The whisperer

Review by Booklist Review

It takes a steady hand to craft a 336-page mystery that takes place almost exclusively in an interrogation room as a Norwegian detective questions an oddly detached suspect. In Fossum's thirteenth Konrad Sejer mystery (following Hell Fire, 2016), the award-winning author proves up to the challenge posed by the restrictive setting. Ragna Riegel has confessed to a crime. The solitary shop worker relishes the safety of her cell and the chance to tell her story to the sympathetic Sejer. Though the reader does not know what crime has been committed or who from Ragna's small group of acquaintances may have been involved, we do learn that it all started with an anonymous card deposited in Ragna's mailbox that read, You are going to die. As Ragna, speaking only in a whisper, describes the events leading up to her crime, Sejer reconstructs what she says in such a way as to create another version of what happened one that Ragna does not recognize. A wonderfully tense psychological crime novel by a master storyteller.--Karen Keefe Copyright 2019 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Fossum's engrossing 13th Inspector Sejer mystery (after 2016's Hell Fire) opens quietly, with Sejer interviewing Ragna Riegel, the whisperer of the title, who's in police custody. Flashbacks tell the story of Ragna, whose vocal chords were damaged in an operation, causing her difficulty in speaking. She lives alone in the house she grew up in, works in a discount store, and has little social interaction outside work. She has a son (after a one-night stand), who has grown up and moved to Berlin, but the two have no relationship except for the occasional exchange of greeting cards. Ragna is virtually unseen and unheard-but not unhappy, until she finds an unsigned note in her mailbox that reads, "You are going to die." It's the first of several ominous messages that suggest she has committed a crime. Over the course of several interviews with a sympathetic Sejer, the nature of her crime eventually emerges. Fossum has rendered Ragna's plight with great precision and empathy in this acute psychological study of loneliness and grief. Fans of more nuanced Scandinavian crime fiction will be rewarded. (Aug.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by Library Journal Review

In her 13th "Inspector Sejer" book (after Hell Fire), the "Norwegian Queen of Crime" explores the complex territory of the human mind. How does society define mental illness, by what people think or by what they do? When Insp. Konrad Sejer finds himself facing murder suspect Ragna Riegel in the interrogation room, he knows he has to go slowly and use every ounce of his intuition and detective skills to tease out the truth. A horrific crime has been committed. There is a mutilated body. There is Ragna's confession. But Sejer wants more than that. Ragna needs more, deserves more, too. This story about a compassionate police inspector and a shy, introverted woman who can only whisper, never shout, because of a mangled operation will have readers sitting on the edge of their seats. VERDICT Those who like Scandinavian mysteries and the subtle buildup of psychological thrillers will enjoy this book. An essential purchase, even if Fossum's previous works are not in the collection. [See Prepub Alert, 2/4/19.]--Susanne Lohkamp, Multnomah Cty. Lib., Portland, OR

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

A familiar damsel-in-distress story veers off script into territory that would be too dark for almost anyone but Fossum (Hell Fire, 2016, etc.).Kirkelina shop clerk Ragna Riegel was born to be hurt. An only child whose parents died years ago, she was too unattractive even as a teenager to appeal to most men, and her seduction by much older photographer Walther Eriksson, long since departed for Stockholm, left her on her own to raise a son, Rikard Josef, who took off for Berlin as soon as he possibly could. Over the years, Ragna has comforted herself by fantasizing about her son's professional success as chief manager at the upscale hotel Dormero as she's waited for the annual Christmas cards that are her only other link to his present-day life. In the meantime, a botched operation on her throat reduced her voice to a whisper, alienating her from the world even further. An even nastier chapter in her sad life opens with an anonymous letter that warns her: "YOU ARE GOING TO DIE." Ragna disposes of the letter as briskly as if that disposed of the problem, but others soon follow: "IT'S NOT LONG NOW," "I'M WATCHING YOU," "NO ONE WILL HEAR YOU." A series of intercut chapters shows Ragna, whose frantic calls to the police have been deflected by anodyne responses, conversing with series regular Inspector Konrad Sejer, who finally offers her sympathy and understanding. It gradually becomes clear, however, that Sejer regards Ragna not as the potential victim of a crime but as a criminal herself. But not much else is clear at all. What can this gentle, frightened woman have done to break the law, and what on Earth could have led her to do so?The answers to these questions, though certainly disturbing, are so obvious that most readers will see them coming from far off, turning this mystery into an extended exercise in dramatic irony. The moving, late-blooming relationship between mother and son adds a welcome note of grace. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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She wasn't beautiful, and she was of course perfectly aware of it. She moved timidly across the floor in the way that most shy women do, with an apologetic expression. With no desire to take up space, no hope of making an impression or being believed, or, for that matter, being taken seriously at all. For well over forty years the mirror had taunted her about this lack of beauty, and she had bowed her head and accepted the judgment. If a spark had come blowing on the wind, she would presumably have gone up in flames--her hair was as dry as straw and she was as pale as paper. She was wearing a green nylon smock, with big deep pockets that contained nothing, as they had long since been searched and emptied. There was a logo on the breast pocket, over her heart, with the word Europris embroidered in big letters. She had an ugly scar across her throat, left by a wound that had not healed well. She was underweight and perhaps anemic, with red hair and freckles. And yet, despite her lack of color, the blood was still coursing through her veins, especially now that she was standing in front of him, there to explain herself, her hands hidden in the thoroughly inspected pockets. She was waiting for permission to sit down, was not presumptuous enough to make herself comfortable. Sejer had questioned many people over the years, but no one like her.   She pulled the chair out carefully, so it would not scrape on the floor--the noise might bother someone. She had never had anything to do with the public prosecutor before, must not irritate or provoke him in any way, make him angry. Only now did she notice the inspector's dog over by the window; it stood up and padded across the floor. The dog, Frank Robert, was a small, fat Shar Pei and rather charming with all his wrinkles and folds, as if he were wearing a far too big coat, like herself. The dog stood up on his hind legs and laid his heavy head on her lap. His eyes, which were barely visible in among all the folds, instantly touched something in her and made her forget the seriousness of the situation. There was a small flash of joy in her own eyes, a glimpse. Her eyes lacked color as well; the irises were pale and watery, and her eyebrows were as thin as whiskers. She had not expected a dog. Certainly not one that would come up to her like that, devoted, without hesitation. She was not used to prompting such feeling, not from man or beast. As the beggar he was, Frank stayed on his hind legs and slavered on her coat. When she stopped patting him, he put his paw on her lap, hoping for more.   "Frank," Sejer said. "Lie down."   The dog padded back to his blanket. He pushed and pulled it with his paws to make a nest. The excess kilos slowed him down, and each command from his owner had to be interpreted and carefully assessed before it was obeyed, so everything took time. He was also getting on, in dog years. His sight, hearing, and movement were all much reduced.   "Let's not make this too formal," the inspector said. "My name is Konrad."   He held out his hand.   "Ragna," she whispered. "Riegel."   "Like the chocolate," Sejer said with a smile. "I used to like their chocolate when I was a boy, and a bar only cost thirty øre. Everyone could afford a Riegel."   As soon as he had said it, he realized it could be misinterpreted, but his words made her smile and the ice was broken.   Her hand, thin and white, rested in his for a moment. He noted the lack of strength. It was warm and dry, but there was no sign of nervousness, even though she was quick to lower her eyes. Their handshake was the first step toward something inevitable. Everything that needed to be talked about, explained, and understood.   She snuck a glance at him and was reminded of old impregnated wood or a log on a river, something heavy and solid. He was a good deal older than she, tall and gray. Dressed in a plain shirt with a dark blue tie. There was a cherry with two green leaves embroidered on the tie. That wasn't sewn in a factory, Ragna thought. Someone, presumably a woman, had sat with a needle and thread and embroidered that cherry as a token of love.   "You're trying to win my trust," she whispered. "You won't say a word about why I'm here, not for a long time. You'll warm me slowly until I pop like popcorn in a pan. Turn myself inside out." Excerpted from The Whisperer by Karin Fossum All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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