It must be said that this review refers to the translation of the Swedish original and there is always a chance that the blame for this rather boring police procedural lies with the translator. It must also be said that the reviewer was prejudiced by his colleagues that likened Henning Mankell to Ian Rankin and Maj Sjowall/Per Wahloo tandem. Actually I still wonder what the heck they were thinking about alleging similarity of all these authors... Mankell (or his translator) lacks the literary prowess of Rankin and his novels fall short of those produced by Sjowall/Wahloo in the same tongue. Having read all of the Beck's series one has to ask himself - would it hurt to dream up a Swedish detective who isn't divorced, recently lost an investigative soulmate and thus largely talking to himself, has a somewhat strained relationships with an adult daugther, and is in somewhat of a dating limbo? And what's with always pissed forensic experts traveling from one crime novel to another? Maybe it's just me but I couldn't help feeling that Kurt Wallander isn't even trying to escape the likely charge of a literary derivative... Plotwise the book is all "sidetracked"; the author in all honesty tries to come up with a page-turner, but there is a fine line between the intricate web of subplots and twists and simply a messy writing. The introduction of a killer perspective early in the book dumpens the suspense and soon after the third murder the only thing the reader is left to ponder upon is the exact fashion the author himself is going to tie up all the loose ends in his plot.

Well, Sjowall and Wahloo are trying to be Fredrick Forsyth and Fedor Dostoevsky at the same time here, and Forsyth part came out much better. There are three subplots to this book - the murder of porno director Walter Petrus, the political assasinations, and the story of young Stockholmer Rebecka Lind, loosely tying the former two together. The attempt on the life of American Senator is written out superbly, rivaling the Day of Jackal. The rest of the book is also readable, but by the end of the series Sjowall and Wahloo became quite didactic in their social commentaries, occasionally crossing into Pravda-like condemnation of the capitalist evils. Authors disenchantement with capitalism is evident in their other books also, but in Terrorists its influence is far less artful and a great measure less subtle. I still like the book but one could wish - can't he? - that this mesalliance between a crime novel and a morality play was moderated by the same literary taste the authors shown us before.

Laughing Policeman puts Martin Beck on the same page as the very best literary detectives of all times. The novel is quick paced, engaging, full of dry wit and not so much full of social commentary as some other Martin Beck books (e.g. otherwise great plot of Terrorists is too often punctuated by anti-capitalist, anti-Vietnam war, anti-government rhetoric - don't get me wrong, I am as much for anarcho-syndicalism as the next guy, just put it in a separate book). The novel is centered around a fictional mass-murder taking place in a Stockholm city bus. Right, if it was Boston or Philly nobody would even care to write a book about it... Anyways, the story is rich with details of actual investigative work - customary to Sjowall-Wahloo tandem - as it is with dumb cops, constantly threatening to riun the whole thing. Fans of Beck stories will find all the usual trappings - door breakings by Gunvald Larsson, the red nose of Einar Rohn, toothpick-chewing Per Mansson, and of course still surviving tandem of crime-busting heavyweights Beck and Kolberg. People who are not yet fans run a grave danger of becoming ones after - or even while - reading this book.

It would not come too soon if this book would appear 500 or 5000 years ago to present the pesky humans with OUR view of their "world", their "kings" and "heroes". But finally the justice has been done to Grendel and through his memory to us all in this book by a human writer with unusually sharp eye and nose for all things beastly. A book no monster should be without.

Goblin Reservation is one of the few examples of a happy marriage between SF and fantasy, that many strive for but only chosen achieve. This book because of its relatively small size and "classic" SF elements (like aliens, cybertigers and space travel) is a great introduction to a more Tolkienish side of Simak creativity, filled with dwarves, ogres and rafter goblins. It can ease a neophyte poisoned by the made-for-TV SF into reading of Fellowship of Talisman, Heritage of Stars and Where the Evil Dwells. Did I mention it's a good book? Well, then, don't just sit there...