I was going to post my thoughts on completing reading Murder at the Savoy by Maj Sjowall and Per Wahloo, but earlier today Jose Ignacio already posted an excellent review of this book at The Game's Afoot.
I will therefore delay my effort a few days, and see if I can possibly come up with anything fresh to say about the wonderful Martin Beck series.
I don't know whether it is my age but I have recently found myself when browsing in bookshops, or the book sales areas of supermarkets, opening conversations with complete strangers. These people who have tentatively picked up a crime fiction book are informed as to the merits of that particular book. The trouble is I don't stop talking, and someone who was only glancing at the blurbs on the back cover of a Stieg Larsson or a Liza Marklund, will get a condensed history of Swedish crime fiction, and a long list of Scandinavian authors to read.
Luckily I am fairly harmless, and eventually Mrs Crime Scraps will come and lead me away still mumbling about Arnaldur Indridason, Jo Nesbo, and Liza Marklund. Mrs Crime Scraps and my victim will both sigh and nod kindly at my idiosyncratic behaviour; an explanation follows "He can't help it he is a blogger".