L-r: Lisbeth Salander, as played by Swedish actress Noomi Papace in the movies; a movie poster (picturing Salander and Mikael Blomkvist); the American publication.

I just finished the Black Lizard publication of “The Girl Who Played with Fire,” an amazing book. It’s the sequel to Stieg Larsson’s “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo,” which stormed the US (and Europe before that) in 2009 (which I reviewed in December 2009). They are the two best mysteries/thrillers I’ve read in a long while.

A third book in the series, “The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest,” was published in hardback in the US in May 2010. The three books are known as the Millennium Trilogy.

Stieg Larsson (right), a Swede, turned in all three books to a publisher in 2004, and the first book (called “Men Who Hate Women” in Sweden) had just been published…and then he died of a massive heart attack. He was 50. Since he and his companion of 32 years, Eva, never married, the entire estate went to Larsson’s father and brother; she got nothing. This is a big scandal in Sweden, though their laws are pretty clear. A case of bad planning.

They had no idea these books would become a worldwide sensation. The three books became the number 1, 2,  and 3 bestsellers in Sweden, and the same pattern repeated in other countries. In 2008, Larsson was the second-highest-selling author in the world. In 2009, all three books were released as movies in Sweden. To date, 27 million copies have been sold in 40 countries.

The title character, Lisbeth Salander, may be the most interesting heroine you’ll ever read about.

To envision Lisbeth Salander, start with the goth stereotype–black clothes, piercings, tattoos, anti-social, introverted. She’s 4-foot-9 inches tall and weighs 90 pounds. Add a severely dysfunctional childhood and a total distrust of “the system,” which has let her down repeatedly. Then add genius qualities–an expert computer hacker, photographic memory, amazing resourcefulness. And a willingness to resort to violence when threatened.

She is joined by Mikael Blomkvist,  a middle-aged investigative journalist with the magazine “Millennium,” thus the title of the series. Blomkvist is well-known in Sweden for his exposes. He and Salander have a strange relationship, mainly because she distrusts everyone and is emotionally bankrupt. They are not a “couple,” but end up working together. 

“The Girl Who Played with Fire” starts pretty much where “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” left off, though it mostly occurs two years later. It starts with an upcoming, blockbuster Millennium expose of sex trafficking, but turns into a murder mystery, and then gets taken over by plotlines from “Dragon Tattoo.” Halfway through the book, Salander disappears entirely for a long period as a full-fledged police investigation begins, and Larsson acquaints us with the persons on the police team.

It’s difficult to figure out where the book is going, but you can’t pull yourself away. I was sucked in, and just had to keep reading, utterly hooked. Larsson jumps from one character to the next, a few paragraphs or a few pages with each, juggling a host of different perspectives, motives, and agendas. But everything comes together in the end. The plot is very complicated, yet easy to follow. A lot happens in those 630 pages.

Larsson wrote the books in his spare time. His main preoccupation was running an organization that documented and exposed right-wing extremism and racial and religious intolerance. He and Eva lived their last 15 years under death threats from extremist groups, and the threats were real. One reason they never married is that Swedish law requires that married couples make public an address; for security reasons, Stiegg and Eva kept their lives out of the public view.

The third book, “The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest,” start immediately where “The Girl Who Played with Fire” ends. I’m anxious to see where the story goes, and may not have the patience to wait for the Black Lizard paperback version in 2011.

Larsson envisioned a ten-book series. Eva still has possession of an unfinished manuscript for the fourth book, and I read that he left a synopsis for books 5 and 6. But his books are so unique, I can’t imagine turning them over to some other writer. Larsson is gone, and I greatly doubt he can be replaced.

One advantage of being laid-up is that I’ve been able to do lots of reading. Here are three books I read over a period of four days, the week after my April 16 surgery.

I enjoy mysteries set in other countries, and with detectives from those countries (rather than some American on a foreign jaunt). I’ve read mysteries set in Sweden, Iceland, Nazi Germany, Italy, China, Japan, Bosnia, and elsewhere. Now I’ve added a far more exotic country: Mongolia.

“The Shadow Walker,” a 2008 book by first-time novelist Michael Walters, involves a series of grisly murders which, as the plot develops, seem to involve the gold-mining industry and foreign businesses. The Mongolia we see is trying to struggle out of Third World status and away from its recent Soviet/communist past.  

Frankly, the book somewhat disappointed me. There was plenty of local color, but the plot fell flat for me. It moved slowly, with little happening. Too much unnecessary dialogue. A lot of the procedural stuff could have been summed up, rather than forcing us to read mundane details. It came to a conclusion, but not a satisfying one. My thought was, “I read 350 pages for this?”

“Seeking Whom He May Devour,” (2006), by Frenchwoman Fred Vargas, is set in the mountains of southern France. This is a “Chief Inspector Adamsberg” mystery. Lots of sheep, and the occasional human, are being killed by what seems to be a very big wolf and its owner.

It’s sort of a road trip book, as three somewhat quirky characters–a woman and two men–head off to follow the killer’s route and hopefully catch him. Inspector Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg eventually joins them. It was an enjoyable plot, and you learn a lot about wolves and the French police system. I liked Adamsberg.

“Tropical Freeze,” a 1989 book from James W. Hall, is an oddball piece set in the Florida Keys. It’s like a Carl Hiaasen or Elmore Leonard book–quirky characters, and a plot that wanders to and fro and ultimately decides to end.

We’ve got our protagonist named Thorn, an FBI friend working for the local bad guy, a beautiful weathergirl, an inept criminal named Ozzie, a spinster librarian/computer hacker, and other assorted folks. They usually do the unexpected, and anything they plan out is inevitably thwarted through stupidity or happenstance. So if the reader thinks he knows what’s going to happen next, he’s wrong.

Hall is a very good writer, and the book teems with texture and a sense of place. You feel like you’re in Florida. But I’m not really a fan of this kind of meandering plot. I prefer a straightforward, “Here’s the mystery. Now let’s solve it.” 

Joe Lansdale is quickly becoming one of my favorite authors. He excels at developing memorable characters, and his plots are unusual.

Both of these books are set in East Texas–“Sunset and Sawdust” in the 1930s Depression, “Lost Echoes” in the present.

“Lost Echoes” is a 2007 book in the Vintage Crime / Black Lizard imprint–the 99th Black Lizard book I’ve read. The protagonist, Harry Wilkes, has the ability to “see” terrible events which occurred in whatever place he’s in–murders, rapes, car accidents, domestic violence. A vision takes over, and it’s like he’s there watching it happen.

This takes over his life. He keeps a notebook detailing places to avoid, lest he get entrapped in another vision. Alcohol is one way to keep the visions at bay.

Harry meets up with another alcoholic, a very interesting guy named Tad who’s also a martial artist, and they both climb on the wagon together.

Harry’s childhood crush, Kayla, enters the picture, and they set about trying to solve the murder of her father many years before. Other people come and go, and you’re not sure what role they play in the story, but there’s a role of some kind.

It’s a good story. The ending gets a bit crazy, but I say that in a good way.

“Sunset and Sawdust,” written in 2004, begins with a woman–named Sunset, because of her red hair–shooting her husband in the head while he’s beating and raping her (and while a tornado is taking their house apart). He’s the police constable, and when they need a new one, she ends up getting the job. Not without opposition.

This book is a companion of sorts to “The Bottoms,” an astoundingly good book set in East Texas during the Depression. Both show the extreme racism of that time and place, with blacks cowering in subservience, always knowing they can get lynched for practically anything. His black characters are compelling.

Lansdale develops at an unhurried pace, introducing new characters only after you’ve had time to get acquainted with the previous ones. Two bodies are found, and Sunset and her makeshift police force try to unravel what happened. It gets complicated. Some people die, some live. The story resolved to my complete satisfaction.

“Sunset and Sawdust” is a better book than “Lost Echoes,” but “The Bottoms” is the best of the three.

“Joker One: A Marine Platoon’s Story of Courage, Leadership, and Brotherhood,” left me in tears. It really did.

Donovan Campbell led the platoon called Joker One during five months in 2004 in Ramadi, a major city in Iraq’s Anbar Province. When they arrived in March 2004, a year after the invasion, things were dangerous, yet fairly calm. But the insurgency exploded in April and continued until Joker One left in September…and it then continued for a couple more years. Their battalion took more casualties than any battalion–Marine or Army–since Vietnam.

The book’s subtitle says it well: a story of courage, leadership, and brotherhood.

I was initially conscious of the leadership part–Campbell’s leadership, starting in the States with pre-deployment training. He led by example, with strength, and with sensitivity. I realized that he would make a good pastor; in many ways, he was a shepherd for his men. And it was servant leadership. He was there to serve and protect his men. That theme prevailed throughout the book.

The first 150 pages take place in the States and in the early days of their time in Ramadi. Then, with the section titled “Fierce,” come 150 pages of regular combat. You see the grind of daily fighting take its toll on the men, and on Campbell. You also see the professionalism, strength, competence, morality, and awesome firepower of the American soldier.

There is nothing flashy about Campbell’s writing. But he communicates with authenticity. He clearly acknowledges his own failings, and doesn’t dwell on the things he does well. He earned a Bronze Star with Valor, but he never mentions it in the book.

Campbell (left) throws some deserved barbs at Paul Bremer, the civilian leader whose decisions caused so much havoc in Iraq. During the summer of battle, with friends dying around him, he muses about people in the States obliviously heading out on their vacations. In August, “America focused on something totally incomprehensible to us–the 2004 Summer Olympics.” It shows  how much the war had been removed from our minds.

Campbell muses occasionally on spiritual subjects, and in evangelical terminology, though he never explicitly identifies himself as a Christian or even as a man of faith. I found that most interesting.

Near the end, in chapter 37, he talks in biblical language about love and sacrifice. It’s an amazing chapter–my favorite, the one that choked me up–as he reflects on Joker One.

“For me, then, loving Joke One–something I so desperately hoped that I did–meant much more than simply feeling that I cared. It meant patience when explaining something for the fifth time to a 19-year-old who just didn’t get it. It meant kindness when dealing with a Marine who had made an honest mistake while trying his hardest; mercy when deciding the appropriate punishment. It meant dispensing justice and then forgetting that it had been dispensed, punishing wrong and then wiping the slate clean.

“Love was joy at the growth of my men, even when it diminished my own authority. It was giving the credit for our successes to the team while assuming all the responsibility for our failures on myself. It was constantly teaching my men, sharing everything with them until I had nothing left to give, with the expectation and the hope that they would become greater then me. It was making myself less so that they might become more. Love accepted the Marines for exactly who they were and never believed that it was all they would be….

“So that was how we loved those who hated us; blessed those who persecuted us; daily laid down our lives for our neighbors….Now I understand more about what it means to truly love, and what it means to love your neighbor–how you can do it even when your neighbor literally tries to kill you.” He mentions Bolding, a Marine killed while trying to protect some Iraqi children. “Bolding had lived out the greater-love principle to its fullest possible extent.”

Campbell writes in the tradition of the soldier-poet, rather than of the foul-mouthed sergeant telling it like it is. He’s authentic and introspective, and I felt I truly learned a lot about the American soldier.