The Chestnut Man

One sometimes tends to be wary when reading a book translated from another language with thoughts of what may or may not be lost in translation or if references crucial to the plot may be missed in the telling of the story in another language.  I am here to say that is absolutely not the case with Soren Sveistrup’s The Chestnut Man.

Talk about a book I could not put down. It read so smoothly, it was like watching a crime series on Netflix so little was the effort. Now, I don’t mean it was an easy or fluffy read, oh no! Sveistrup is an intelligent and very articulate writer. He is masterfully suspenseful and knows how to write a hook to ensure his reader isn’t going anywhere but deep, deep into the pages of this book.

And into it did I go. His characters are so believable, I can still see them and hear them. The weather in Copenhagen dampens my clothes as I read and my heart is pounding from the big chase near the end of the book. My coffee, long forgotten sits cold as page after page my mind races to keep up and figure out what’s really going on. Twist after twist, I feel like maybe I’ve got a handle on it and then something else is discovered and the direction changes. It’s brilliant!

Two completely mismatched detectives struggle to overcome their very distinct differences as they work to solve one murder after another while fighting against time and another crime that everyone else thought was already solved, and if that wasn’t enough, enter these creepy little chestnut men whose presence means something much more sinister than anyone realizes.

You know I never give away too much when I rave about a book. But you must know by now, that if I’m going on about it, it was faaaaaabulous! If you’ve got a thriller lover in your circle, this book will be an absolute hit.