The Devil’s Star

Nesbø opens with an unusual shot: a leak seeping through the floorboards, plaster and old newspaper pages of an 1898 building until it drips into a pot on the stove below. This long, almost cinematic «journey of the water» tells the house's century-old history — a legend of a woman walled up alive, a mason who fell from the scaffolding — while setting up an unexpected detail: clots of blood in boiling water that look like bits of egg. It is a masterful opening, though it tests an impatient reader.

When the police story begins, Nesbø exploits the summer emptiness of the station: half the department is on holiday, and Chief Inspector Bjarne Møller, running his finger down the duty roster, has no choice but to send two sworn enemies to the same scene. That sets up the book's central tension: the murder inquiry is really the backdrop for a hidden war between two detectives. Tom Waaler is flawless, composed and in control; Harry arrives sweaty, drunk and with a scab on his nose.

Crime-scene writing is Nesbø's strength. Drunk as he is, Harry works with Beate Lønn to read the distance and angle of the shot from the powder burns around the wound, and deduces from the blood loss that the finger was cut off while the victim was still alive. These scenes are cold, precise and convincing; rather than scattering clues, the author shows how a detective's mind actually works.

The real weight of the novel, though, is Harry himself. His relationship with Rakel has collapsed, his obsession with the Ellen Gjelten case has tipped into paranoia, his only witness has recanted, and the head of Kripos has threatened him with «the Hole–Waaler case». Nesbø never romanticises alcoholism: the squalid flat, the vomiting, the blackouts, a brain that automatically remembers bar opening hours — all rendered bare and uncomfortable. Møller's line «Rakel and the job were all you had» is the emotional centre of these chapters.

Short italicised monologues — the killer's own voice — add a cold second layer. Beginning with «water for the thirsty», these passages let the reader sense the killer watching Harry and pose early the question of who is hunting whom. Side threads such as the chapter with Aftenposten crime reporter Roger Gjendem enrich the picture with the city's summer lethargy, a sensation-hungry press, and quiet social detail like a brother lost to heroin.

The Turkish translation reads smoothly overall, but typesetting and proofreading slips (Møller printed as «M0İler», assorted letter errors) may bother an attentive reader. Even so, the first 15% offers one of the strongest openings in the series — both as a crime novel and as a portrait of a man on the verge of collapse.

• A cinematic prologue that follows water dripping through the history of a building
• Chapters titled by day and keyword («Friday. Egg», «Friday. Water») create a steady rhythm
• The killer's brief italic interior monologues open a second point of view
• Forensic details are precise and plausible; the detective's reasoning is shown step by step