James Thompson’s Snow Angels has some shit stacked against it. First off, dude’s name is James Thompson, not to be confused with legendary crime novelist Jim Thompson. Second, his debut is called Snow Angels, not to be confused with the excellent Stewart O’Nan novel and the similarly excellent David Gordon Green movie adapted from said Stewart O’Nan novel. Thirdly, it’s a Scandinavian police procedural, not to be fucking confused with a billion dry-as-shit Scandinavian crime novels that critics eat up week in week out. But I implore you, dear reader, do not be confused nor frightened by any of these factors: James Thompson may not be as good as Jim Thompson and Snow Angels may not be as good as, well, Snow Angels, but dry-as-shit this beast most certainly ain’t.
Snow Angels tells of Inspector Kari Vaara’s investigation into the murder of a Somali starlet in his quiet resort town high in the Artic Circle region of Finland. It’s near Christmas and the townspeople are well into the bleak, sunless time of year when everybody gets depressed and maybe a little crazy. But the grisly murder of gorgeous Sufia is especially insane – a crime clearly racially and sexually motivated. As the investigation gets underway, not only are connections to the famous Black Dahlia murder revealed, but also a personal connection to Vaara: a prime suspect is the common-law husband of Vaara’s estranged ex-wife.
Thompson keeps the old-fashioned dead girl investigation story fresh and lively with his strong sense of place, character, and a twisty (but not too twisty) plot. He brings you into this world of depressed, stir-crazy Laplanders with ease, dropping some great bits of lore about Somali immigrant traditions, Laestadian culture, and life in Finland in general along the way. He tells the story solely through Vaara’s perspective, giving us a character that is essentially good, but haunted by a troubled past and prone to great rage. The police procedural shit is handled deftly and in a seemingly authentic way. Much is made of how to gather forensic evidence with the limited resources available up in bum-fuck Finland, not to mention the limited personnel available during Christmas-time in a highly publicized hate crime case.
But what really keeps you cruising along is the plotting. Thompson strikes a nice balance throughout, the investigation getting ever more complex and thorny but never outlandish or hugely improbable. There’s not much in the way of shoot-outs or beat-downs or other genre staples, but each knot in the investigation will keep you reading, making you wonder just how fucked and gross this story will soon get.
And, thankfully for basement crazies like your dear Nerd who normally wouldn’t have leaped into a police procedural so willingly, the fucked-up/gross-out factor of the final reveal is very satisfying indeed.
So to boil it down for your ass, dear reader, I think James Thompson has a helluva future and a helluva series on his hands. Middle-of-the-road readers will get their “aren’t other cultures so damned fascinating fix” delivered through a smooth mystery plot and noir junkies will delight in the disturbing turns the mystery eventually takes. I mean, after all, what’s more noir than a world without sunshine?
I loved this. You got the fucking point, both about the book and the genre. Thanks.
Jim