I was a child during the American war in Vietnam. I can still conjure images of the time: horrifying photos in Life magazine, correspondents on the nightly news reporting over the sound of mortar fire, while in the background medics bearing stretchers ran, crouching, toward waiting helicopters.
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Hotel Iris was published in Japan in 1996 and only now, 14 years later, is it finally available in English. Fortunately, thanks to the efforts of Stephen Snyder, it is worth waiting for.
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Unusual, unorthodox, and uncanny is how I might sum up the detective we are introduced to in Fred Vargas's first "Commissaire Adamsberg" mystery. And if you are a seasoned reader of detective fiction, this novel—this detective—may cause you to question the very reasons you read in this genre.
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Prospective readers may not choose to read a novel reviewed as harrowing, sometimes depressing, difficult to read (without a box of tissues to wipe away tears), with a protagonist who is at times drawn unsympathetically. However, for readers who are willing to cast this aside, Come Sunday is a rewarding and beautifully written book.
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It came as no surprise to discover that Elisabeth Rynell is a poet as well as a novelist; as I read To Mervas I had the sense that every single word had been carefully chosen to paint a particular picture, that no other word would do, and that they were all equally important.
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