The girl who played with fire

41rhiaw7dbl-_sx324_bo1204203200_The girl who played with fire by Stieg Larsson, translated from swedish by Reg Keeland was for the first time published in Great Britain in 2009 by Mac Lehose Press, London as english version of the original called Flickan som lekte med elden, first time published in Sweden, at Norstedts agency, Stockolm, in 2006.
As a thriller novel, the swedish story put into the light the life of the heroine Lisbeth Salander. The book represents the second part of the swedish trilogy which makes from Lisbeth Salander a well known name into the literary main characters.
The second part of the trilogy, aka The girl who played with the fire presents the complicated life of a swedish girl, who used not to have to much luck since early childhood. A young swedish teenager meet her future lover, which is not a common nobody, but a former soviet spy with a prodigeous career who seemed to failed one mission in Western Europe and his bosses wanted him out of business, he succeed to kill the one who’s sended for his head and needed then to runaway. Destiny or some good conveniences took him to Sweden where Sapo, the national police intelligence division valued him by offering political asylum and extraordinary protection. Duble identity, home, citizenship, job and based on his impressive knowledges gathered into a long career and skills he became one of the swedih most important national secret. Soon Agneta became the mum of two twin girls, one called Camilla and the other Lisbeth, without their parents being married anyway. The father, former soviet spy with a bad image just because needed to use back door to come out the scene of international espionage for russians, Alexander Zalatchenko on his name was just a drunk male who walk from one place to another and adventurous as could be his job, he didn’t have just a love or two, but many other, so all over the Europe, basicaly all over he did have missions he has a son or daughter.
So far, the novel action releaves that in the end of it, the place where Lisbeth fight with all media and police logistic and social oppinion that acused her of triple murders. In all this difficult position that she’s been caught into, she has a few allies like Kale Blomkvist, editor of one of the swedish high class magazine called Millenium, former professional boxer Paolo Roberto, her good time sex partner Miriam Wu, her former social gardian Palmgren and her former employer Armansky, who run a security agency and hired Lisbeth for some research job in the past. The hysteria started when at the crime scene investigation of two people, the police has found her DNA samples on the murder weapon, her last former guardian personal gun. The victims, two young people who were engaged, intelectuals, he as a journalist and she as a Phd researcher documented a sex trafficking mafia which interconect high rank politicians, police men, doctors, lawyers and so on. The link between all was hard to find, because digging deeply, Svenson has only reach his path, a pseudonym Zala. Before to be killed, shot in head as his fiancee was too, Svenson propose his research to be published as a book to Millennium magazine and he was so closed to find out the trace of Zala when it was murdered. Connections were spreaded from Zala, as the leader, to Bjork, as Zala’s Sapo personal protector for the leader of prostitution network which raped young girls from Baltics and former soviet nations aswell as running business with weapons and drugs, to Bjurman who was aswell one of the Sapo employers who got in charge with Zalatchenko admission as swedish citizen with special rights for the benefit of swedish national security and also his daughter Lisbeth social gardian. Well written, the story of the book reminds us of special heroes and heroines of the world’s history. Nothing is easy to get, not even your freedom, to prove your innocence, or to have your own life, far away from a crazy old bastard which in fact, a cruel destiny tells you to call him father or a half brother who aswell as the first one, tried for so long to kill you by hunting all over the world. Hybrid like old greek term of origin which is Hubris, meaning out of nature, different, or out of pattern, so abnormal it is also present in this novel which respects the well written skeleton of great prose.

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daza

nicio pilda n-are zetu
ala din comert e hotul
de timp cand banu-i peste
bunul-simt pierdut pe drum
de unul sau alta
si chei din lacatele mintii
nu ies din buzunar
si nici din gura
cand aceasta nu-i adapost
nici macar pentru doua lucruri,
coafura si dantura.
senectutea-i boala grea
pe ploaie deasa ca sub dus
cand alimentarea cu apa
se suspenda momentan
indefinit ca motivul pentru care
nu ies oameni din mormant
chiar de-ar fi fost sa fie
sadite acolo macar vreo 2
seminte din el, o unghie
un floc din capul nechelit
de vreme sau de poluare.
se merge inainte
startu-i dat deja
ripit e doar o intrebare

tetrapareze

cum iti scrii pe cruce
numele ti-e si pastrat
in memoria timpului adunat
laolalta cat sa stearga
si vopseaua de pe lemnul care
n-a-nflorit si nici bobul
infipt
in pamantul de pe piept
n-a reusit sa scoata
unghiile-n afara
din mormant.
de pe vremea cand inca
pruncii n-apucara si sa suga
desi tat-a fost destula
ciorapu’a-nvelit bine iarna
piciorul ce-a vazut iar primavara
si-a uitat viforu’afara
cand lui i-e bine-n pat
si pisica-i toarce bland
la inceput doar
pana sa o faca mai intens

iesor

nu-i mare diferenta
cand privesti pe geam
sau esti dincoace de el
cand ploaia-ti rupe osul
si-nghetata-i haina
pe dinauntru si pe dinafara
ca niciodata-naintea lor
din tine ceva n-a stiut
cum e ca sa mori
si de la clape sa-ti cante
recviemul in cioc de pahar
toti aceia ce nu stiu cum e
cand o spunem tare
ca da, nu stam

pe nisipuri ce ard
si nici nu suntem inca
cumparati de tot
ca sa uitam sa recunoastem
mana care creste
cand alina, sufla nas
impinge de la spate
ca sa urce panta ascutita
ce aluneca pe ploaie
si te coboara iute
iarna de la inaltimea
cerului ce-ti pare
prea aproape de ochirile
cu care prea devreme
te obisnuiau sa poti de toate
sperantele aripilor de ingeri
ce ne-nvatau si pe tine
si pe mine si oricine
ca sa vezi
macar o data
cum e
atunci cand zbori.

pinchon

ce sa dai cand e prea gol
de consistenta tot vasul
care-a-ncaput prin praf
si trante-n urme de cal
cand ploile se-armau
de foc intetite si de vant
nu mai suntem lume
cand bruscam cu erezie
catafalcul cozii de cal
unde-adoarme langa coroane
moarte de viata
flori sustrase din tarani
acolo unde-aveau si apa
plus ce le mai trebuia
ca sa nu se fi trezit
si ele zombie
ca prea multi dintr-o multime
dislocata vietii cu pricina
prinsa-ntr-o postura inecuata
scrisa si rescrisa-n plan cu panta
cu valori prea adevarat de false
cand palpate raman doar trasele
ce-adorm inainte de pieire
sufletele ce trag sa rupa
zidul noptii-ncornorate
cu o frunte inimoasa
care lasa pe afara
lacrima de sange
in pocalul care urla