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The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest: A Lisbeth Salander Novel (The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo Series Book 3) Kindle Edition
In the next installment of the Millennium series, with the help of Mikael Blomkvist, Salander will need to identify those in authority who have allowed the vulnerable, like herself, to suffer abuse and violence. And, on her own, she'll seek revenge—against the man who tried to kill her and against the corrupt government institutions that nearly destroyed her life.
Look for the latest book in the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo series, The Girl in the Eagle's Talons, coming soon!
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherVintage Crime/Black Lizard
- Publication dateMay 19, 2010
- File size3369 KB
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Editorial Reviews
Review
“Gripping.... Lisbeth Salander ... is one of the most original characters in a thriller to come along in a while.”—Michiko Kakutani, The New York Times
“Larsson’s vivid characters, the depth of detail across three books, the powerfully imaginative plot, and the sheer verve of the writing make the trilogy a masterpiece of the genre.”—The Economist
“The literary equivalent of a caffeine rush.... Larsson was one of those rare writers who could keep you up until 3 a.m. and then make you want to rush home the next night to do it again.” —Newsweek
“Salander is someone you will never forget.... Anyone who enjoys grounding their imaginations in hundreds ... of exciting pages about the way we live now ought to take advantage of this trilogy.” —Chicago Tribune
“The pages fly.... The pulse quickens.” —The Boston Globe
“A wild, careening ride.” —The Philadelphia Inquirer
“The action is wham-bam from the start.... [with] an eye-popping surprise ending.” —St. Louis Post-Dispatch
“Fully lives up to the excellence of the previous two and ... brings the saga to a satisfactory conclusion.... A modern masterpiece.” —The Washington Post Book World
“Satisfying.... [Lisbeth Salander] bursts off the page, a vibrant, forcefully ‘real’ character.” —The Plain Dealer
“Enough twists to keep even the most astute reader guessing.” —The Denver Post
“Complex, satisfying, clever, moral ... This is a grown-up novel for grown-up readers, who want something more than a quick fix and a car chase.” —The Guardian (London)
“An old-fashioned, well-paced political thriller with its roots in Swedish history and a cast of interesting and colorful characters.” —Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
“Reading Stieg Larsson produces a kind of rush—rather like a strong cup of coffee.” —The New York Times Book Review
“Salander herself is a magnificent creation: a feminist avenging angel.” —Irish Independent
“Relentlessly exciting.... A fitting ending to an outstanding crime trilogy. Larsson deserves every scrap of his reputation as a master storyteller.” —Time Out London
“Exhilarating.... Larsson’s was an undeniably powerful voice in crime fiction that will be sorely missed.” —Publishers Weekly
From the Back Cover
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Friday, April 8
Dr. Jonasson was woken by a nurse five minutes before the helicopter was expected to land. It was just before 1:30 in the morning.
"What?" he said, confused.
"Rescue Service helicopter coming in. Two patients. An injured man and a younger woman. The woman has gunshot wounds."
"All right," Jonasson said wearily.
Although he had slept for only half an hour, he felt groggy. He was on the night shift in the ER at Sahlgrenska hospital in Göteborg. It had been a strenuous evening.
By 12:30 the steady flow of emergency cases had eased off. He had made a round to check on the state of his patients and then gone back to the staff bedroom to try to rest for a while. He was on duty until 6:00, and seldom got the chance to sleep even if no emergency patients came in. But this time he had fallen asleep almost as soon as he turned out the light.
Jonasson saw lightning out over the sea. He knew that the helicopter was coming in the nick of time. All of a sudden a heavy downpour lashed at the window. The storm had moved in over Göteborg.
He heard the sound of the chopper and watched as it banked through the storm squalls down towards the helipad. For a second he held his breath when the pilot seemed to have difficulty controlling the aircraft. Then it vanished from his field of vision and he heard the engine slowing to land. He took a hasty swallow of his tea and set down the cup.
Jonasson met the emergency team in the admissions area. The other doctor on duty took on the first patient who was wheeled in-an elderly man with his head bandaged, apparently with a serious wound to the face. Jonasson was left with the second patient, the woman who had been shot. He did a quick visual examination: it looked like she was a teenager, very dirty and bloody, and severely wounded. He lifted the blanket that the Rescue Service had wrapped around her body and saw that the wounds to her hip and shoulder were bandaged with duct tape, which he considered a pretty clever idea. The tape kept bacteria out and blood in. One bullet had entered her hip and gone straight through the muscle tissue. He gently raised her shoulder and located the entry wound in her back. There was no exit wound: the round was still inside her shoulder. He hoped it had not penetrated her lung, and since he did not see any blood in the woman's mouth he concluded that probably it had not.
"Radiology," he told the nurse in attendance. That was all he needed to say.
Then he cut away the bandage that the emergency team had wrapped around her skull. He froze when he saw another entry wound. The woman had been shot in the head, and there was no exit wound there either.
Jonasson paused for a second, looking down at the girl. He felt dejected. He often described his job as being like that of a goalkeeper. Every day people came to his place of work in varying conditions but with one objective: to get help.
Jonasson was the goalkeeper who stood between the patient and Fonus Funeral Service. His job was to decide what to do. If he made the wrong decision, the patient might die or perhaps wake up disabled for life. Most often he made the right decision, because the vast majority of injured people had an obvious and specific problem. A stab wound to the lung or a crushing injury after a car crash were both particular and recognizable problems that could be dealt with. The survival of the patient depended on the extent of the damage and on Jonasson's skill.
There were two kinds of injury that he hated. One was a serious burn case, because no matter what measures he took the burns would almost inevitably result in a lifetime of suffering. The second was an injury to the brain.
The girl on the gurney could live with a piece of lead in her hip and a piece of lead in her shoulder. But a piece of lead inside her brain was a trauma of a wholly different magnitude. He was suddenly aware of the nurse saying something.
"Sorry. I wasn't listening."
"It's her."
"What do you mean?"
"It's Lisbeth Salander. The girl they've been hunting for the past few weeks, for the triple murder in Stockholm."
Jonasson looked again at the unconscious patient's face. He realized at once that the nurse was right. He and the whole of Sweden had seen Salander's passport photograph on billboards outside every newspaper kiosk for weeks. And now the murderer herself had been shot, which was surely poetic justice of a sort.
But that was not his concern. His job was to save his patient's life, irrespective of whether she was a triple murderer or a Nobel Prize winner. Or both.
Then the efficient chaos, the same in every ER the world over, erupted. The staff on Jonasson's shift set about their appointed tasks. Salander's clothes were cut away. A nurse reported on her blood pressure-100/70-while the doctor put his stethoscope to her chest and listened to her heartbeat. It was surprisingly regular, but her breathing was not quite normal.
Jonasson did not hesitate to classify Salander's condition as critical. The wounds in her shoulder and hip could wait until later, with a compress on each, or even with the duct tape that some inspired soul had applied. What mattered was her head. Jonasson ordered tomography with the new and improved CT scanner that the hospital had lately acquired.
Jonasson had a view of medicine that was at times unorthodox. He thought doctors often drew conclusions that they could not substantiate. This meant that they gave up far too easily; alternatively, they spent too much time at the acute stage trying to work out exactly what was wrong with the patient so as to decide on the right treatment. This was correct procedure, of course. The problem was that the patient was in danger of dying while the doctor was still doing his thinking.
But Jonasson had never before had a patient with a bullet in her skull. Most likely he would need a brain surgeon. He had all the theoretical knowledge required to make an incursion into the brain, but he did not by any means consider himself a brain surgeon. He felt inadequate, but all of a sudden he realized that he might be luckier than he deserved. Before he scrubbed up and put on his operating clothes he sent for the nurse.
"There's an American professor from Boston working at the Karolinska hospital in Stockholm. He happens to be in Göteborg tonight, staying at the Elite Park Avenue on Avenyn. He just gave a lecture on brain research. He's a good friend of mine. Could you get the number?"
While Jonasson was still waiting for the X-rays, the nurse came back with the number of the Elite Park Avenue. Jonasson picked up the phone. The night porter at the Elite Park Avenue was very reluctant to wake a guest at that time of night and Jonasson had to come up with a few choice phrases about the critical nature of the situation before his call was put through.
"Good morning, Frank," Jonasson said when the call was finally answered. "It's Anders. Do you feel like coming over to Sahlgrenska to help out in a brain op?"
"Are you bullshitting me?" Dr. Frank Ellis had lived in Sweden for many years and was fluent in Swedish-albeit with an American accent- but when Jonasson spoke to him in Swedish, Ellis always replied in his mother tongue.
"The patient is in her mid-twenties. Entry wound, no exit."
"And she's alive?"
"Weak but regular pulse, less regular breathing, blood pressure one hundred over seventy. She also has a bullet wound in her shoulder and another in her hip. But I know how to handle those two."
"Sounds promising," Ellis said.
"Promising?"
"If somebody has a bullet in their head and they're still alive, that points to hopeful."
"I understand. . . . Frank, can you help me out?"
"I spent the evening in the company of good friends, Anders. I got to bed at 1:00 and no doubt I have an impressive blood alcohol content."
"I'll make the decisions and do the surgery. But I need somebody to tell me if I'm doing anything stupid. Even a falling-down drunk Professor Ellis is several classes better than I could ever be when it comes to assessing brain damage."
"OK, I'll come. But you're going to owe me one."
"I'll have a taxi waiting outside by the time you get down to the lobby. The driver will know where to drop you, and a nurse will be there to meet you and get you scrubbed in."
"I had a patient a number of years ago, in Boston-I wrote about the case in the New England Journal of Medicine. It was a girl the same age as your patient here. She was walking to the university when someone shot her with a crossbow. The arrow entered at the outside edge of her left eyebrow and went straight through her head, exiting from almost the middle of the back of her neck."
"And she survived?"
"She looked like nothing on earth when she came in. We cut off the arrow shaft and put her head in a CT scanner. The arrow went straight through her brain. By all known reckoning she should have been dead, or at least suffered such massive trauma that she would have been in a coma."
"And what was her condition?"
"She was conscious the whole time. Not only that; she was terribly frightened, of course, but she was completely rational. Her only problem was that she had an arrow through her skull."
"What did you do?"
"Well, I got the forceps and pulled out the arrow and bandaged the wounds. More or less."
"And she lived to tell the tale?"
"Obviously her condition was critical, but the fact is we could have sent her home the same day. I've seldom had a healthier patient."
Jonasson wondered whether Ellis was pulling his leg.
"On the other hand," Ellis went on, "I had a forty-two-year-old patient in Stockholm some years ago who banged his head on a windowsill. He began to feel sick immediately and was taken by ambulance to the ER. When I got to him he was unconscious. He had a small bump and a very slight bruise. But he never regained consciousness and died after nine days in intensive care. To this day I have no idea why he died. In the autopsy report, we wrote brain haemorrhage resulting from an accident, but not one of us was satisfied with that assessment. The bleeding was so minor, and located in an area that shouldn't have affected anything else at all. And yet his liver, kidneys, heart, and lungs shut down one after the other. The older I get, the more I think it's like a game of roulette. I don't believe we'll ever figure out precisely how the brain works." He tapped on the X-ray with a pen. "What do you intend to do?"
"I was hoping you would tell me."
"Let's hear your diagnosis."
"Well, first of all, it seems to be a small-calibre bullet. It entered at the temple, and then stopped about four centimetres into the brain. It's resting against the lateral ventricle. There's bleeding there."
"How will you proceed?"
"To use your terminology, get some forceps and extract the bullet by the same route it went in."
"Excellent idea. I would use the thinnest forceps you have."
"It's that simple?"
"What else can we do in this case? We could leave the bullet where it is, and she might live to be a hundred, but it's also a risk. She might develop epilepsy, migraines, all sorts of complaints. And one thing you really don't want to do is drill into her skull and then operate a year from now when the wound itself has healed. The bullet is located away from the major blood vessels. So I would recommend that you extract it, but . . ."
"But what?"
"The bullet doesn't worry me so much. She's survived this far and that's a good omen for her getting through having the bullet removed too. The real problem is here." He pointed at the X-ray. "Around the entry wound you have all sorts of bone fragments. I can see at least a dozen that are a couple of millimetres long. Some are embedded in the brain tissue. That's what could kill her if you're not careful."
"Isn't that part of the brain associated with numbers and mathematical capacity?" Jonasson said.
Ellis shrugged. "Mumbo jumbo. I have no idea what these particular grey cells are for. You can only do your best. You operate. I'll look over your shoulder."
Mikael Blomkvist looked up at the clock and saw that it was just after 3:00 in the morning. He was handcuffed and increasingly uncomfortable. He closed his eyes for a moment. He was dead tired but running on adrenaline. He opened them again and gave the policeman an angry glare. Inspector Thomas Paulsson had a shocked expression on his face. They were sitting at a kitchen table in a white farmhouse called Gosseberga, somewhere near Nossebro. Blomkvist had heard of the place for the first time less than twelve hours earlier.
There was no denying the disaster that had occurred.
"Imbecile," Blomkvist said.
"Now, you listen here-"
"Imbecile," Blomkvist said again. "I warned you he was dangerous, for Christ's sake. I told you that you would have to handle him like a live grenade. He's murdered at least three people with his bare hands and he's built like a tank. And you send a couple of village policemen to arrest him as if he were some Saturday night drunk."
Blomkvist shut his eyes again, wondering what else could go wrong that night.
He had found Lisbeth Salander just after midnight. She was very badly wounded. He had sent for the police and the Rescue Service.
The only thing that had gone right was that he had persuaded them to send a helicopter to take the girl to Sahlgrenska hospital. He had given them a clear description of her injuries and the bullet wound in her head, and some bright spark at the Rescue Service got the message.
Even so, it had taken over half an hour for the Puma from the helicopter unit in Säve to arrive at the farmhouse. Blomkvist had gotten two cars out of the barn. He switched on their headlights to illuminate a landing area in the field in front of the house.
The helicopter crew and two paramedics had proceeded in a routine and professional manner. One of the medics tended to Salander while the other took care of Alexander Zalachenko, known locally as Karl Axel Bodin. Zalachenko was Salander's father and her worst enemy. He had tried to kill her, but he had failed. Blomkvist had found him in the woodshed at the farm with a nasty-looking gash-probably from an axe- in his face and some shattering damage to one of his legs which Blomkvist did not bother to investigate.
From AudioFile
Product details
- ASIN : B0031YJFCQ
- Publisher : Vintage Crime/Black Lizard; Reprint edition (May 19, 2010)
- Publication date : May 19, 2010
- Language : English
- File size : 3369 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Sticky notes : On Kindle Scribe
- Print length : 674 pages
- Page numbers source ISBN : 0307454568
- Best Sellers Rank: #64,484 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #393 in International Mystery & Crime (Kindle Store)
- #1,000 in Political Thrillers (Books)
- #1,307 in Murder
- Customer Reviews:
About the author
Stieg Larsson, who lived in Sweden, was the editor-in-chief of the magazine Expo and a leading expert on anti-democratic, right-wing extremist, and Nazi organizations. He died in 2004, shortly after delivering the manuscripts for The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Played with Fire, and The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest.
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For me this was the easiest of the three sets of CD's to rip to Itunes. All of the discs are tagged correctly, which was not the case in the last two audiobooks.
Again Simon Vance is the reader and again he makes the book an engaging read. I would not be able to get past all the foreign place names and character names without Vance. Plus he puts the emphasis right where it needs to be in each narrator sentence and each piece of character dialogue. There is just one problem with this particular book in the series that was not a problem with the other books. There are a lot of female characters in Nest. Which is as it should be since one of Larsson's sub themes in the trilogy is an undercurrent of mysogyny in Sweden. When Vance only had to give major character voices to Salander, Salander's girlfriend Mimi, Blomkvist's editor Erika Berger, Blomkvist's sister Angela Ginnini and one female police detective named Merk (?), he did alright. He gave each character her own distinctive voice. This helped me to keep up with each character. But now there are many more female characters who have a big part in the story and Vance's repertoire of female character voices is getting repetitive, which is making it more difficult for me to keep up. I don't blame Vance for this. He is, after all, a man. He does a great job of giving each of the many male characters a distinctive voice. I don't necessarily expect a male actor to have as deep a well of female character voices from which to draw. I think, in the case of this particular book, it would have been a good idea to actually invite a female actress in to voice all the female parts since there are so many of them.
THIS IS A REVIEW OF STIEG LARSSON'S STORY
I'm impressed that Stieg was able to keep this thriller thrilling even while the heroine spent a good portion of the book confined to a sick bed. I'm also impressed that the many asides about the newspaper business did not detract from the overall story. I liked this book a great deal and found it a fulfilling enough end to the series. I was annoyed by some plot turns Stieg decided to take. The sideplot of Erika Berger having a stalker gave me no insight into her character or the character of her husband or the Swedish newspaper business. The side plot seemed to only serve as a way to introduce the character of Lisa (Liza?) from Milton Security as a kind of rogue ex-cop. Perhaps Stieg intended to use Liza as a continuing character in his decalog but then he dropped dead and the decalog was never completed. But in this particular book the stalker storyline is superfluous. I also thought it was just so wholly unoriginal that the woman for whom Mikael thinks he might fall happens to be an amazon goddess who works out three hours a day and came close to being an olympian. Really Stieg, really? The most gorgeous female character you've introduced in the series is the one who indescribably falls in love with Mikael and with whom Mikael seriously considers going monogamous? When Mikael began a sexual relationship with Harriet Vanger I interpreted it as Stieg showing that Harriet herself was free of her past. The fact that Harriet, a victim of child sexual rape and torture, could have a purely sex-for-pleasure relationship with a man with whom she was not in love and had not built up a history of trust (the way she had with her husband) showed me that Harriet no longer had any inner curses hanging over her head from the things to which her father and brother had subjected her. She was free and this was shown by her freedom to enjoy sex for pleasure without any neurosis. So it was about her and not about Mikael so much. But to have a Constitutional Protection cop with the body of Venus and Serena Williams fall for the admittedly soft Mikael who is also a smoker, well I just couldn't buy it. I'll give Stieg the benefit of the doubt and assume he intended to exploit the relationship for plot purposes in future books in the decalog. That would make sense considering she is a cop who spies on other cops and members of the government who might be suspected of breaking the law. But in this particular story, their relationship annoyed me. What I did like was the very end where the reader could see Lisbeth progressing as a member of society. The pivotal choice she makes at the end of the book, her visit to Paris, her remembering those for whom she needed to buy Christmas gifts, her acceptance of being in debt to others, I really liked these little touches of her budding sense of her own membership in society. I imagine Stieg had hoped to develop Lisbeth's since of that membership and the belonging it confers as the decalog progressed. It's a real shame he was taken from the world of literature at age 50.
I wanted to stop on pg 300 and write this review, now I'm on page 400+ and I cannot contain my excitement and the book has only about 150 more pages. Whoa to me, I'm crying, it has been very very long since I have read a book THIS good! (Doctorow's Billy Bathgate)
Pg 374 more or less, only odd even pages are numbered. Exotic, no? So what about Kungsgatan, Drottninggatan, Olof Pames Gata, Holländargatan, Helsingörsgatan. It's me, Mariuxgatan writing Swedish I guess. An unremarkable dude from South Central L.A. not only traveling through Scandinavia (Its Helsinki the capital?) but living though all of these unbelievable alive characters!
Man, I know that I'm going to miss them so much - why does this book - this trilogy - has to ever end? I feel that to be with them for the next and remaining 150 pages it's going to consume their tale. But what other choice do I have? Could I be strong enough to quit reading the book right now and console myself with a Louis L'Amour western where the woman are depicted as shallow and featureless as the heroine of this trilogy was supposed to be? Or with the latest book waiting for me on the edge of my bed table, the latest Grisham about this kid lawyer. Will this abate my upcoming suffering? The waxing separation pangs I have felt since pg 1 of this epochal work?
Dragon tattooed girl was neither simple nor stupid. She once solved Fermat conjecture about cubed (or higher exponential) numbers and then she goes "Oh, I wish I had met this guy (Fermat) in person!"
I was warned by serious book critics that this last book, The Girl who Kicked the Hornet's Nest was not polished enough, that Stieg Larsson didn't have enough time to work on this latest gem before succumbing to a fatal heart attack due without doubt to an overdose of caffeine. Just to find that au contraire my chere ami, I'm inside the hornets spiral whirlwind, where we see all the aspects of a problem from the perspective of so many remarkable individuals, from a hospital janitor to the PM (Prime Minister) of Sweden. You move from one newspaper office to the police office and then to a monthly publication office, and then to the houses and the bedrooms of the people involved. I have never read a mystery novel that is dissected into so many aspects or characters.
And to experience first hand the remarkable open sexuality in that country from the married woman who with her husband complete agreement has a lover with whom she can spend as many nights as she wishes with only one condition, that she would call her husband to tell him she won't be in that night so he won't worry about her? How do I wish I could find a lady companion so open minded myself?
In fact this is the crux of the story in three not large enough books, the sexual and otherwise domination of young girls versus responsible open minded sex. The story how deep corruption goes to dominate and abuse young defenseless kids versus open responsible sex.
Mr. Larsson I'll tell ya something, you have written a fantastic work, a story that is different than anything else we'll ever encounter in our lives. I just wish it wouldn't end, I just wish I wouldn't have to go back and read the remaining thin pages of your last book. How do I wish you haven't succumbed to your caffeine addiction and written your originally planed 10 books in the series!
Top reviews from other countries
As we face Lisbeth's preparation for reckoning against the Swedish government, we dive into an intelligent story of espionage and deception.
Surely a great ending for all the characters journeys and the trilogy itself.