The Redeemer: A Harry Hole thriller (Oslo Sequence 4) (Anglais) Broché – 15 octobre 2009
|Neuf à partir de||Occasion à partir de|
Produits fréquemment achetés ensemble
Les clients ayant acheté cet article ont également acheté
Descriptions du produit
She was fourteen years old and sure that if she shut her eyes tight and concentrated she could see the stars through the roof.
All around her, women were breathing. Regular, heavy, nighttime breathing. One was snoring, and that was Auntie Sara, who had been given a mattress beneath the open window.
She closed her eyes and tried to breathe like the others. It was difficult to sleep, especially because everything around her was so new and different. The sounds of the night and the forest beyond the window in Østgård were different. The people she knew from the meetings in the citadel and the summer camps were somehow not the same. She was not the same, either. The face and body she saw in the mirror this summer were new. And her emotions, these strange hot and cold currents that flowed through her when the boys looked at her. Or when one of them in particular looked at her. Robert. He was different this year, too.
She opened her eyes again and stared. She knew God had the power to do great things, even allow her to see the stars through the roof. If it was His wish.
It had been a long and eventful day. The dry summer wind had whispered through the corn, and the leaves on the trees danced as if in a fever, causing the light to filter through to the visitors on the field. They had been listening to one of the Salvation Army cadets from the -officer--training school talking about his work as a preacher on the Faeroe Islands. He was -good--looking and spoke with great sensitivity and passion. But she was preoccupied with shooing away a bumblebee that kept buzzing around her head, and by the time it moved off, the heat had made her drowsy. When the cadet finished, all faces were turned to the territorial commander, David Eckhoff, who had been observing them with his smiling, young eyes, which were actually over fifty years old. He saluted in the Salvation Army manner, with his right hand raised above his shoulder and pointing to the kingdom of heaven, amid a resounding shout of “Hallelujah!” Then he prayed for the cadets’ work with the poor and the pariahs to be blessed, and reminded them of the Gospel of Matthew, where it said that Jesus the Redeemer was among them, a stranger on the street, maybe a criminal, without food and without clothing. And that on Judgment Day the righteous, those who had helped the weakest, would have eternal life. It had all the makings of a long speech, but then someone whispered something and he said, with a smile, that Youth Hour was next on the program and today it was Rikard Nilsen’s turn.
She had heard Rikard make his voice deeper than it was to thank the commander. As usual, he had prepared what he was going to say in writing and memorized it. He stood up and recited how he was going to devote his life to the fight, to Jesus’s fight for the kingdom of God. His voice was nervous, yet monotonous and soporific. His introverted glower rested on her. Her eyes were heavy. His sweaty top lip was moving to form the familiar, secure, tedious phrases. So she -didn’t react when the hand touched her back. Not until it became fingertips and they wandered down to the small of her back, and lower, and made her freeze beneath her thin summer dress.
She turned and looked into Robert’s smiling brown eyes. And she wished her skin were as dark as his so that he would not be able to see her blush.
“Shh,” Jon had said.
Robert and Jon were brothers. Although Jon was one year older, many people had taken them for twins when they were younger. But Robert was seventeen now and while they had retained some facial similarities, the differences were clearer. Robert was happy and carefree, liked to tease and was good at playing the guitar, but was not always punctual for services in the citadel, and sometimes the teasing had a tendency to go too far, especially if he noticed others were laughing. Then Jon would often step in. Jon was an honest, conscientious boy who most thought would go to -officer--training school and -would—-though this was never formulated out -loud—-find himself a girl in the Army. The latter could not be taken for granted in Robert’s case. Jon was three-quarters of an inch taller than Robert, but in some strange way Robert seemed taller. From the age of twelve Jon had begun to stoop, as though he were carrying the woes of the world on his back. Both were -dark--skinned, -good--looking, with regular features, but Robert had something Jon did not have. There was something in his eyes, something black and playful, which she wanted and yet did not want to investigate further.
While Rikard was talking, her eyes were wandering across the sea of assembled familiar faces. One day she would marry a boy from the Salvation Army and perhaps they would both be posted to another town or another part of the country. But they would always return to Østgård, which the Army had just bought and was to be their summer site from now on.
On the margins of the crowd, sitting on the steps leading to the house, was a boy with blond hair stroking a cat that had settled in his lap. She could tell that he had been watching her, but he had looked away just as she noticed. He was the one person here she -didn’t know, but she did know that his name was Mads Gilstrup, that he was the grandchild of the people who had owned Østgård before, that he was a couple of years older than her and that the Gilstrup family was wealthy. He was attractive, in fact, but there was something solitary about him. And what was he doing here, anyway? He had been there the previous night, walking around with an angry frown on his face, not talking to anyone. She had felt his eyes on her a few times. Everyone looked at her this year. That was new, too.
She was jerked out of these thoughts by Robert taking her hand, putting something in it and saying: “Come to the barn when the -general--in--waiting has finished. I’ve got something to show you.”
Then he stood up and walked off, and she looked down into her hand and almost screamed. With one hand over her mouth, she dropped the object into the grass. It was a bumblebee. It could still move, despite not having legs or wings.
At last Rikard finished, and she sat watching her parents and Robert and Jon’s parents moving -toward the tables where the coffee was. They were both what Army people in their respective Oslo congregations called “strong families,” and she knew watchful eyes were on her.
She walked -toward the outhouse. Once she was around the corner, where no one could see her, she scurried in the direction of the barn.
“Do you know what this is?” said Robert with the smile in his eyes and the deep voice he had not had the summer before.
He was lying on his back in the hay whittling a tree root with the penknife he always carried in his belt.
Then he held it up and she saw what it was. She had seen drawings. She hoped it was too dark for him to see her blush again.
“No,” she lied, sitting beside him in the hay.
And he gave her that teasing look of his, as if he knew something about her she -didn’t even know herself. She returned his gaze and fell back on her elbows.
“This is where it goes,” he said, and in an instant his hand was up her dress. She could feel the hard tree root against the inside of her thigh and, before she could close her legs, it was touching her underpants. His breath was hot on her neck.
“No, Robert,” she whispered.
“But I made it for you,” he wheezed in return.
“Stop. I don’t want to.”
“Are you saying no? To me?”
She caught her breath and was unable either to answer or to scream because at that moment they heard Jon’s voice from the barn door: “Robert! No, Robert!”
She felt him relax and let go, and the tree root was left between her clenched thighs as he withdrew his hand.
“Come here!” Jon said, as though talking to a disobedient dog.
With a chuckle Robert got up, winked at her and ran out into the sun to his brother.
She sat up and brushed the hay off her, feeling both relieved and ashamed at the same time. Relieved because Jon had spoiled their crazy game. Ashamed because he seemed to think it was more than that: a game.
Later, during grace before their evening meal, she had looked up straight into Robert’s brown eyes and seen his lips form one word. She -didn’t know what it was, but she had started to giggle. He was crazy! And she was . . . well, what was she? Crazy, too. Crazy. And in love? Yes, in love, precisely that. And not in the way she had been when she was twelve or thirteen. Now she was fourteen and this was bigger. More important. And more exciting.
She could feel the laughter bubbling up inside her now, as she lay there trying to stare through the roof.
Auntie Sara grunted and stopped snoring beneath the window. Something screeched. An owl?
She needed to pee.
She didn’t feel like going out, but she had to. Had to walk through the dewy grass past the barn, which was dark and quite a different proposition in the middle of the night. She closed her eyes, but it didn’t help. She crept out of her sleeping bag, slipped on some sandals and tiptoed over to the door.
A few stars had appeared in the sky, but they would disappear when day broke in the east in an -hour’s time. The cool air caressed her skin as she scampered along, listening to the unidentifiable sounds of the night. Insects that stayed quiet during the day. Animals hunting. Rikard said he had seen foxes in the distant copse. Or perhaps the animals were the same ones that were out during the day, but just made different sounds. They changed. Shed their skins, so to speak.
The outhouse stood alone on a small mound behind the barn. She watched it grow in size as she came closer. The strange, crooked hut had been made with untreated wooden boards that had warped, split and turned gray. No windows, a heart on the door. The worst thing about it was that you never knew if anyone was already in there.
And she had an instinct that someone was already in there.
She coughed so that whoever was there might signal his presence. A magpie took off from a branch on the edge of the wood. Otherwise all was still.
She stepped up onto the flagstone. Grabbed the lump of wood that passed for a door handle. Pulled it. The black room gaped open.
She breathed out. There was a flashlight beside the toilet seat, but she -didn’t need to switch it on. She raised the seat lid before closing the door and fastening the door hook. Then she pulled up her nightgown, pulled down her underwear and sat down. In the ensuing silence she thought she heard something. Something that was neither animal nor magpie nor insects shedding skin. Something that moved fast through the tall grass behind the toilet. Then the trickle started and the noise was obscured. But her heart had already started pounding.
When she had finished, she quickly pulled up her underpants and sat in the dark listening. But all she could hear was a faint ripple in the tops of the trees and her blood throbbing in her ears. She waited for her pulse to slow down, then she unhooked the catch and opened the door. The dark figure filled almost the entire doorway. He must have been standing and waiting silently outside on the stone step. The next minute she was splayed over the toilet seat and he stood above her. He closed the door behind him.
“You?” she said.
“Me,” he said in an alien, tremulous, husky voice.
Then he was on top of her. His eyes glittered in the dark as he bit her lower lip until he drew blood and one hand found the way under her nightgown and tore off her underwear. She lay there crippled with fear beneath the knife blade that stung the skin on her neck while he kept thrusting his groin into her before he had even got his trousers off, like some crazed, copulating dog.
“One word from you and I’ll cut you into pieces,” he whispered. And not one word issued from her mouth. Because she was fourteen years old and sure that if she shut her eyes tightly and concentrated she would be able to see the stars through the roof. God had the power to do things like that. If it was His wish. --Ce texte fait référence à une édition épuisée ou non disponible de ce titre.
Revue de presse
"The Redeemer rocks! Jo Nesbo is my new favorite thriller writer and Harry Hole my new hero. This book had my pulse in the red zone from start to finish" (Michael Connelly)
"Nesbo is in a class of his own" (Evening Standard)
"Terrific shocks, tension and atmosphere" (The Times)
"Nesbo's fourth novel [and it] proves to be as brilliant as his other three...grimly realistic...an engrossing mystery" (The Scotsman)
Aucun appareil Kindle n'est requis. Téléchargez l'une des applis Kindle gratuites et commencez à lire les livres Kindle sur votre smartphone, tablette ou ordinateur.
Pour obtenir l'appli gratuite, saisissez votre adresse e-mail ou numéro de téléphone mobile.
Détails sur le produit
En savoir plus sur les auteursDécouvrez des livres, informez-vous sur les écrivains, lisez des blogs d'auteurs et bien plus encore.
Dans ce livre(En savoir plus)
Quels sont les autres articles que les clients achètent après avoir regardé cet article?
Commentaires en ligne
Commentaires client les plus utiles sur Amazon.com (beta)
Current Day: Oslo, shots ring out at a Christmas Concert, a volunteer dressed as a Salvation Army soldier is executed by a man in the crowd. Less than an hour later Inspector Harry Hole is at the crime scene and with hardly any leads to go on, he hunts for his faceless killer. Harry's luck is about to change, the current snow storm that has hit Oslo has grounded flights. Stranded, the Killer looks for a place to stay while trying to keep a low profile, but as the cold night draws on he also discovers he made a fatal mistake, his shot the wrong man! With his contract job still pending he makes the most of his time in Oslo and decides to finish his work. He takes refuge for a while with the Salvation Army trying to hide behind the seamy side where dope heads sell their clothes even if it could mean life or death in a freezing city. As twisted events unfold Harry suddenly finds himself looking for two types of psychopaths an assassin and a rapist; on the wintry streets of Oslo it suddenly becomes an increasing desperate situation for all.
Fantastic reading! all the ingredients of evil in one book, lies, deceit, revenge, biblical passages, manipulation, bribery, corruptions, violence and more twists and turns than a twisty-turny thing! I will never look at my vacuum cleaner in the same light again!
The Author Jo Nesbo does a wonderful job in this book with his incredible observation, not only of people with their thoughts and feelings making all characters seem so very real, but also about every day life and little things in general. Subjects such as politics, giving us the good/bad sides to his city, level of corruptions in Oslo and of course if you haven't been to Oslo, like me, he gives us those clear visuals, a sense of place for our minds to work towards. You can clearly tell when reading through his interviewed people thoroughly, tapping into different areas also adding parts of history to build the story. He remains very descriptive throughout his writing, which is something I love more than anything and it really adds and helps us readers use our imagination to lose ourselves in the whole dark twisted plot.
I actually refer to this book as Harry new start, his ex girlfriend is very much in the background and he also managed to get himself to AA meetings and stay soberish for this book. But his still having that constant battle since he requires to carry a hip flask with his favorite tipple as a safety precaution. Even though there are three others books before this one; you can start straight from here, but I would always recommend from the beginning. There will be references to other characters in passing but explanations on them are given throughout.
Harry Hole remains a compelling character to read; a romantic with a very cynical side, he also realizes he needs to confront and question his own weaknesses. After reading the first three books The Redbreast: A Novel, Nemesis and The Devil's Star you will learn Harry's Achilles heal is alcohol, his an alcoholic. His job requires him to live between good and evil in his every day life, but between the lines, could his own addictions and rule breaking finally make him face those two sides of good/evil, which one will finally take hold of him first. Other nice touches to Harry's character, he is, his own man, clearly likes women, well read and he has his love of music and films. But something I noticed over all others right from the first book, Norwegian Hole maybe, but my favorite characteristic in him would be directness of conversation spun with an English dry sense of humor.
For all books that I've read so far in this series, the stories are fascinating to read, constantly moving forward and the plots interwoven with smaller stories throughout bringing in the old and new characters along the way keeping everything fresh with the right pace, suspense, tension and interest. The Author holds the excitement from one page to the next and knows how to surprise, twist and shock.
The Redeemer maybe 460 pages but its entertaining all the way especially loving the twists. It engages the mind to the very end which clearly makes this book another winner to add to a great series.
Thank you also to Don Bartlett who gave us all the clear translation of each book in this series. Next in translation The Snowman released March 2010.
I did.I contacted his publishing company, they told me it was pronounced...
"O"like in "pool" and "e"like in "ethnic"
Harry Hoooley. I like that MUCH better than Harry Hole.
Be sure and read The Redeemer AFTER The Devils Star, the last few pages go back to Devils Star, WOW!
However, Nesbo relies too much on fantastic coincidences to keep his plots going. The majority of the book consists of a contract killer trying to hit his target and just missing because of some unbelievable coincidence, and the police trying to capture the contract killer and just missing, again because of some unbelievable coincidence. In the middle of the book, both the killer and his intended victim remark on how the experience is like some surreal nightmare that just repeats itself over and over, and as a reader forced to buy unlikely event after unlikely event I could sympathize completely.
The most irritating example of this lazy plotting is that whenever a character finds something out that could crack the case wide open, he or she invariably dies before contacting Hole. Using this kind of cheap plot device makes it easy to prolong the suspense for over 400 pages, but as a reader I felt like I was jerked around unnecessarily. Nesbo did manage to provide a satisfying ending that answered all of the questions raised along the way, but the too-convoluted plotting took away a good part of the enjoyment.
From the first couple of chapters, I could not put this book down as I was drawn into an intricate, well plotted storyline that kept me guessing right to the end. Having never been to Oslo or indeed any of the Scandinavian countries, the authors depiction made it easy to imagine the location. The characters are incredibly well written; Inspector Harry Hole, a cop with a history and demons (as they always seem to be in crime novels) is so much more than that and is a terrific character with depth and someone you want to know more about. The hitman is also brilliantly portrayed and the author takes you with him into the seedier side of Oslo as he seeks refuge as the net tightens. All of the characters have detail and depth, even the lesser ones.
This is the first book I've read by Jo Nesbø and I can't recommend it highly enough, I didn't realise when I bought it that it was the fourth in the Harry Hole series to be translated into English and I had no problem reading it without having read the previous ones, but I'll certainly be going back and reading them now.
I think Nesbo tends to write too much plot and could easily reduce his novels by 10% or so without harming the story. This one involves the murder of a Salvation Army worker. It should be said that the Salvation Army in Norway has a more powerful political presence than in the United States.
The story has some dramatic moments and some exciting scenes but there is a bit too much background material about the relationships between the young trio of Army workers who function as the dramatic pivot of the novel. Any reader will figure out that the assassin has made a mistake in shooting the wrong victim which makes Harry Hole who is the major character in Nesbo's stories face a greater challenge in solving the crime.
Another issue is that Nesbo tends to assume that the reader is aware of Hole's back story and his relationship with his previous compatriots, his family and his demons. I know many writers who utilize the same lead in their novels do the same but not to the extent of Jo Nesbo. Take those issues and combine them with the various subplots that pad this book to nearly 600 pages and there are too many slow moments that in my opinion outnumber the exciting and dramatic turns involving Eastern European conflicts and long ago sexual references.
And only at the end did I realize that "The Snowman" was written after this book but published more than a year earlier in it's American translation. That adds to the confusion and I don't understand why that happened. A good book but not at the top of my "must read" list.
Rechercher des articles similaires par rubrique
- Livres anglais et étrangers > Literature & Fiction > Contemporary
- Livres anglais et étrangers > Literature & Fiction > Genre Fiction
- Livres anglais et étrangers > Literature & Fiction > History & Criticism > European
- Livres anglais et étrangers > Literature & Fiction > World Literature > Scandinavian
- Livres anglais et étrangers > Mystery & Thrillers > Mystery