Is there such a thing as a perfect crime-fiction novel? Probably not, but if there were, this would surely be a strong contender. Arnaldur Indridason's latest novel in the Inspector Erlendur series continues the upward trend in quality, confidence and storytelling that I have come to hope for, even dare to expect, with each new outing. Tragically, Indridason's translator, Bernard Scudder died before he had completed work on ARCTIC CHILL, but Victoria Cribb has stepped in and the result seems to be a seamless one....This author is brilliant at speaking to the reader at the level at which the reader desires, so one can either ignore the economically presented character studies and get on with the plot, or revel in them and find further insight behind the sparse prose. For me, this author understands internal suffering all too well, and can convey the sadness of daily life in a dispassionate yet empathetic way.

The books of Icelandic crime writer Arnaldur Indridason may seem esoteric, but this is a situation that is fast changing. A film adaptation of his Jar City has won rave reviews, and UK bookselling chains are promoting crime in translation...An opaque Icelandic police procedural that's all shades of grey...

...may well be the most thoroughly depressing of all the gloomy police procedurals coming out of those cold lands near the Arctic Circle. But since the storyteller is Arnaldur Indridason, this Icelandic tale is delivered with exquisite sensitivity, in a moody translation...