I have a major peeve, so let's get it out of the way first. The blurb bills this as a "masterly locked-room mystery." But The Dying Game IS NOT A LOCKED-ROOM MYSTERY. I have no beef about it being described as a mystery novel, in that there are untoward goings-on whose causes are a mystery that must be solved, and within the unwritten rules of blurb-writer's hyperbole the term "masterly" seems reasonable, but, to repeat, The Dying Game IS NOT A LOCKED-ROOM MYSTERY.
Hm. I've just realized that, IIRC, the last time it was obvious to me that a blurb-writer didn't know what the term "locked-room mystery" meant but blithely used it anyway, the book concerned was likewise from Messrs. Penguin. I wonder if it was the same idiot?
But a blurb-writer's false claims are not the fault of the book. So let me have a few curative drams of Twelve-Year-Old Cask-Aged Olde Stag's Breath Single Malt to calm me down before I continue . . .
It's 2037. The Iron Curtain never fell and Sweden is now a Soviet Protectorate. Young single mother Anna Francis, who has spent years recovering from PTSD and happy-pill addiction following a grueling service in a distant war zone, is one of a group of individuals sent to a house on a remote island. Anna's role, aided by the group's physician, is to mimic her own murder then observe how her fellows react to the subsequent events. But almost immediately things start going haywire . . .
The setup is deliberately reminiscent of Agatha Christie's Golden Age classic And Then There Were None (also not a locked-room mystery), but Avdic has very different intentions with this tale. Certainly it functions okay as a mystery novel, as noted, but really what she has set out to create is a political satire. (No, not a satire in the hilariously funny sense of the term. A satire like Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-four is a satire.) Very little is quite as it seems, and there are several different levels of manipulation going on.
Presumably it's because of the stultifying effect of Soviet occupation -- I mean, protection -- that there seems to have been very little technological progress made between now and 2047; in fact, if we're to judge by the fact that the satellite phone that one of the characters owns is clearly both an uncommon piece of hardware and a fairly chunky object, the near future's technology is actually less advanced than today's: we can guess that progress has been sluggish since the 1980s.
There are quite a few oddnesses that may be from the original or may be artifacts of the translation -- a branch that rattles a window, for example, is "from a tree, probably." Otherwise the text is very readable, once it actually gets going: it takes quite a while to do this, with the result that I probably spent twice as long plowing through the first eighty pages or so as I did pelting through the rest of the novel.
Overall, I enjoyed The Dying Game very much. But just don't go into it expecting a locked-room mystery, d'you hear?
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For what it's worth, half the pages in the 220s, 230s and 240s of the (library) copy that I read were almost illegibly gray; clearly one side of the relevant sheet suffered from inadequate inking. Time was that Penguin had better quality control than this.