I remember as a boy the utter anticipation that came with the experience of reading. Sitting alone with the latest Ian Fleming James Bond book was an sensory delight. The smell of the new pages, the colors of the cover and page trim, the weight in my hands. All just a prelude to the world of fast cars, loose women and wondrous physical feats performed by a cool Superhero. Hey whats not to like, update, similar feelings during my journey through ordeals and fantasy of the ultimate anti-hero Lisabeth Salander. So many visceral comparisons along with a renewed sense of guilty pleasure. Ah to have a conclusion, thank you fiction writer Mr Larsson, so unlike my years of work reading Non-Fiction, where fact is disputed as soon as faced with no end or conclusion just more questions along with a bit of hopelessness. So, I think this is not the proper time to review this dark trilogy. I wait to do a more serious review as soon as I get the image of a boy on a stoop reading about a spy out of my head, I hope you can tell I am not exerting much energy in pushing that image out at this time as it simply feels too good, hey I just eat an extra serving of greens to compensate.