Love in Amsterdam by Nicolas Freeling

​     I can think of so many things to love in and about Amsterdam. Alas, this book wouldn’t be one of them. Surprisingly so, since I’m very much a fan of Scandinavian noir. Maybe I don’t love Scandinoir classics? This is, after all, from 1962. Of course, some things from 1962 age really well, like Jim Carrey or Michelle Yeoh or The Manchurian Candidate or any Elvis’ song from that year…and some things less so.
    Literature (most things, really) dates itself in many different ways, sometimes it’s the expired zeitgeist of the time, sometimes it’s the general tone, sometimes it’s whatever used to be hip and in vogue and just didn’t travel through time…sometimes it’s something difficult to describe, like the way people spoke in old movies, a forgotten cadence. This book dates itself in one of those difficult to explain ways, nothing overt or disturbing to modern readers, no grotesque sexism/racism/etc., and I’m sure this was very hip for its time, but the style of the narrative just really didn’t work for me.
    It’s a classic three act story and quite short (though it doesn’t read like it) with act one finding Martin being arrested for the murder of his ex lover Elsa, act 2 traveling back in time to trace their love affair and act 3, back to present day to sort of this mess and solve the crime. The detective Van Der Valk doesn’t seem to actually do all that much, considering he’s the star of the show and the subsequent series. And Martin isn’t all that likeable. Act 2 was interesting enough as far as historical fiction goes, post WWII Amsterdam and all that, but the rest of the novel didn’t really engage and neither did the characters. The entire love triangle is overwrought and kind of sordid and contrived. The mystery is underwhelming and the resolution is fairly bathetic.
     Not sure I can adequately describe why writing didn’t work for me, there was a very specific sort of density to the narrative that seems to be appropriate to the time, but not appealing to this reader. There was a strangely Kafkaesque aspect to Martin’s predicament and Van Der Valk’s detecting methods. Maybe the legal system in Scandinavian has changed since or maybe their fiction has just dramatically improved, but nowadays they produce some of the most excellently moody brooding mystery thrillers out there. This book doesn’t quite measure up.
     Mind you, I wouldn’t mind checking out the recent PBS adaptation of it. Modern day interpretations of the 1960s stories seem to be in general much more enjoyable. Best of both worlds.