My appetite for Nordic noir knows no bounds.
Mercifully, it is a genre replete with authors and I have a whole century of translated works to catch up on.
But some stand out more than the others and when the favourites emit a new book, I positively itch with joy.
Discipline is required though, and this particular delight is long-awaited and a reward for completing the packing.
Half the packing.
(N.B. The quivering book is due more to the train and less to the abject terror inflicted by Nesbø, ten pages in.)