Jar City, Indriðason. No. The cover bills this as “A Reykjavík Thriller”, but it’s really quite far from thrilling. It’s hard to tell how much to blame (or credit) the translation when the words I read are not the words the author wrote, but my failure to find much redeeming in Jar City extends beyond nuances of language. Characters, story, what passed for suspense: all of them failed to pull me in.