Thrillers & Suspense
![Jo Nesbo - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B004MSFDCG.jpg)
The Kingdom: A novel
"I read The Kingdom and couldn't put it down ... Suspenseful ... Original ... This one is special in every way." -Stephen King
Two brothers. One small town. A lifetime of dark secrets. A tense and atmospheric standalone thriller from best-selling author Jo Nesbø.
Roy has never left the quiet mountain town he grew up in, unlike his little brother Carl who couldn't wait to get out and escape his troubled past. Just like everyone else in town, Roy believed Carl was gone for good. But Carl has big plans for his hometown. And when he returns with a mysterious new wife and a business opportunity that seems too good to be true, simmering tensions begin to surface and unexplained deaths in the town's past come under new scrutiny. Soon powerful players set their sights on taking the brothers down by exposing their role in the town's sordid history.
But Roy and Carl are survivors, and no strangers to violence. Roy has always protected his younger brother. As the body count rises, though, Roy's loyalty to family is tested. And then Roy finds himself inextricably drawn to Carl's wife, Shannon, an attraction that will have devastating consequences. Roy's world is coming apart and soon there will be no turning back. He'll be forced to choose between his own flesh and blood and a future he had never dared to believe possible.
Two brothers. One small town. A lifetime of dark secrets. A tense and atmospheric standalone thriller from best-selling author Jo Nesbø.
Roy has never left the quiet mountain town he grew up in, unlike his little brother Carl who couldn't wait to get out and escape his troubled past. Just like everyone else in town, Roy believed Carl was gone for good. But Carl has big plans for his hometown. And when he returns with a mysterious new wife and a business opportunity that seems too good to be true, simmering tensions begin to surface and unexplained deaths in the town's past come under new scrutiny. Soon powerful players set their sights on taking the brothers down by exposing their role in the town's sordid history.
But Roy and Carl are survivors, and no strangers to violence. Roy has always protected his younger brother. As the body count rises, though, Roy's loyalty to family is tested. And then Roy finds himself inextricably drawn to Carl's wife, Shannon, an attraction that will have devastating consequences. Roy's world is coming apart and soon there will be no turning back. He'll be forced to choose between his own flesh and blood and a future he had never dared to believe possible.
Editorial Reviews
A KIRKUS REVIEWS BEST MYSTERY AND THRILLER OF THE YEAR
"Mesmerizing . . . A dense suspenseful bundle of Norwegian noir." -Richard Lipez, The Washington Post
"Intricately plotted . . . With The Kingdom, Nesbø builds a slow-burn thriller that leaps to myriad twists as he peels back the brothers' strong relationship, which is partially built on terrible secrets and tinged with violence." -Oline Cogdill, South Florida Sun-Sentinel
"The Kingdom, like most Jo Nesbo novels, is rooted in crime, mystery and the exploration of long-held dark secrets . . . Vivid characters speak dialogue that is always pungent and convincing . . . Mr. Nesbo explores the depths of the human psyche, along with more mundane foibles of a closed society. One of the more interesting questions, not resolved until the end, is just who will survive." -Robert Croan, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
"The Kingdom, much like a rollercoaster begins slowly as Nesbo sets the stage and explains the intricate web of connections all of the characters have with each other after living in a small town together for decades. Once all of the characters are in place, Nesbo flips the switch and sends readers hurdling along the track as he reveals the numerous crimes the brothers have committed and the motives that led them along their path." -Hearst Connecticut Media Group
"Our current love affair with Nordic noir continues unabated, and the Norwegian writer Jo Nesbo is a virtuoso of the genre . . . His latest crime thriller, The Kingdom, is set in a small mountain town, where a mechanic's life is upended by the unexpected homecoming of his younger brother, his brother's mysterious wife, and the unspooling of chilling family secrets." -Avenue Magazine
"Nesbo is always a great storyteller. The world he depicts is bleak and potentially depressing, but he presents it with relentless power." -John M. Clum, New York Journal of Books
"The Kingdom [is] in some ways more American in tone than Scandinavian . . . [it] picks up speed, until Roy is swept up in the momentum of his own story." -The New York Times Book Review
" [A] richly characterized, perfectly paced and plotted thriller." -The Lineup
"For mystery readers in search of heroes a shade darker than Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot, enter . . . Jo Nesbø . . . The Kingdom, Nesbø's new standalone story, sees him peeling back layers of unnerving secrets surrounding a pair of brothers in Oslo, from their parents' mysterious deaths to their family's disturbing history and the secrets of their hometown." -TIME, "The 42 Most Anticipated Books of Fall...
"Mesmerizing . . . A dense suspenseful bundle of Norwegian noir." -Richard Lipez, The Washington Post
"Intricately plotted . . . With The Kingdom, Nesbø builds a slow-burn thriller that leaps to myriad twists as he peels back the brothers' strong relationship, which is partially built on terrible secrets and tinged with violence." -Oline Cogdill, South Florida Sun-Sentinel
"The Kingdom, like most Jo Nesbo novels, is rooted in crime, mystery and the exploration of long-held dark secrets . . . Vivid characters speak dialogue that is always pungent and convincing . . . Mr. Nesbo explores the depths of the human psyche, along with more mundane foibles of a closed society. One of the more interesting questions, not resolved until the end, is just who will survive." -Robert Croan, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
"The Kingdom, much like a rollercoaster begins slowly as Nesbo sets the stage and explains the intricate web of connections all of the characters have with each other after living in a small town together for decades. Once all of the characters are in place, Nesbo flips the switch and sends readers hurdling along the track as he reveals the numerous crimes the brothers have committed and the motives that led them along their path." -Hearst Connecticut Media Group
"Our current love affair with Nordic noir continues unabated, and the Norwegian writer Jo Nesbo is a virtuoso of the genre . . . His latest crime thriller, The Kingdom, is set in a small mountain town, where a mechanic's life is upended by the unexpected homecoming of his younger brother, his brother's mysterious wife, and the unspooling of chilling family secrets." -Avenue Magazine
"Nesbo is always a great storyteller. The world he depicts is bleak and potentially depressing, but he presents it with relentless power." -John M. Clum, New York Journal of Books
"The Kingdom [is] in some ways more American in tone than Scandinavian . . . [it] picks up speed, until Roy is swept up in the momentum of his own story." -The New York Times Book Review
" [A] richly characterized, perfectly paced and plotted thriller." -The Lineup
"For mystery readers in search of heroes a shade darker than Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot, enter . . . Jo Nesbø . . . The Kingdom, Nesbø's new standalone story, sees him peeling back layers of unnerving secrets surrounding a pair of brothers in Oslo, from their parents' mysterious deaths to their family's disturbing history and the secrets of their hometown." -TIME, "The 42 Most Anticipated Books of Fall...
Readers Top Reviews
ShaianoArkadiusz Bob
I'll start by saying i'm a big fan of Jo Nesbo, the Harry Hole series were fantastic and his stand alone novels were great (particularly the son). I was excited for this release, and the synopsis sounded very interesting - 2 brothers, one successful, the other never leaving the family farm and maintaining the same old life. Then the younger brother returns, with his new wife and past secrets begin to surface and cause problems for the brothers. I liked the characters, and the emotional aspect of the novel (no spoilers) is gripping and heartfelt. But the problem is that the book seems to go on forever. I feel like I've been reading for the past year non-stop and still not finished it. I'm sure why this is, whether the character development is to heavy which makes it feel dragged out or what. Also, the situations the family find themselves in, and how they are dealt with seem a bit far-fetched and random. The editing is poor in some parts as well - I know its translated in to English but this hasn't been a problem with Jo Nesbo's books before. Random words are inserted in sentences, well known sayings are reversed and make no sense. Overall a good story, but not one of his best. A good idea, but probably overthought in some areas and never really got going for me.
VICKI HERBERT
No spoilers. 5 stars. Roy and Carl, the brothers Opgard, live by their father's maxim: Do what has to be done and do it now... Ironically, this was the same maxim that got their father murdered because... ... at a very young age their father had been raping Carl on the bottom bunk of the bunkbeds that the brothers shared while... ... older brother Roy was trying to sleep through it on the top bunk... as he heard the bed squeaking and Carl crying... ... Afterward, Roy would slip down to the lower bunk and comfort the sniffling Carl... while planning a way to murder their parents... Do what has to be done and do it now... Years later, when the brothers were grown men, they had several occasions to use their father's mantra... and their Kingdom became a virtual graveyard... This was the first of Jo Nesbo's novels that I've read and I must say it was excellent! The last 10% was a wild, nail-biting, and suspenseful ride. Impressive!
Kindle
Having read most of the Harry Hole books, I pre-ordered The Kingdom as soon as it was offered. And rural Norway and it's murders are just as compellingly laid out as Hole's Oslo cases. There is a noir flatness to these murders stretched out over almost 20 years, that somehow pulls you into the claustrophobic world of two brothers, joined in years of pain and shared secrets. It is not "Who done it" as much as How and a mild suggestion of Why. We are given only the most rudimentary glimpses into Carl and Roy Opgard's minds but slowly learn what their shared coming of age was like. Carl is like their mother; Roy like his Dad. Carl's good with words and people. Roy is only good with motor cars and Carl. Growing up on an isolated goat farm high up a mountain above the small village of Os, the boys become who they are by the pervasive isolation plus family . They may live in different locales but at one level they never leave the mountain. Carl went to school in America and achieved a level of financial success . Roy worked in the car repair and gas station in Os and dreamed of owning his own station. Then, when they are in their late thirties, Carl comes home to Os . And the story flows from there. A satisfying tale of pathology of a family infused with a growing sense of the wrongness of where their lives lead them. Don't love it as much as Harry Hole stories, but in its own way utterly haunting.
Short Excerpt Teaser
I heard him before I saw him.
Carl was back. I don't know why I thought of Dog, it was almost twenty years ago. Maybe I suspected the reason for this sudden and unannounced homecoming was the same as it was back then. The same as it always was. That he needed his big brother's help. I was standing out in the yard and looked at my watch. Two thirty. He'd sent a text message, that was all. Said they'd probably arrive by two. But my little brother's always been an optimist, always promised more than he could deliver. I looked out over the landscape. The little bit of it that showed above the cloud cover below me. The slope on the other side of the valley looked like it was floating in a sea of grey. Already the vegetation up here on the heights had a touch of autumnal red. Above me the sky was heavenly blue and as clear as the gaze of a pure young girl. The air was good and cold, it nipped at my lungs if I breathed in too quickly. I felt as though I was completely alone, had the whole world to myself. Well, a world that was just Mount Ararat with a farm on it. Tourists sometimes drove up the twisting road from the village to enjoy the view, and sooner or later they would always end up in our yard here. They usually asked if I still ran the smallholding. The reason these idiots referred to it as a smallholding was probably that they thought a proper farm would have to be like one of those you get down on the lowlands, with vast fields, oversized barns and enormous and splendid farmhouses. They had never seen what a storm in the mountains could do to a roof that was a bit too large or tried to start a fire in a room that was a little too big with a gale thirty degrees below blowing through the wall. They didn't know the difference between cultivated land and wilderness, that a mountain farm is grazing for animals and can be a wilderness kingdom many times the size of the ashy, corn-yellow fields of a lowland farmer.
For fifteen years I had been living here alone, but now that was over. A V8 engine growled and snarled somewhere down below the cloud cover. Sounded so close it had to have passed the corner at Japansvingen halfway up the climb. The driver put his foot down, took his foot off, rounded a hairpin bend, foot down again. Closer and closer. You could tell he'd navigated those bends before. And now that I could hear the nuances in the sound of the engine, the deep sighs when he changed gear, that deep bass note that's unique to a Cadillac in low gear, I knew it was a DeVille. Same as the great black beast our dad had driven. Of course.
And there was the aggressive jut of the grille of a DeVille, rounding Geitesvingen. Black, but more recent; I guessed an '85 model. The accompaniment the same though.
The car drove right up to me and the window on the driver's side slid down. I hoped it didn't show, but my heart was pounding like a piston. How many letters, text messages and emails and phone calls had we exchanged in all these years? Not many. And yet: had even a single day passed when I didn't think about Carl? Probably not. But missing him was better than dealing with Carl-trouble. The first thing I noticed was that he looked older.
‘Excuse me, my good man, but does this farm belong to the famous Opgard brothers?'
And then he grinned. Gave me that warm, wide irresistible smile, and it was as though time was wiped from his face, as well as the calendar which told me it had been fifteen years since last time. But there was also something quizzical about his face, as though he were testing the waters. I didn't want to laugh. Not yet. But I couldn't help it.
The car door opened. He spread his arms wide and I leaned into his embrace. Something tells me it should have been the other way round. That it was me – the big brother – who should have been inviting the embrace. But somewhere along the line the division of roles between me and Carl had become unclear. He had grown bigger than me, both physically and as a person, and – at least when we were in the company of others – now he was the one conducting the orchestra. I closed my eyes, trembling, took a quavering breath, breathed in the smell of autumn, of Cadillac and kid brother. He was wearing some kind of ‘male fragrance', as they call it.
The passenger door had opened.
Carl let go of me and walked me round the enormous front end of the car to where she stood, facing the valley.
‘It's really lovely here,' she said. She was thin and slightly built, but her voice was deep. Her accent was obvious, and although she got the intonation wrong, at least the sentence was Norwegian. I wondered if it was something she had been rehearsing on the drive up, something she had made up her mind t...
Carl was back. I don't know why I thought of Dog, it was almost twenty years ago. Maybe I suspected the reason for this sudden and unannounced homecoming was the same as it was back then. The same as it always was. That he needed his big brother's help. I was standing out in the yard and looked at my watch. Two thirty. He'd sent a text message, that was all. Said they'd probably arrive by two. But my little brother's always been an optimist, always promised more than he could deliver. I looked out over the landscape. The little bit of it that showed above the cloud cover below me. The slope on the other side of the valley looked like it was floating in a sea of grey. Already the vegetation up here on the heights had a touch of autumnal red. Above me the sky was heavenly blue and as clear as the gaze of a pure young girl. The air was good and cold, it nipped at my lungs if I breathed in too quickly. I felt as though I was completely alone, had the whole world to myself. Well, a world that was just Mount Ararat with a farm on it. Tourists sometimes drove up the twisting road from the village to enjoy the view, and sooner or later they would always end up in our yard here. They usually asked if I still ran the smallholding. The reason these idiots referred to it as a smallholding was probably that they thought a proper farm would have to be like one of those you get down on the lowlands, with vast fields, oversized barns and enormous and splendid farmhouses. They had never seen what a storm in the mountains could do to a roof that was a bit too large or tried to start a fire in a room that was a little too big with a gale thirty degrees below blowing through the wall. They didn't know the difference between cultivated land and wilderness, that a mountain farm is grazing for animals and can be a wilderness kingdom many times the size of the ashy, corn-yellow fields of a lowland farmer.
For fifteen years I had been living here alone, but now that was over. A V8 engine growled and snarled somewhere down below the cloud cover. Sounded so close it had to have passed the corner at Japansvingen halfway up the climb. The driver put his foot down, took his foot off, rounded a hairpin bend, foot down again. Closer and closer. You could tell he'd navigated those bends before. And now that I could hear the nuances in the sound of the engine, the deep sighs when he changed gear, that deep bass note that's unique to a Cadillac in low gear, I knew it was a DeVille. Same as the great black beast our dad had driven. Of course.
And there was the aggressive jut of the grille of a DeVille, rounding Geitesvingen. Black, but more recent; I guessed an '85 model. The accompaniment the same though.
The car drove right up to me and the window on the driver's side slid down. I hoped it didn't show, but my heart was pounding like a piston. How many letters, text messages and emails and phone calls had we exchanged in all these years? Not many. And yet: had even a single day passed when I didn't think about Carl? Probably not. But missing him was better than dealing with Carl-trouble. The first thing I noticed was that he looked older.
‘Excuse me, my good man, but does this farm belong to the famous Opgard brothers?'
And then he grinned. Gave me that warm, wide irresistible smile, and it was as though time was wiped from his face, as well as the calendar which told me it had been fifteen years since last time. But there was also something quizzical about his face, as though he were testing the waters. I didn't want to laugh. Not yet. But I couldn't help it.
The car door opened. He spread his arms wide and I leaned into his embrace. Something tells me it should have been the other way round. That it was me – the big brother – who should have been inviting the embrace. But somewhere along the line the division of roles between me and Carl had become unclear. He had grown bigger than me, both physically and as a person, and – at least when we were in the company of others – now he was the one conducting the orchestra. I closed my eyes, trembling, took a quavering breath, breathed in the smell of autumn, of Cadillac and kid brother. He was wearing some kind of ‘male fragrance', as they call it.
The passenger door had opened.
Carl let go of me and walked me round the enormous front end of the car to where she stood, facing the valley.
‘It's really lovely here,' she said. She was thin and slightly built, but her voice was deep. Her accent was obvious, and although she got the intonation wrong, at least the sentence was Norwegian. I wondered if it was something she had been rehearsing on the drive up, something she had made up her mind t...
