Leaving for Iceland the other week, and while adding the last touches to my luggage, I realised I had nothing fictional to read during travel. Without much ado I grabbed a paperback out of the bookcase; one of those free-with-a-magazine paperbacks which I had never really considered reading. It was added to my other reading stuff consisting of Hylland Eriksen's “Ethnicity and Nationalism” and a bunch of student essays.
The train schedule had given me ample time at Arlanda to browse the shops, and I decided on spending some time in the paperback shop, selecting a book for the flight. After about half an hour of agonising decision making I ended up with Åsa Larsson’s “Solstorm”. A movie based on the book was just about to be realised, and through the trailer I had come to like the idea of the story, which was all about murder in an independent church congregation in northern Sweden.
What I did not realise though, but would find out while unpacking, was that this book I had so carefully selected was the same book which was already in my luggage, and which I had so nonchalantly grabbed on departure.