This book is beginning to depress me.
The title isn’t cheery. It’s Scandi Noire so a cheery title would be ironic, which would probably damage its Scandi image. It refers to the way betray happens: in the same way that you can’t tell if the ice beneath you will bear your weight until it cracks when you stand on it, you can’t tell which of people will betray you until they move against you.
But the title hadn’t prepared me for the men in this book. I was ready for some machette-wielding, head-severing psychopath. I wasn’t ready for every man in the book to be a bullying, pompous, self-serving, angry, weak-willed little shit.
Of course, the depressing part is how plausible it all is.
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