This is a noir novel written in the style of pulp fiction from the 1930s but set in Oslo in the 1970s. It unfurls well, at a fast pace with short sentences and plenty of dialogue, and has a few scenes that are really well done. But in mimicking the greats of pulp, Christensen doesn’t take in board the length of their work; this would have been a lot better if 50 pages shorter.
It begins with Hans Georg Windelband opening his newspaper and finding his own obituary. He apparently died three days earlier. It’s been done before as an opening, but it still works quite well. Windelband is without family or friends, and has spent some time in prison. Since then he has laid low and can’t fathom why anyone would think him dead. Under an alias, he goes to the morgue and views corpse. In its highly disfigured state it could certainly pass for him.
There are some things Christensen does that don’t work, it’s neither hard-boiled nor police procedural nor cosy, and would read better if it was darker, but it’s an easy read, with a rewarding and tidy ending.