I picked up my first Ann Cleeves novel, Raven Black, a few years ago, and I was hooked. She really knows how to write a crime novel. So when it was time to pick up my next book, White Nights was an easy selection.
I’m in the process of reading every book on my to-be read (TBR) cart and wanted a small break from the usual fantasy novels I read. I quickly read through Verity by Colleen Hoover (so quickly that I didn’t have time to write a “What I’m Reading” post for it) and wanted a little more thriller/crime before I returned to the fantasy world.
Ann Cleeves is a brilliant writer and an excellent story teller, so I knew White Nights would pull me in. I was right. From the moment I picked up the second book in the Shetland Mysteries series, I’ve wanted to keep reading.
If you enjoy crime/thriller novels and haven’t read anything by Ann Cleeves yet, I highly suggest you add her to your list. You won’t be disappointed.
Also, for those who enjoy a good thriller novel but have a distaste for the violent and graphic content that often comes along with those – Ann Cleeves is a great author for you. While there is violence and death it’s never described in a graphic or terrifying way.
It’s midsummer in Shetland, the time of the white nights, when birds sing at midnight and the sun never sets.
Artist Bella Sinclair throws a party to launch an exhibition of her work and to introduce the paintings of Fran Hunter. The Herring House, the gallery where the exhibition is held, is on the beach at Biddista, in the remote north west of the island. When a mysterious Englishman bursts into tears and claims not to know who he is or where he’s come from, the evening ends in farce. The following day the Englishman is found hanging from a rafter in a boathouse on the jetty, a clown’s mask on his face.
Detective Jimmy Perez is convinced that this is a local murder. A second murder Biddista only reinforces this belief. But the detective’s relationship with Fran Hunter clouds his judgement. And this is a crazy time of the year when night blurs into day and nothing is quite as it seems.