Recent Reads: October 1
Middle grade Swedish historical, a handful of adult mysteries
“I’m an orphanage kid,” she says. “And a girl besides. Anyone can do whatever they like with me—like you, right now. I work at a bar full of drunks who threaten to cut off my ears. You talked about corpses packed top-to-toe in the paupers’ cemetery at Stanstull. Where do you think I’d end up if anything happened to me? There would be no investigation. I’d be tossed into an unmarked grave like a dog. I have to pay attention to detail all the time because my life depends on it.”
—The Night Raven, by Johan Rundberg
The Night Raven, by Johan Rundberg
Translated from Swedish by A.A. Prime
Stockholm, 1880. Twelve-year-old Mika has lived in the orphanage for almost her entire life—for as long back as she can remember, at any rate. She helps keep an eye on the younger ones, and as she’s too old to start school—and she already taught herself how to read, so what’s the point?—she also works at a nearby bar.
Late one night, a squirrelly, frightened boy comes to the orphanage door to surrender an infant, and while doing so, ominously says, “The Dark Angel knows I’m the one who took her.” Mika can’t get any more information out of him, but she also notices a tall, thin figure observing them.
The next day, she goes with Amelia, the mistress of the orphanage, to the local police station to report the baby’s delivery—and Mika’s eye for detail attracts the attention of Detective Valdemar Hoff. Before she knows it, she’s been pulled into an investigation involving not only a murder, but a murder that looks like the work of a serial killer who—according to local government—was executed some time back.
Friends, this one is dark. Mika lives in a constant state of food insecurity, is worried about literally freezing to death if the orphanage is unable to purchase more firewood. On top of that, she’s always trying to protect the younger kids from that fear and pressure—she’s dealing with very adult problems as a twelve-year-old. And then there are the emotions that come of living under that weight—despair, anger—and feelings of abandonment and an untetheredness that comes from not knowing her own family history.
There is literally a passage where she thinks about what the moment of death might feel like; someone gives her a gift and it’s a pair of brass knuckles; when she finally has the first good meal she’s had in forever, her body can’t handle it and she throws it all up.
And that’s what she’s dealing with without even considering the whole serial killer business. When Hoff rips into her for doing something risky, she responds:
“No family ever wanted me, and now it’s too late. I’ll be serving beer to drunks at the Chapel until someone follows through on their threat and cuts me up for real. Or I’ll die when the firewood runs out, if not this winter then the next. The Night Raven murdered a child. Next time it might be someone from the orphanage. If I can help him, I’ll have done something with my life, even if I’m risking death.”
Somehow, though, it’s dark, but it’s not oppressive. More than that, I found it strangely… delightful? Mika is so stubborn, so angry, and so clear-eyed about the bullshit of her situation—she recognizes that the system is unfair, and never shifts into self-blame mode—that even as her life is threatened from pretty much every direction, she just keeps stomping forward. Often grimly stomping, but stomping nonetheless.
I am dying to read the rest of the series—I’d have been all in anyway, but towards the very end, Rundberg introduced an army of street children and it gave me the exact heart-bursty feeling that I get from Spot Conlon swooping in to save the day, so much so that I might have gotten a little choked up.
She doesn’t stop running until she has passed Katarina Church. Her heart is racing, and she spits out a string of tears mixed with snot. But she isn’t sad; she’s furious. Furious that Tekla was right. On her own, she’s just prey, a stupid rabbit. Everyone can see it. The Priest, Constable Westerberg, the man and girl at the soap factory—every single person she has met today has treated her like dirt. Mika feels like roaring at the sky. But she doesn’t. Instead she stuffs her hands in her pockets and goes home to the orphanage.
—The Night Raven, by Johan Rundberg
In Brief: Adult Market Mysteries
The Hitchcock Hotel, by Stephanie Wrobel
College frenemies reunite for the first time in years at the invitation of the least-liked—according to him—of the group. Where will they be staying? At his very own Hitchcock-themed bed-and-breakfast! WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG???
Standard set-up: Phones disappear, characters are trapped on the property, everyone has secrets, someone dies. Is this book going to light the literary establishment on fire? No. Did I read it in one sitting? Yes.
In terms of Hitchcock references, it’s mostly standard fare—Psycho, The Birds, Rebecca—but I do want to give Wrobel a shout-out for including prominent mention of Suspicion. I recently watched that one for the first time, and GOOD LORD. Cary Grant and Joan Fontaine play a married couple; Joan begins to suspect that Cary is going to kill her. I’ve seen Cary Grant play characters I want to kick (omg Notorious), but this was the first time he genuinely filled me with dread. It’s based on a book, and while the (veryyyyyyyy dark) ending was significantly altered for the movie—depending on who’s telling the story, it sounds like Hitchcock literally died mad about the studio’s interference—but the bones of the original are still there.
The Writing Retreat, by Julia Bartz
An aspiring-but-close-to-giving-up writer wins a place in a month-long all-ladies writing retreat hosted by a feminist horror writer at her estate (yes, it’s remote, yes, it’s Gothic, yes, there are rumors that it’s haunted). The catch? Her best friend turned mortal enemy is ALSO at the retreat.
Again, we’re not setting the world on fire here, but it’s got all of the good stuff: Murder (past and present), friend/frenemy/enemy dynamics, psychosexual shenanigans, publishing industry crimes, secrets, secrets, and more secrets. Somehow super cozy AND pretty nasty, in the best possible way. I’ll be watching for more from Bartz for sure.
How to Solve Your Own Murder, by Kristen Perrin
A sentence from this book that nutshells it perfectly:
Well, if TV has taught us anything, it’s that the murder rate in small villages is disproportionately high.
Our heroine is asked to be present at a meeting about her great-aunt’s will; she and the rest of the attendees arrive to find her great-aunt dead, presumably murdered. When the will is read, it turns out that her great-aunt had expected this: Her will challenges our heroine and another relative to solve her murder before the police, winner takes all.
Easy, cozy, Midsomer Murders vibes galore. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see sequels and/or a miniseries adaptation.
Aw, HOW TO SOLVE YOUR OWN MURDER does sound like silly fun (honestly, sometimes all you want is a mystery that goes through its paces properly and doesn't... tax you) - although, what would great-aunt whosit have done if no one had killed her??? ☺ I LOVE the cover to THE NIGHT RAVEN; with the houses and silhouettes, it has Willoughby Chase vibes like wow. I sometimes ache to find another cozily Aiken-adjacent novel, but it sounds like it just might be time for a reread, until then...