Why I love dead people in Iceland

If you're not fond of the occasional book you can feed this one to the birds.  I love dead people in Iceland because that country suddenly is producing mystery authors of some talent.  The plots are all murder but the locations, language, customs, values and myths are as different as a bat from a buffalo.  Yrsa Sigurdardottir has written a couple fine stories with great skill, including My Soul To Take, and a fellow named Arnaldur Indridason has a good handful in print, of which my favorite is Jar City.  

                                                                   

I am having great fun reading these.  The Swedes have come up with some equally capable new authors and there is a homicide in Lapland called Snow Angels,  a land that is totally dark twenty four hours a day in winter.  Or if you want something grubby and familiar to read, go to the grocery and get a copy of the National Enquirer.


An idea for a greeting card from a dead people book:

(front) "This has been a stressful time for both of us..."

(inside) "...so would you please go to the nearest piranha farm and throw yourself in one of the tanks." 


Ta!