lanewillson

After a couple of hundred warm up pages, building energy like a good roller coaster, the uphill clicking stopped, and The Girl Who Played with Fire began the thrilling ride that occurs when great characters are propelled by the gravity of a suspenseful plot. Then tragedy reared its ugly unbelievable head. In what could be the biggest “what the hell?” moment in modern literature, Lisbeth, Blomkvist, and even the giant, were attacked by what can only be described as Daffey Duck using the worst Acme products available to create a bad reenactment of “it was all just a dream Pam. Bobby Ewing lives”. I was strapped in, hard core clinging to the story with all my might, thinking this could be an incredibly bold move, and possibly the most exciting precipice of any novel I’ve ever read. The story doesn’t just brake, it’s pre-empted by Elmer Fudd and the Wonder Twins. Even the giant, who to this point was truly frightening, and the explanation of what made him so dangerous totally believable, is turned into a bad imitation of Hee Man, but without the believability. You don’t have to worry about this review containing spoilers, because I’m embarrassed to admit that I read the whole thing!