1955. Two young couples move to the uninhabited, isolated fjord of Hedinsfjörður. Their stay ends abruptly when one of the women meets her death in mysterious circumstances. The case is never solved. Fifty years later an old photograph comes to light, and it becomes clear that the couples may not have been alone on the fjord after all…
In nearby Siglufjörður, young policeman Ari Thór tries to piece together what really happened that fateful night, in a town where no one wants to know, where secrets are a way of life. He’s assisted by Ísrún, a news reporter in Reykjavik, who is investigating an increasingly chilling case of her own. Things take a sinister turn when a child goes missing in broad daylight. With a stalker on the loose, and the town of Siglufjörður in quarantine, the past might just come back to haunt them.
Jonasson is the master of atmospheric tales and this one is fabulously written.
Descriptive and seamless in its plot, the Icelandic winter chills your blood.
Ari Thor is a brilliant character and his quest to uncover the facts of a mysterious death, that may be murder, grips and excites. With most of the town suffering from sickness he has his work cut out, but in his own inimitable and distinctive style, he manages to do what he has too. He really is a colorful lead character.
Robert and Sunna, hear their front door slam, Robert investigates, knowing he locked the door and finds wet footprints leading to the bedroom where just moments before he and Sunna were making love. Sunna has lost her keys, so maybe, just maybe they were stolen.
The pace of Rupture is steady, but the intensity builds and the story didn’t go as I expected, but this in no way spoiled the journey for me.
Jonasson has a knack in making the reader work. His plots delve, weave and twist and this is why I love his books. I also have to give credit to Quentin Bates, a brilliant and adept translator, he doesn’t miss the points and gives us a marvellous read.
I’m ready for the next one Mr Jonasson.