a crank. A little window into something about me right there. A window! Anyhoo...
Also up front: the last couple of tracks were kind of skippy, so I may have missed something important. Nesbø didn't really make me care, though.
Olav is a Norwegian hit-man and he thinks he is dumb, or at least says he is. He IS dyslexic. We're supposed to be shocked and amazed when he turns out to be just as thoughtful and poetic as the author who created him, which is to say, a smidge. Olav has a soft spot for, wait for it... pretty girls. This gets him into trouble and he and the girlfriend of the son of the guy he was supposed to hit (I think I got that right) have to plan a way to hit the hitters before the hitters hit them.
Nesbø's writing is tight and terse. It makes the story go quickly and kept me mostly engaged. I think the murder thriller demands this and Nesbø delivers. That is, until the last quarter, or, as I prefer to think of it, the long, cold dying in the long cold dark Norwegian winter. You see, Olav makes a mistake that will surely lead to his death. But, what's this? He escapes! And, then he is caught and shot point-blank. But, what's this? He doesn't die! And then he is betrayed. But, what's this? Well, you get the idea.
Blood on Snow somehow brings to mind Cormac McCarthy's The Road and No Country for Old Men. Which is too bad for Nesbø as the comparison is unflattering. (See, Senator Collins, that's an appropriate use for the word unflattering!)
Also up front: the last couple of tracks were kind of skippy, so I may have missed something important. Nesbø didn't really make me care, though.
Olav is a Norwegian hit-man and he thinks he is dumb, or at least says he is. He IS dyslexic. We're supposed to be shocked and amazed when he turns out to be just as thoughtful and poetic as the author who created him, which is to say, a smidge. Olav has a soft spot for, wait for it... pretty girls. This gets him into trouble and he and the girlfriend of the son of the guy he was supposed to hit (I think I got that right) have to plan a way to hit the hitters before the hitters hit them.
Nesbø's writing is tight and terse. It makes the story go quickly and kept me mostly engaged. I think the murder thriller demands this and Nesbø delivers. That is, until the last quarter, or, as I prefer to think of it, the long, cold dying in the long cold dark Norwegian winter. You see, Olav makes a mistake that will surely lead to his death. But, what's this? He escapes! And, then he is caught and shot point-blank. But, what's this? He doesn't die! And then he is betrayed. But, what's this? Well, you get the idea.
Blood on Snow somehow brings to mind Cormac McCarthy's The Road and No Country for Old Men. Which is too bad for Nesbø as the comparison is unflattering. (See, Senator Collins, that's an appropriate use for the word unflattering!)