Finally, crime fiction for the new millenium

Aficionados of crime fiction often get excited whenever a new author appears on the scene. The consensus is that after the Golden Age of Crime Fiction, generally thought to be between the 1930s and the 1960s, there have not been many writers who have startled with their originality either in plot-making or in terms of the character. That the greats are still popular is evident from the rush at the crime fiction section in any bookshop in the world.

The racks are still full of Arthur Conan Doyle, Agatha Christie, P D James and the Americana masters Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett, all different in style and substance but all still very engaging and original. The intrepid buff will also track down authors like Ed McBain and Ross McDonald in second hand book shops.

However, these are all from way, way back. The last four decades have seen a dry spell in this business. Not that there have been no books at all: James Ellroy created a flutter with his noir novels and sparse writing and there is no dearth of authors who are a good read on a flight. There is much action on television too, with Inspector Barnaby of the quaint but lethal village of Midsomer in England and the Law and Order officers dealing with crime in New York. But there is something missing.

That gap has been filled by the three books of Swedish novelist Stieg Larsson that have taken the world by storm. Called the Millenium trilogy, the books have generated an unprecedented buzz among lovers of crime fiction for their fascinating characters and also for much, much more. Larsson died soon after the books were submitted for publication and did not really see the worldwide success of his creations--this lends a certain piquancy to the whole thing.

The books cannot strictly be called detective fiction because there is no traditional gumshoe, sleuth, call it whatever as the hero.  The two main protagonists are Mikael Blomkvist, the publisher and writer of a small but influential investigative journal — much like Larrson was — and Lisbeth Salander, possibly one of the most intriguing women characters of recent times.

Salander is 22-year old social misfit who was sent to a psychiatric ward when she was 12 and then grew up a troubled individual who was kept with several foster homes. The Swedish state then monitored her development, managed her money and basically controlled her life. She lived on the streets and eventually found part time employment with an investigative firm which realised they had a troubled genius on their hands.

While her social skills were non-existent, she was a wizard at tracking down information, mainly because of her computer hacking skills. Dimunitively built at under five feet, she nonetheless packs a mean punch, rides a motorcycle, is a bi-sexual with tattoos and piercings and has great trouble in expressing emotions. A real mixed up kid who, along with Blomkvist whom she alternatively loves and hates, solves crimes.

These are no ordinary crimes and that is what makes the triology no ordinary series. They do not concern mere individuals, but the whole of Swedish society. This is not the bland and generous Sweden of popular lore, a country run by a gentle welfare  state and populated by altruistic people and lovely blonde women. This is a country also of mafias, human-traffickers, neo-Nazis, prostitution rings, corrupt businessmen.

Larsson’s Sweden is a place where the government turns a blind eye while powerful scamsters bilk the exchequer and the welfare system is cold-hearted and venal and cannot cope with non-conformists. It is a sordid universe where two people, one an oddball who wants to be left alone and the other a crusader who is determined to set things right come together to expose wrong doers. Larsson has little but contempt for the media and journalists as a class, considering them lazy and in bed with the establishment; it is an uncomfortable truth that will strike a chord with journalists all over the world.

Larrson himself was a fighting writer and activist who waged campaigns against extreme-right groups. His socialist and feminist instincts are obvious in the novels. Many readers have said that these are books about social justice and are not classic whodunits. It has also been argued that the plots have no mystery in them, or at least the reader is not given any clues. That is a valid complaint, since a key attraction of a good detective story are the red herrings that the writer throws on the way to fool the reader. Yet that has not stopped the books from selling in their millions.

Reading the books also raises another question: why has India not thrown up a truly good detective writer? There are Hindi pulp novels of course and some stray books and there is Inspector Ghote of the Bombay Police created by an Englishman, H R F Keating. But contemporary Indian writing is bogged down in diaspora dilemmas, exotica and questions of identity. India has so much more to offer than spices and arranged marriages. Why has no one thought of using modern India with all its contradictions as a backdrop to a ripping crime story? It’s a question worth pondering over. Meanwhile, pick up the Stieg Larsson books and take them on your holidays.