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The Girl Who Played with Fire
by Stieg Larsson
It may be important to note that mace is apparently illegal in Sweden. Nonetheless, given the number of rapists, sadists and perverts in Stieg Larsson's Stockholm, one surely wouldn't want to leave home without a nice can of peppery goodness close at hand.
The Girl Who Played with Fire, the second novel in Larsson's Millennium Trilogy, picks up a year after brutal punk cyclone Lisbeth Salander and sexy-smart journalist Mikael Blomkvist escaped the twisted restraints of a sicko mass-murdering billionaire. In the intervening year between books, Mikael has been making the celebrity journo rounds for his exposé of the previous case. Lisbeth has picked up a pair of perfectly proportioned implants.
Unlike The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, with its frigid tone, sizzling characters and the basely violent psychodrama that made for a despicably delightful page-turner, this novel takes a slightly less intricate approach. The pages still fly by and Larsson's attention to each terrifying detail still captivates, but this story requires a little more commitment and a lot more suspension of disbelief. A blond giant who's genetically unable to feel pain (but is terrified of the dark), world champion boxers coming to the rescue, and sex-trafficking government officials actually provide more challenges to plausibility than sadomasochism and financial scandal.
The novel thrums along, but Larsson keeps his two heroes separated. Yes, Lisbeth pursues her mysteries and Mikael his, but the connection between the two is sacrificed and the wonderfully horrifying mutual reader/character discovery that worked so well in his previous book is missing here.
Knopf, 512 pp., $25.95, July 28
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