This is the final Kurt Wallander book from Henning Mankell, and although I have enjoyed many of these in the past I must admit to a feeling of disappointment with this one.

The book tells of Wallander’s obsession with the disappearance of the parents of the man living with his daughter Linda. The book proceeds at an extremely slow pace, even for a Mankell novel. The primary theme is that of Wallander coming to terms with his own mortality, and that of those around him. There is little of the usual procedural aspects, or his relationship with other members of his team, which has lifted previous books and also the Swedish produced television series. Most of the book concerns itself with Wallendar’s independent investigations conducted during his own time.

There is a nagging feeling that the apparent subject matter has been chosen after the success of other Scandinavian fiction – spies, America and political dealings – which is a shame, as Mankell has a claim to being the father of this genre and it is a disappointment to see him jumping on the bandwagon at this stage.

I will not give away the ending, but I have to say the final two paragraphs are perhaps the most depressing of any novel I have read for many years.

The book has a feel of something created from duty rather than love, and it would have been better for Henning Mankell to have allowed Kurt Wallander a more fitting tribute to his career than this.