Onda ögon

I’ll admit: I rolled my eyes at first. *Another* Scandinavian crime novel? But *Onda ögon* disarmed me within chapters. Högstrand’s choice to anchor the story in competitive swimming—of all things—feels genius in hindsight. The sport’s rigid rules and performative camaraderie become a petri dish for toxicity, and the way the investigation peels back layers of team politics, doping rumors, and parental pressure gives the mystery a grimy, lived-in realism. Engelbrektson’s narration sells it; he doesn’t *act* so much as *channel*, especially in the scenes where the detective (a wonderfully flawed everyman) grapples with his own complicity in the system he’s investigating. That said, the pacing stumbles in the middle. Högstrand’s detour into a subplot about a disgraced coach feels *too* methodical, like he’s checking boxes on a ‘Scandi-noir bingo card’ (alcoholism! failed marriages!). And while Engelbrektson’s understated style mostly works, his female voices occasionally blur together—a missed chance to sharpen the ensemble’s edges. Still, the finale’s brutal efficiency (no monologuing villain, just a chilling *click* of understanding) makes up for it. This isn’t a thriller for adrenaline junkies; it’s for listeners who like their crime fiction laced with existential dread and the creeping realization that the real monster might be the system, not the killer.