Death of the Little Match Girl

Title: Death of the Little Match Girl
Original title: Smrt djevojčice sa žigicama
Author: Zoran Ferić
Published: 2002
Genre: Murder mystery
Pages: 193


Like I mentioned, the SO and I visited Dubrovnik, Croatia a little while ago. Damn, it was warm. Hot, even. Anyway, during our travels, the SO has more or less transferred unto me her habit of buying a local book. There weren't many translated options in the book store, but as soon as I read the comparison of Mr. Ferić to Monty Python on the cover, it was obvious which one I would buy. The author's own comparison to Twin Peaks on the back sealed the deal.

Pathologist Fero returns to his home island on northern Croatia's shore to attend the funeral of his old friend's small daughter. What a cheery opening for a book, the funeral of a six-year old. While there, another old friend, now the local police, asks for his opinion on the body of the island's only prostitute, the Little Match Girl. The gaping hole on her neck suggests it wasn't a very natural death. The island isn't large so there is only a limited number of suspects, even adding the tourists, and they all seem to be equally odd.

In addition to the strangeness and absurdity of Monty Python and Twin Peaks, Death of the Little Match Girl also reminded me of Trainspotting. Only with less drugs and more dead transvestites. There were bits when I was completely lost and wondered whether I should leave the book unfinished and jump straight into Foxglove Summer, but with less than 200 pages, I wasn't going to give up. That was the right decision: the ending tied the whole thing together, and was fucking unexpected. I want to re-read the whole thing soon-ish, just to appreciate the whole ride.


   Then Mungos said, "Bring her in now! For Fero to see!"
   The policeman disappeared into one of the dark rooms. When he came back he was pushing a gurney with a body covered with a white sheet in front of him. There was blood on the fabric around the head in irregular stains that reminded me of modern art. At that moment the policeman's Motorola creckled and his hand went to his waist. Somebody needed to talk to Mungos, and they retreated into the next room. The conversation was obviously confidential and about the corpse on the gurney. I watched the gurney and the dead body on it in the semi-darkness, aware that it would need to be pushed right under the lamp for me to really see anything. 
   But then the thing on the stretcher moved. I saw the sheet rising around the stomach and then slowly lower. I had a very bad feeling about this. I was used to dead bodies from my job, but I wasn't too pleased about corpses that moved.
   "Your body's moving," I muttered when the policeman and Mungos came back. Something in my throat prevented me from saying it more distinctly.
   "Eh! Bullshit," said Mungos, writing down something he had evidently been told over the radio. "You'd better take a look."