Wallender addresses turn sixties with terror and he has enough. As if his diabetes-hypertension cocktail aggravated by a tendency to Nordic booze was not enough, now Mankell has decided to put its commissioner forced retirement. Good alcolo Wallender gives us a last one before the high road, and basta hi artist. But the author is not a thankless and offers him a first-class burial, great art, simple and effective. A slow and insidious penetration into more qu'ennemie old who has exhausted the life his best days lets us see the worst. Fini probability calculations on the time left to live counted by decades, now you have to go to small bargaining unit, plans next year hopefully. But in fact all is not well at sixty our Commissioner realizes that he has taken the place of the father and grandfather of the same ie a seat in first class for the next wave starting to eternal retirement. What seriously depressed.
On a background of obsolete Cold War that was believed buried for ages and news of an immortal power struggles, is grafted a story almost in form, slightly late but strong, well built, with no tricks or artifice, including Yet the completion will leave a sense of unfinished business. Besides, many questions will be unanswered, not forgetting since the author makes the inventory at the end of courses as checks its list at the last moment to see if we have forgotten anything in his suitcase before leaving. On a souvenir parade came quits, the saga of our Swedish cop closes on a tired hero and the bitter taste of imperfect and poorly bloody history as an almost ordinary life entrance into oblivion. A thriller book, very black, which has enough to make a worried man, and leaves the reader in the imagination of its own end.
