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A review by karlou
Winterkill by Ragnar Jónasson
5.0
I was later coming to Ragnar Jónasson's Dark Iceland series which meant I was able to read the first five novels in the same year. It seemed as though Whiteout would be the final book but, much to my joy, Ragnar has been persuaded to bring back Ari Thór Arason for one more story.
Seven years have passed since Ari Thór first arrived in Siglufjörður and in some ways he's a very different man. He's now the Inspector and contrary to the previous novels where he was mentored by the patient, understanding Tómas, he now has a younger officer working beneath him. However, he hasn't developed the same sort of rapport with Ögmundur and leads a rather lonely, solitary life since being separated from his girlfriend, Kristin and three-year-old son.
He isn't affected as badly by claustrophobia during the long, dark winter nights and has learned to accept and perhaps even embrace the frequently inclement weather conditions. Nevertheless he is in the odd position of still feeling that he will always be somewhat of an outsider, while also recognising that he has been accepted by many of his fellow Siglufjörður residents. Ari Thór could never be considered an open book, he is an inherently reserved man but Winterkill gives us a fascinating glimpse into his mind, revealing his various thoughts, particularly his worries about his relationship with his son and his dilemmas regarding the direction of his career and where he wants to end up living. In some ways, he has grown to think of Siglufjörður as home and has even become resistant to change in the town; the building of a new tunnel has reduced the risk of the town being cut off from the world during the harshest winter months and the new wave of prosperity following the financial crisis means there has been an influx of visitors from all over the world. He might still be considering a move back to Reykjavik but when he grumbles to himself about the constant upheaval and the Easter tourists, he sounds more like a local than perhaps he is aware.
Siglufjörður remains a safe place to live and so it's perhaps not surprising that Ari Thór should be so affected by the discovery of a young woman who has fallen, jumped or been pushed to her death. There is little violence in Winterkill with Unnur's death occurring off the page but although Ari Thór betrays no outward sign of emotion, the sparse power of Ragnar Jónasson's prose leaves readers left in little doubt that sight is horrific. He suspects the cause of death is probably suicide but ever meticulous, almost single-handedly conducts the investigation, despite it meaning he misses out on precious time with Kristin and Stefnir. He is reunited with his old flame, Ugla when she comes to him, concerned that an old man who lives in the care home she works in may know something about the death, as he has written 'She was murdered' over and again on his bedroom walls. However, he is suffering from end-stage dementia and is therefore not a reliable enough witness to base an entire case around. As the book progresses, it seems that almost everybody could be a suspect as they all seem so reluctant to divulge the truth. Winterkill is not a graphic action-packed novel but it is undeniably suspenseful - a blizzard hits town causing a power cut and the frigid darkness corresponds to the chilling tone of the investigation which takes a bleak turn as the dreadful truth behind what really led to Unnur's tragic death is finally revealed.
There is something about Ragnar Jonasson's writing which is so immersive, I lose all track of time when I'm reading his books and Winterkill is no exception. David Warriner's excellent translation perfectly captures the rhythm and tone of the original, meaning it flows effortlessly throughout. There is such a timeless quality to Winterkill yet it is still utterly contemporary. Elegant, melancholy and poignant, this exquisitely atmospheric book is almost certainly the final Dark Iceland novel and although I'll always leave a light on for Ari Thor's return, it is a moving, fitting conclusion to this exceptional series.
Seven years have passed since Ari Thór first arrived in Siglufjörður and in some ways he's a very different man. He's now the Inspector and contrary to the previous novels where he was mentored by the patient, understanding Tómas, he now has a younger officer working beneath him. However, he hasn't developed the same sort of rapport with Ögmundur and leads a rather lonely, solitary life since being separated from his girlfriend, Kristin and three-year-old son.
He isn't affected as badly by claustrophobia during the long, dark winter nights and has learned to accept and perhaps even embrace the frequently inclement weather conditions. Nevertheless he is in the odd position of still feeling that he will always be somewhat of an outsider, while also recognising that he has been accepted by many of his fellow Siglufjörður residents. Ari Thór could never be considered an open book, he is an inherently reserved man but Winterkill gives us a fascinating glimpse into his mind, revealing his various thoughts, particularly his worries about his relationship with his son and his dilemmas regarding the direction of his career and where he wants to end up living. In some ways, he has grown to think of Siglufjörður as home and has even become resistant to change in the town; the building of a new tunnel has reduced the risk of the town being cut off from the world during the harshest winter months and the new wave of prosperity following the financial crisis means there has been an influx of visitors from all over the world. He might still be considering a move back to Reykjavik but when he grumbles to himself about the constant upheaval and the Easter tourists, he sounds more like a local than perhaps he is aware.
Siglufjörður remains a safe place to live and so it's perhaps not surprising that Ari Thór should be so affected by the discovery of a young woman who has fallen, jumped or been pushed to her death. There is little violence in Winterkill with Unnur's death occurring off the page but although Ari Thór betrays no outward sign of emotion, the sparse power of Ragnar Jónasson's prose leaves readers left in little doubt that sight is horrific. He suspects the cause of death is probably suicide but ever meticulous, almost single-handedly conducts the investigation, despite it meaning he misses out on precious time with Kristin and Stefnir. He is reunited with his old flame, Ugla when she comes to him, concerned that an old man who lives in the care home she works in may know something about the death, as he has written 'She was murdered' over and again on his bedroom walls. However, he is suffering from end-stage dementia and is therefore not a reliable enough witness to base an entire case around. As the book progresses, it seems that almost everybody could be a suspect as they all seem so reluctant to divulge the truth. Winterkill is not a graphic action-packed novel but it is undeniably suspenseful - a blizzard hits town causing a power cut and the frigid darkness corresponds to the chilling tone of the investigation which takes a bleak turn as the dreadful truth behind what really led to Unnur's tragic death is finally revealed.
There is something about Ragnar Jonasson's writing which is so immersive, I lose all track of time when I'm reading his books and Winterkill is no exception. David Warriner's excellent translation perfectly captures the rhythm and tone of the original, meaning it flows effortlessly throughout. There is such a timeless quality to Winterkill yet it is still utterly contemporary. Elegant, melancholy and poignant, this exquisitely atmospheric book is almost certainly the final Dark Iceland novel and although I'll always leave a light on for Ari Thor's return, it is a moving, fitting conclusion to this exceptional series.