Leif G. W. Persson

Backstrom gets assigned the innocuous case of a little old lady accused of not caring for her pet rabbit. In his usual manner, he disposes of it as quickly as he can, but is frustrated by an animal rights activist in his team. Matters quickly develop, however, when a renowned criminal lawyer is found dead in his home. While the police are relieved to be rid of the deceased, Backstrom is still required to at least make a pretence of caring how he died. A tip-off from a wealthy mate soon leads Backstrom to a find that gets him very interested in this case and very anxious to ensure that it turns out well - for him.

Backstrom being Backstrom, and the constant discussion of his "super-salami" one can only quail at what he might think that the "sword of justice" is. He continues with his abominable misogyny and racism, but we start to see a bit of push-back from his colleagues, especially from his "right hand man", his lesbian second-in-command.

As with all these novels, this character is an acquired taste and probably best avoided by the easily offended. I did get the impression that Persson was toning him down a little, even make him (gasp) a bit likeable. I hope he does not make the mistake that was made in the US TV series, of trying to turn him into a loveable messed-up hero instead of the cop everybody loves to hate.… (mais)

Detective Superintendent Evert Backstrom is an obstreperous, corrupt, obese, racist misogynist who pisses off everybody who works with him. And those are his good points.

The second Backstrom novel is similar to the first, with Persson building a procedural around his Falstaffian cop, frequently leaving the readers shaking their heads at the outrageous internal dialogue that he attributes to him, and eliciting belly laughs that are immediately followed with a twinge of guilt at finding such outrageousness funny. It's quite a feat; he manages to keep the character just the right side of offensiveness, while milking his obnoxiousness for all it is worth.

The plot commences with the death of an old man in his apartment, surrounded by empty bottles. Backstrom instantly decides it's just one piss-artist killing another piss-artist, nothing to see here, let's all go have lunch. The body is found by a Somali paperboy, whom Backstrom dismisses with a few crude epithets.

There is something that niggles at him though and he seems to be well ahead of his colleagues, leading them a bit of a dance before the team starts to home in on what is really going on. Despite all his unlikeable characteristics, Backstrom is sharp when it counts.

This novel is a guilty pleasure, but probably not for people who consider themselves "woke"; they may just find the character too offensive.… (mais)