Jo Nesbø appears to understand what women want. And it’s not gamma males.
Nesbø’s titular son is Sonny Lofthus, a heroin addict who has spent half his life behind bars. After learning a life changing secret he busts out to wreak revenge on those who have wronged him. It’s not a Harry Hole story, but it is just as good, with mayhem, a flawed cop, and a cast of enticingly noxious villains. If you’re a fan of Harry, you’ll enjoy it.
Apart from all that, one of the plot lines that interested me was the romantic relationship between Sonny and Martha, a do-gooder leftist working at a government subsidised hostel for drug addicts.
Martha is engaged to her childhood sweetheart, a stolid chap who certainly has his flaws. Whatever the case, he’s not revving her engine. He’s boring. He’s easily angered.
But Sonny. Well, Sonny’s a different story. He’s ‘strangely charismatic’ according to the blurb, and when he arrives at the hostel, track marks from head to toe, on the run from the police, murdering with the frequency other people cook meals, Martha realises with a jolt that here is the man for her.
Martha is the NGO-wallah working with smugglers to bring 'refugees' into Europe, the middle class liberal at college dating a black gang banger. She's every woman who rejects the notion of the biological urge, but acts on it every. Single. Time.