Our thirst for Scandinavian gloom, death and despair remains unquenched. Ragnar Jónasson takes us to the bleak and suitably isolated town of Siglufjörđur, about as far north-west as it is possible to go in Iceland without falling into the icy waters of the Denmark Strait. Ari Thór Arason is newly graduated from police college, and he is soon up to his warmly-clad neck in a murder mystery. Two contrasting deaths – those of an aged and well respected author and of a young woman, plunge him in at the deep end of what is almost a classic locked room mystery, as Siglufjörđur is cut off from the world by geography and climate. Who is responsible for the bloodstains in the snow? Our original review is here.
