Stieg Larsson, The Girl Who Played with Fire (2006, English translation 2009)
I apologise for not listing the translator’s name – I left the book in the Paris Bercy train station so can’t check on such things. It was gripping enough, and I plan to read the third book in the trilogy; I did see the three books, in French, with much more appropriate covers than the English editions’, in a shop window in Lyon (yes, I read the book while travelling). The French title of this one translates as something like The girl who dreamed of a jar of petrol and a match.
I wish Stieg Larsson had lived to see his book through the editing process. I think they would have benefited — less repetition, perhaps, a less plodding pace. But even though I’m not as entranced by Lisbeth Salander as Stieg evidently was, this was a very good train and hotel read. A comedown after Anna Karenina, but then what wouldn’t have been?
My next blog post will be about walking in the Loire Valley.
Me fail? I fly! 