Another blast from the past from the ever accommodating archeologists at Endeavor press, who specialize in this sort of thing. This one, indeed, featuring archeology, the real kind. The kind involving lots of Danish mud and potential discoveries about Viking past.
It also features the sort of not even remotely charming bygone sexist mores that would make modern feminists want to burn it like a bra. And no, I’m not going to go all feminist on this review (I possess the ability to contextualize), but it is important to mention, because it is questionable that a book like this would be published as is in modern day and age. So in context of however many decades ago, the protagonist here is a woman, but she is completely at the will and mercy of the man in her life. It begins with her domineering grandfather, the combative irascible archeologist for whom she works as an assistant. It proceeds with an arrogant despotic brute of a local she hastily marries after a brief unromantic courtship. Then there’s another man, a potential love interest, made mostly appealing by being lesser of the many evils. Then there’s another brutish local every kiss from whom is written as rapey. And in between all of them, she is flapping like a leaf on windy day. But, because it is a mystery and not a romance, here’s the plot…Erik, the man she marries disappears presumed dead along her grandfather. And then another man shows up with all the right paperwork claiming to be Erik. And her grandmother is all like there you go, dear. And she’s all like, that isn’t him. And her grandma is like, are you sure? It must be him, don’t be silly. Seriously, that’s how they carry on. WTF, grandma? Et tu, Grandma? So now our intrepid protagonist (with no assistance from that ridiculous grandmother) has to figure out who the new Erik is, how is he connected to the original Erik and WTF is going on in general. Why are people trying to steal things from her, things her grandfather had found. Thus unrolls a pretty torrid melodrama of a woman ping ponging between interested but variously guilty and sordid men. It’s decent enough as a mystery and quite well written and enhanced all the more by the Danish setting, but made silly (or quaint if that’s how you roll) by its dated social mores. In any case it’s short enough. You know what isn’t? Don’t say this review, I can’t help it and it’s for your own good. No, I mean the book’s official GR’s description. It’s so ridiculously long and hyperbolic, it’s practically hysterical. At the very least it’s unintentionally funny. At any rate, once upon a time there was a time and place for these type of thrillers. It must not have paid very much, so the authors made up for it by sheer volume of books produced, quality aside. And now Endeavor is bringing them all back, for reasons one can imagine must be seeped in nostalgia. This one does have a good title, though, very atmospheric. And the book is kinda sorta entertaining or at least diverting in its own way.
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