Just a placeholding entry, this - browsing in Metropolis the other day, picked Icelander up and was intrigued by the blurb:
A Nabokovian goof on Agatha Christie; a madcap mystery in the deceptive tradition of The Crying of Lot 49; The Third Policeman meets The Da Vinci Code. Icelander is the debut novel from a brilliant new mind, an intricate, giddy romp steeped equally in Nordic lore and pulpy intrigue. When Shirley MacGuffin is found murdered one day prior to the annual town celebration in remembrance of Our Heroine's mother--the legendary crime-stopper and evil-thwarter Emily Bean--everyone expects Our Heroine to follow in her mother's footsteps and solve the case. She, however, has no interet in inheriting the family business, or being chased through steam-tunnels, or listening to skaldic karaoke, or fleeing the inhuman Refurserkir, or-- But Evil has no interest in her lack of interest, and thus: adventure ensues.
and the opening paragraph:
Our Heroine woke to the sound of snowflakes, plaughtting against the window, perfect stellar dendrites that shattered as they crashed against the glass. Through a too-dry throat she groaned at them--some Adamic word of banishing--but it was fruitless, and the snow's frigid spirit managed nonetheless to translate itself across the pane. From there it pressed on through blankets, quilts, and sheets to possess Our Heroine buried nude beneath. She shivered, let a yawn well through her body, and as she stretched herself out among the farthest reaches of bed, she felt the acids built up in her limbs; she felt how far she could stretch without touching anything at all.
and some other passages that my eye fell upon as I flipped, such as this (which I later learned, upon reading the whole novel, was an exchange between Our Heroine and the philosophical investigators Mr Wible and Mr Pacheco):
"Noted. And as long as we're being amiable, I do like the mustache, Pacheco. The grey Fu Manchu thing works for you. It does a lot for your image as a mystery metaphysician. Goes well with the trench coat."
"Your valueless flattery is not enought to distract us from our purpose."
"Duly noted. But, as pleasant as this all has been, I should really be going now."
"Of course. And in opposition to my partner, I appreciate your appreciation of my moustache. It took me quite a while to grow it out."
"Well, it was worth it. It looks good."
"The Image is the mask of Substance, but sometimes the two can become transposed."
"Okay. I'll see you guys later, then."
"Indeed you shall. Indeed you shall."
So I took it home, and finished reading it a few days ago, and have been delighted to find that Icelander lives up to all that was promised by those initial impression. But I started re-reading the book straight away, and am amidst that right now, so more thoughts to follow.
