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Until Thy Wrath Be Past: A Rebecka Martinsson Investigation par [Larsson, Åsa]
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Until Thy Wrath Be Past: A Rebecka Martinsson Investigation Format Kindle

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Longueur : 337 pages Word Wise: Activé Composition améliorée: Activé
Page Flip: Activé Langue : Anglais

Descriptions du produit

Extrait

I remember how we died. I remember, and I know. That’s the way it is now. I know about certain things even though I wasn’t actually present when they happened. But I don’t know everything. Far from it. There are no rules. Take people, for instance. Sometimes they are open rooms that I can walk into. Sometimes they are closed. Time doesn’t exist. It’s as if it’s been whisked into nothingness.

Winter came without snow. The rivers and lakes were frozen as early as September, but still the snow didn’t come.

It was October 9. The air was cold. The sky very blue. One of those days you’d like to pour into a glass and drink.

I was seventeen. If I were still alive, I’d be eighteen now. Simon was nearly nineteen. He let me drive even though I didn’t have a licence. The forest track was full of potholes. I liked driving. Laughed at every bump. Sand and gravel clattered against the chassis.

“Sorry, Bettan,” Simon said to the car, stroking the cover of the glovebox.

We had no idea that we were going to die. That I would be screaming, my mouth full of water. That we only had five hours left.

The track petered out at Sevujärvi. We unpacked the car. I kept stopping to look round. Everything was divinely beautiful. I lifted my arms towards the sky, screwed up my eyes to look at the sun, a burning white sphere, watched a wisp of cloud scudding along high above us. The mountains embodied permanence and times immemorial.

“What are you doing?” Simon said.

I was still gazing at the sky, arms raised, when I said, “Nearly all religions have something like this. Looking up, reaching up with your hands. I understand why. It makes you feel good. Try it.”

I took a deep breath, then let the air out to form a big white cloud.

Simon smiled and shook his head. Heaved his weighty rucksack up onto a rock and wriggled into the harness. He looked at me.

Oh, I remember how he looked at me. As if he couldn’t believe his luck. And it’s true. I wasn’t just any old bit of skirt.

He liked to explore me. Count all my birthmarks. Or tap his fingernail on my teeth as I smiled, ticking off all the peaks of the Kebnekaise massif: “South Peak, North Peak, Dragon’s Back, Kebnepakte, Kaskasapakte, Kaskasatjåkko, Tuolpagorni.”

“Upper right lateral incisor – signs of decay; upper right central – sound; upper left central – distal filling,” I’d reply.

The rucksacks containing our diving equipment weighed a ton.

We walked up to Lake Vittangijärvi. It took us three and a half hours. We urged each other on, noticing how the frozen ground made walking easier. We sweated a lot, stopped occasionally to have some water, and once to drink coffee from our thermos flask and eat a couple of sandwiches.

Frozen puddles and frostbitten moss crackled beneath our feet.

Alanen Vittangivaara loomed on our left.

“There’s an old Sami sacrificial site up there,” Simon said, pointing. “Uhrilaki.”

That was a side of him I loved. He knew about that sort of thing.

We finally got there. Placing our rucksacks carefully on the slope, we stood in silence for a while, gazing out over the lake. The ice resembled a thick black pane of glass over the water. Trapped bubbles traced patterns like broken pearl necklaces. The cracks resembled crumpled tissue paper.

Frost had nipped at every blade of grass, every twig, making them brittle and crispy white. Sprays of lingonberry and stunted juniper bushes were a dull shade of wintry green. Dwarf birches and blueberry sprigs had been squeezed into shades of blood and violet. And everything was coated with rime. An aura of ice.

It was uncannily quiet.

Simon became withdrawn and thoughtful, as he usually did. He’s the type who can tell time to stand still. Or was. He was that kind of person.

But I’ve never been able to keep quiet for long. I just had to start shouting. All that beauty – it was enough to make you burst.

I ran out onto the ice. As fast as I could without slipping. Then I stood with my legs wide apart and slid a long, long way.

“You have a go!” I shouted to Simon.

He smiled and shook his head.

That was something he’d learnt to do in the village where he’d grown up. How to shake his head. They’re good at that in Piilijärvi.

“No way,” he shouted back. “Someone has to be here to repair your legs when you’ve broken them.”

“Cowardy cowardy custard!” I yelled as I ran and slid again.

Then I lay down and gazed up at the sky for a while. Stroked the ice affectionately.

Somewhere down below there was an aeroplane. And nobody knew anything about it, apart from us. Or so we thought.

Standing up, I caught Simon’s gaze.

You and me, his eyes said.
You and me, my eyes said.

Simon collected some dry juniper twigs and birch bark. So that we could start a fire and have something to eat before we made our dive. To give us the strength to keep going.

We grilled some smoked sausages on skewers. I didn’t have the patience to do it properly – mine were burnt black on the outside and raw inside. Hungry jays gathered in the trees around us.

“People used to eat them,” I said, nodding at the birds. “Anni’s told me about it. She and her cousins used to hang a length of string between the trees and thread pieces of bread onto it. The birds would land on the string, but it was so thin that they couldn’t stay upright and found themselves hanging upside down. Then all you had to do was pick them off. Like picking apples. We ought to try it – have we got any string?”

“Wouldn’t you rather have a piece of sausage?”
One of Simon’s typically marvellous sardonic comments. And no hint of a smile to show that he was joking.

I gave him a thump on the chest.

“Idiot! I didn’t mean that we should eat them. I just wanted to see if it worked.”

“No. We ought to get going. Before it gets dark.”

Instantly I became serious.

Simon gathered some more dry twigs and bark. And he found a hollow birch log – they burn well. He raked some ash over the glowing embers. As he said, with a bit of luck we would be able to blow the fire back to life after the dive. It would be good to be able to warm ourselves quickly when we emerged from the freezing water.

We carried our cylinders, regulators, masks, snorkels, fins and black army-surplus diving suits out onto the ice.

Simon led the way with the G.P.S.

In August we had brought the kayak, towing it through water whenever possible, along the River Vittangi as far as Lake Tahko. Then we’d paddled to Vittangijärvi. We’d plumbed the depths of various parts of the lake, and, once we finally found the right place, Simon had keyed it into the G.P.S. under the headingWilma.

But during the summer there were holidaymakers staying in the old farmhouse on the lake’s western shore.

“You can bet your life they’re all lined up with their binoculars,” I’d said, squinting across.
“Wondering what the hell we’re up to. If we dive now, everyone for kilometres around will know about it in no time.”

So once we’d finished, we’d paddled over to the western shore, beached the kayak and strolled up to the old farmhouse, where we’d been invited in for coffee. I went on about how we were getting paid a pittance by the Swedish Meteorological and Hydrological Institute for charting the depth of the lake. Something to do with climate change, I reckoned.

“As soon as they close down the holiday cottages for the winter,” I said to Simon as we struggled home with the kayak, “we’ll be able to use their boat as well.”

But then the ice came, and we had to wait until it was thick enough to bear our weight. We could hardly believe our luck when it didn’t snow – we’d be able to see through the ice. A metre or so at least. But of course we’d be diving down much deeper than that.

Simon sawed through the ice. He started by hacking a hole with an axe – the ice was still thin enough to do that – and then he used a hand saw. A chainsaw would have been too heavy to carry, and besides, it would have created a hell of a noise: the last thing we wanted was to attract attention. What we were doing suggested a book title to me: Wilma, Simon and the Secret of the Aeroplane.

While Simon was sawing through the ice, I nailed some lengths of wood together to form a cross we would place over the hole after attaching a safety line to it.

Stripping down to our thermal underwear, we pulled on our diving suits. Then we sat down at the edge of the ice hole.

“Go right down to 4 metres,” Simon said. “The worst that can happen is that we lose our air supply if the regulators freeze up. The start is the riskiest bit, just beneath the surface.”

“O.K.”

“We might also run into trouble lower down. You can’t trust mountain lakes. There could be an inlet somewhere, causing currents. The temperature could be below zero. The riskiest place is just beneath the surface, though. So: down you go. No hanging about.”

“O.K.”

I didn’t want to listen. I wanted to get down there. Right away.

Simon wasn’t an expert on the technical side of diving, but he’d read up on it. In magazines and on the Internet. He continued his unhurried preparations.

“Two tugs on the line means ‘come up’.”

“Right.”

“Maybe we’ll find the wreck straight away, but probably not. Let’s get down there and take it as it comes.”

“O.K., O.K.”

Revue de presse

'Fans of Henning Mankell, Karin Fossum and Arnaldur Indridason will not be disappointed' Publishers Weekly.

'Creepy crime thriller' Star magazine.

'This book was so good! A lot of Swedish crime books carry the comparison of being as good as Henning Mankell and many of them simply aren't. However, I actually thought that this was better than Mankell's books ... Åsa Larsson weaves an extremely intricate plot and we view the actions directly from several different characters ...' Dot Scribbles.

'Until thy Wrath be Past is a brutal, yet beautiful, tragedy. The strength of Åsa Larsson's characters made it very difficult to put the book down ... I just had to keep turning those pages' Erik Lundqvist, in I Will Read Books.

'Larsson's laid back style makes her unflinching probing of icy depths of the human heart all the more chilling' Jake Kerridge, The Telegraph.

'Asa Larsson is a markedly different writer, with notably cooler prose, and unlike her multimillion-selling namesake, Stieg ... The novel shows that Larsson is ready to confront unpalatable truths. Among the current batch of Nordic writers, the new Larsson is one to be followed with the most minute attention' Barry Forshaw in the Independent.

'Let me get my verdict on this novel out of the way first: brilliant. It has been a long wait for those of us for whom Åsa Larsson's novels strike a deep chord ... thanks to MacLehose Press taking on this talented author ... Until Thy Wrath confirms my view that Åsa Larsson is, along with Johan Theorin, writing today's highest-quality psychological crime novels, particularly strong in their evocation of the local communities, myths and superstitions that are all in danger of dying out in our globalised, homogenised society' Maxine Clarke, Eurocrime. --Reviews.

Détails sur le produit

  • Format : Format Kindle
  • Taille du fichier : 1022 KB
  • Nombre de pages de l'édition imprimée : 337 pages
  • Editeur : MacLehose Press (4 août 2011)
  • Vendu par : Amazon Media EU S.à r.l.
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ISBN-10: 0857050729
  • ISBN-13: 978-0857050724
  • ASIN: B005DKRPQO
  • Synthèse vocale : Activée
  • X-Ray :
  • Word Wise: Activé
  • Composition améliorée: Activé
  • Moyenne des commentaires client : 4.0 étoiles sur 5 2 commentaires client
  • Classement des meilleures ventes d'Amazon: n°60.655 dans la Boutique Kindle (Voir le Top 100 dans la Boutique Kindle)
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Format: Format Kindle
j ai decouvert recemment cette serie de romans et "until thy wrath" est pour moi le plus reussi, celui ou s'equilibrent le mieux les personnages, le recit et l'ecriture. n'ayant pas lu la version suedoise il m est difficile de juger de la qualite de la traduction anglaise - mais l'anglais n'est pas non plus ma langue maternelle - celle-ci n'a en tout cas jamais represente un obstacle dans ma lecture.
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Ce qui aurait dû être un très bon livre se révèle un peu fade du fait d'une traduction plate et mièvre. Rien à voir avec les autres livres de Larsson, traduits par une autre traductice, et qui portaient une grâce d'écriture remaquable. La traduction de ce livre est due à la traducgtrice vers l'anglais du romancier Mankell, dont j'ai moins aimé les livres récents, mais peut-être est-ce finalement provoqué par cette absence d'empathie avec le texste original. En tout cas il faut lire tous les livres d'Asa Larsson, c'est remarquable, généreux, plein de tendresse, original.
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Amazon.com: HASH(0x97c56de0) étoiles sur 5 79 commentaires
31 internautes sur 32 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
HASH(0x97c74978) étoiles sur 5 Victim Haunts Larsson's "Wrath" 20 octobre 2011
Par Librarian - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Relié
Wilma recalls the day she and Simon died: "I remember how we died. I remember, and I know. . . . I was seventeen." Wilma's spirit has been wandering the village of Piilijärvi, nearly 50 miles southeast of Kiruna, for eight months before her body is found. Her great-grandmother, Anni, still has the pancakes she was making for Wilma that day in her freezer. And as her body is removed from the River Torne, Wilma knows that now her great-grandmother can finally cry.

A week after police remove what is left of Wilma from the river, forensic analysis confirms District Prosecutor Rebecka Martinsson's suspicion that Wilma's death was not a diving accident, but murder. Inspector Anna-Maria Mella heads the investigation. Although she feels estranged from her team after a questionable judgment call the previous year, Mella knows she has a job to do: Find who murdered Wilma and, by assumption, Simon. The two obvious suspects are the district's own local mafioso-type brothers, Tore and Hjalmar Krekula, who operate the family hauling business. Everyone, it seems, knows better than to cross the Krekula family. Proving the brothers had anything to do with Wilma's death will not be easy and almost certainly dangerous.

Åsa Larsson's "Until Thy Wrath Be Past," fourth in the Rebecka Martinsson series, is not a straight-forward tale. Told in many voices from many perspectives, the story fluctuates between past and present events. Piilijärvi is a small community where memories and relationships go back a long way. Who aided or resisted the Germans during World War II is still a sensitive topic. Childhood incidents of sibling rivalry are not easily dismissed. Additionally, through the voice of Wilma's spirit, the victim is actively present, lending yet another dimension to this police procedural. Likewise, part of the narrative is told through Tore and Hjalmar, the main suspects. And, both Martinsson and Mella are struggling with personal and professional decisions about their futures, adding depth to these two principal characters. While this constant shifting of the narrative ground provides a major force of interest, the murder plot itself comes off as somewhat weak and convoluted. But despite this drawback, Larsson knows her characters and setting. Her Sweden is far from perfect but definitely revealing and her characters are full and alive. For both fans and new explorers of Scandinavian mysteries, "Until Thy Wrath Be Past" is well worth reading.
35 internautes sur 37 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
HASH(0x97c749cc) étoiles sur 5 wonderful witing but... 12 juillet 2013
Par Old Geezett - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Relié Achat vérifié
Before I finished Until thy Wrath be Past I ordered three other books by Asa Larsson before I noticed that she has a penchant to include horrific animal abuse in her stories. some people won't mind. I do. I reluctantly finished the next book and got through the part where the character puts down all her beloved, trusting pets because she is going to kill herself. There is no resistance from the vet in the story. It's really sickening and after the decapitated kittens, too much. And wondering what happened to the missing cat. So, I'm moving on. Too bad. She really is a wonderful writer. I just don't need anymore brutality against animals in my life right now. When a dog is killed and we live it through his eyes, the hanging, the blood letting, it made me physically sick and so incredibly depressed. Funny, I can take humans being tortured, just not helpless animals. I can read this in the news everyday so I guess now that I'm older I need stories that are interesting but more uplifting.
24 internautes sur 31 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
HASH(0x97c74ca8) étoiles sur 5 Another great Rebecka Martinsson 10 août 2011
Par peter at scandinavianbooks.com - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Relié
Until Thy Wrath be Past starts with a bang. The 17-year-old Wilma Persson, who together with her boyfriend is diving beneath the ice of Lake Vittangijärvi, looking for the wreck of a Nazi transport airplane that crashed there during the War, tells the story of how she and her boyfriend is murdered. They have dived from a whole they have sawed in the ice, and someone has closed the hole, thus preventing them for surfacing. Wilma fights desperately to survive, but knows that soon there will be no more air. And then the air runs out, and there is only the ice cold water of Lake Vittangijärvi.

This is a remarkable and interesting book, very well written, about repression, violence, devotion and ruthlessness. Until Thy Wrath be Past is a great crime fiction novel, and I am already looking forward to the next Rebecka Martinsson novel!
7 internautes sur 8 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
HASH(0x97c791ec) étoiles sur 5 An excellent book. Highly recommended. 8 janvier 2012
Par E. J. - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Relié
The story reminded me of Fargo in the depth of the plot and in the excellent descriptions of the locale. A young boy and a girl initially seem to have drowned in a river but sharp detectives quickly find out that the case is that of a murder. The boy's body is never found but the girl's has been and her spirit now helps guide the investigation forward. The investigation uncovers old secrets and crimes that many wish were forgotten.

This is an excellent thriller. It touches you deeply as you read about the innocents' thoughts, about the living's goodness, and as you encounter evil. It describes Sweden's best and worst. If you have elderly family members, you'll relate to the girl's great grandmother.

Highly recommended.
4 internautes sur 4 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
HASH(0x97c79204) étoiles sur 5 Mystery Fans: A Must-Read for 2012! 7 janvier 2012
Par Lisa Marie - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format: Relié
Asa Larsson is one of Sweden's/Scandinavian/Nordic top crime fiction writers - right up there with Henning Mankell and Arnaldur Indridason for my money. I've read all her books and she just gets better and better with each one. Her latest, UNTIL THY WRATH BE PAST, is her best to date.

While typically dark and unsentimental like her contemporaries, her books also offer themes of hope, compassion and redemption. This newest entry - featuring Prosecutor Rebecca Martinson pits her and police detective Anna Marie Mella - starts off with the thoughts of a young woman named Wilma who, along with her boyfriend, was recently murdered. (This is not a spoiler of any sort, not to worry.) When her body is discovered in a nearby lake, the authorities are called in and soon Anna Marie and Rebecca find themselves pitted against shockingly evil adversaries. The storyline floats between the current-day events, including Wilma's thoughts, to events which took place decades ago and figure deeply into how and why the two young innocent people were so cruelly murdered.

The story was heartbreaking, uplifting and breathtaking. Highly recommended!
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