WOMEN ON THE EDGE OF A NERVOUS BREAKDOWN

I never belonged to the big fans of crime stories. I never knew the collected works of Agatha Christie by heart. When Stieg Larsson became a big thing, I did not even try hard enough to go to the cinema. And then something happened. Girls took over the wheel. Girls who, in spite of the compulsion of collective memory, did not want to write about some traumatised yet magnificent white male detective, but about themselves. As if it became clear, at least to some, that there is nothing more boring under the sun than the fortification of stereotypes that were badly thought out to begin with.