Occasionally, a book comes along that I feel uniquely well-qualified to review. Such is definitely the case with The Department of Sensitive Crimes, the first novel in Alexander McCall Smith’s new series featuring Swedish detective Ulf Varg. Not only have I been reading the author’s books for many years now, but because I was born in Sweden and have spent a lot of time there, I felt I would have a good sense for how authentically Swedish the characters and settings seem to be.
And the answer is… not very. The book is set in Malmö, which is located in southern Sweden, just across the Öresund Bridge from Copenhagen. I will admit that while I have crossed that bridge, I have never actually visited Malmö, but really, he could have chosen Karlstad or Mora or Göteborg and it wouldn’t have made much difference. There is a plot point that requires Varg to make a crucial discovery at a nude beach, and it is probably true that the province of Skåne has more beaches than other parts of the country. But otherwise, there’s no flavor of the city itself.
Curious about Zimbabwe-born Scotsman McCall Smith’s connections to Sweden, I found this article, which states that the author “has visited Sweden on numerous book tours” and is a big fan of Swedish crime shows. He calls his new series “Scandi-blanc,” the opposite of the Scandinavian noir of authors like Henning Mankell, Lars Kepler and Jo Nesbø. “The basic idea for doing Scandi-blanc came from the general enthusiasm that people have for the Scandinavian noir. I loved the idea of really deflating the body count aspect of crime fiction, where everything is so ghastly that people are chopping one another to bits… there are no bodies in these, [they’re] just really ridiculous. It’s all tongue-in-cheek, poking fun at these stock images of Scandinavian crime.”
Readers of McCall Smith’s Botswana-set No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency will be familiar with the kind of low-stakes crimes investigated by Varg and his colleagues in the Sensitive Crimes Department of the Malmö Criminal Investigation Authority. A man is stabbed in the back of the knee; there are mysterious goings-on at a resort hotel; a college student invents a boyfriend to get her friends to stop asking her about her love life, but when she decides to make him disappear, one of her roommates reports the matter to the police, who must then investigate the case of a missing person who doesn’t actually exist.
I only found one really glaring error: the aforementioned college student was raised by a single mother, who was not able to pursue higher education herself because “she simply could not afford to pay for several years of childcare” along with her studies. Sweden has had free or heavily subsidized childcare available since 1975, so that shouldn’t have been an issue for a girl born in the 1990s.
Avid readers of Scandinavian crime fiction may spot some references to other authors’ work, intentional or not: for instance, there’s already a famous Scandinavian detective named Varg, Norwegian author Gunnar Staalesen’s private eye Varg Veum. The Department of Sensitive Crimes is a bit like Copenhagen’s Department Q in Jussi Adler-Olsen’s series, and Skåne was where Henning Mankell set his Kurt Wallander mysteries.
Still, despite these nitpicks, I’d happily read another one of these gentle, comically absurd mysteries, and while Ulf Varg is no Martin Beck, he does have a melancholy, reflective side: “He thought of all the ways that so many people felt about life. Life was a matter of regret—how could it be anything else? We knew that we would lose the things we loved; we knew that sooner or later we would lose everything, and beyond that was a darkness, a state of non-being that we found hard to imagine, let alone accept.”