Tragedy has struck again…I finished “Hornet’s Nest” last night and awoke today feeling that I’d just lost a good friend. I was getting pretty close to the end of the book when it suddenly dawned on me that I hadn’t heard anything from Ronald Niedermann in quite some time. He had to still be out there somewhere holding a grudge. Nice of Stieg to include big brother in the epilogue. So, on the whole, a happy ending—not quite what I was hoping for. I mean, sure, enough characters hit the literary morgue, but not nearly enough to satisfy my cynical quota, especially for stories with recurring characters!
Which sadly brings brings up my double-standard when it comes to fiction. Successful storylines, I have found, need heros and heroines who defy the plotlines that their creators thrust upon them. They get battered and bruised, but somehow seem to pull through with at least a better understanding of themselves or of the big, bad world around them. And according to my outlook, a good number of their allies should perish along that road to enlightenment—and that goes for both serials and one-shots. Regretfully, for my taste anyway, “Hornet’s Nest” didn’t end in armageddon, but rather in unrequited love and 2.4 billion in the bank! One can only guess that Stieg Larsson hinted at possible further adventures— he quite literally ended the trilogy with an open door! I wonder if the “Dragon Tattoo Trilogy” is being hailed as a trilogy merely because three novels were all the publisher received before Larsson’s untimely death. As I said, “one can only guess”.
Also in the regret column is the possibility that our socio-political expert might ever have published anything in the realm of pure academia (because any published work by Larsson might act as a good fix as we go through Salander-withdrawal). Unfortunately, as educated people, we quickly realized that academic works are, of necessity, rather dry reading and would probably break the spell. Better to leave it alone than view our crusading knight in a different and paler light. I miss him already.
And so, as I sit here pondering what’s next in my world of literary escapism, I wonder if I should just channel my energies into another obscure and self-aggrandizing poem (pome) or look for suggestions for yet another author to follow ’til death do us part—if I read only 19th-century authors, this wouldn’t be an issue.