The Girl Who Played With Fire was consumed, digested, then spit back up within twelve hours. Sleep wasn’t considered until almost 3 a.m. when the book was completed, the cliffhanger mourned, and the days counted until The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest arrives from the UK, and, even then, the mind continued to churn over the events, the characters, the what will happen next?s.
There are several marks of a good book. One is how far you’re drawn into the story, the characters, the alternate world which the author presents to you, how much you lose yourself to his or her fabrication. Another is how many new or different thoughts you’re left to digest and chew and digest all over again in a process that results in carefully churned conclusions and altered point-of-views. Another is how deeply the book clings to you and how slowly you seem to be able to free yourself from its clutches, how many long minutes it takes to shut your mind off and power down to sleep because, in only a few hours, you’ve got to be up to head off for another day at the office …
The Millennium Trilogy, thus far, has done all three, some to greater extents than others, and, thus far, you may tickle me pleased.