I’m still not entirely sure what to think about Greek detective Hermes Diaktoros. He isn’t the detective I expected, necessarily — he’s a Greek Poirot, a mystery in a mystery. But I’m not sure what his impetuses are. I don’t know why he came to the island of Thiminos to investigate the death of Irini Asimakopoulos. I don’t know whether he solved the mystery and meted out justice right and proper, like a deus ex machina, or created the solution to the mystery, leading it right where he meant it to go for his own, twisted, personal reasons. I’m not sure whether Diaktoros is angel or demon. He certainly lives up to the reputation of the god for whom he was named: Hermes, the Trickster.
What I do know: Zouroudi’s prose is lyrical, misty, and magical, like Delfi on an overcast summer day. It is refreshing, a respite from the suffocating heat, but simultaneously discombobulating, strange, foreign, and mischievous. I am definitely looking forward to Zouroudi’s next Diaktoros novel, The Taint of Midas, to get a better glimpse at the character of Diaktoros and also sink deeper in to the lyrical world of Zouroudi’s Greece.