Stockholm Syndrome

I just finished this and feel like I've been held captive by it. Like only a fraction of me has been present here at home, and the rest of me has been gallivanting about Sweden, in constant peril and with increasing admiration for my captors. Or captor - singular - as in Stieg Larsson who has posthumously held me and countless others hostage in his novels.

As much as I enjoyed the 1st one, I've been completely engrossed in the last 2 books in this series. What a great ride. Violent and intense, morally sound yet ethically crooked. It's rare that a story can have such clearly defined "good guys" and "bad guys", and such blatantly idealistic good guys at that, but lack the predictability, shallowness and general cheese factor that these archetypes usually ooze.

Now I have that telltale listlessness that takes hold after a good read. What do I do with myself in the wake of Lisbeth Salander? I don't know, but I'm oddly compelled pick up the fine art of hacking and to sleep with a nail gun under my pillow. You know, just in case.

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