"History isn't just something that's being us, it's also something that follows us.”
If you have been reading or have read all of the Kurt Wallander series by Henning Mankell as I have done, this is an especially sad but really well-done volume that finally ends the series. Mankell had written what he thought was the last book on a number of occasions, but this one, published in 2009, six years before he himself succumbed to cancer, in 2015, is a very clear ending readers may not quite have desired but still see as appropriate. In this final book Wallander is the eldest detective of the Ystad police, and he’s not aging well. He has diabetes, insomnia, he’s a bit overweight, he’s divorced, single, and has lost a lot of friends to murder or cancer. He is never not emotionally distraught about the murder and violent crime that he has to deal with, it wears on him.
Mankell said he never wanted Wallander to be the primary story of the novels, but the key here is that Wallander, increasingly irritable as his father had been, realizes he has early-onset Alzheimer’s, as his father had, which seems to come in waves as he solves a murder/international spy case involving his son-in-law’s father and mother. Along the way, Wallander comes to realize more than ever that Sweden, even provincial Ystad--is part of the global community, though he sees Sweden perhaps always has been intertwined with world events. Mankell was a liberal, a social activist, but his character Mankell isn’t all that political until he is forced to be.
Mankell said he’d begun writing the series initially to combat an increase he saw in the world of racism, that he saw increase ironically after the break-up of the Soviet Union and the fall of the Berlin Wall. He thought: This is like a mystery that needs to be solved, so he imagined a detective who sees the need to understand it and confront it as it comes into his country.
One satisfying, though still very sad, aspect of this story, like a kind of encore to a play, is Wallander’s reconnection to both his ex-wife Mona and the other love of his life, Baiba Liepa, both of whom are also experiencing serious health problems.
The good news is that Wallander solves the case, in a way, though secretly, no one knows his involvement in it, which is sort of consistent with and appropriate for his lone wolf approach to secrecy and privacy. But he's admirable, too:
“Despite everything, I've tried to take responsibility for my life, and not merely allowed it to float away at the mercy of whatever current came along.”
In an essay he makes it clear that after this book, “There are no more stories about Kurt Wallander,” but the final sentences also make this clear. He said he wouldn't miss Wallander, but knew his readers would.
I initially gave this book four stars, though it just might be my favorite in the whole series in spite of my sadness, but I read what my fellow Goodreads reviewer Bob Brinkmeyer said about the series in his review of this book, and though we have both given four stars to most of the books in the series, we are giving five stars to this book and the series as a whole, which is finally pretty unforgettable for me. I highly recommend you check them out, but you have to read them in order! Wallander ages with each book, so it's really an epic tale of sorts about an ordinary sad sack policeman.
PS: I completed watching the British version of the series, where the typically flashy Kenneth Branagh captures so well the world-weariness of Wallander and the emotional toll the work takes on him. And, as this book reveals, and the film based on it, his neurological demise. Oh, my goodness, I have never read or seen a "police procedural" series as sad as this, such powerful acting by Branagh and his team. For this episode, they add a scene that mirrors Wallander's own father's wandering madly, King Lear-like, in a field, rescued by his devastated daughter Linda.
Near the very end of the film, at the funeral for Linda's father-in-law, Kurt reads this poem by the Swedish Nobel laureate poet Tomas Tranströmer, "The Half-Finished Heaven," from the book by the same name I reviewed some years ago, but it never felt so powerful or as devastating and beautiful and hopeful as when Branagh read it:
The Half-Finished Heaven
Despondency breaks off its course.
Anguish breaks off its course.
The vulture breaks off its flight.
The eager light streams out,
even the ghosts take a draught.
And our paintings see daylight,
our red beasts of the ice-age studios.
Everything begins to look around.
We walk in the sun in hundreds.
Each man is a half-open door
leading to a room for everyone.
The endless ground under us.
The water is shining among the trees.
The lake is a window into the earth.