AN INTERNATIONAL BESTSELLER | A SUNDAY TIMES UK BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR | SHORTLISTED FOR THE CWA CRIME FICTION IN TRANSLATION AWARD “So much to relish here . . . and the writing is just lovely!”  —Diane Setterfield,  New York Times  bestselling author of  The Thirteenth Tale  and  Once Upon a River A fantastic tale set in the far north of Sweden in 1852 following a runaway Sami boy and his mentor, the famous pastor Laestadius, as they investigate a murder in their village along with the mysteries of life. Jussi, a runaway, becomes Laestadius's faithful son and disciple, and the two set out on botanical treks filled with philosophical discussions where Jussi learns all about plants and nature; and also how to read and write and about spirituality. But their quiet days are interrupted when a maid goes missing in the forest. When she is found dead, the locals suspect a predatory bear is at large. The constable is quick to offer a reward for capturing it, but Laestadius sees other traces that point to a far worse killer on the loose. After another maid is severely injured, Jussi and the pastor work to track down the murderer, unaware of the evil that is closing in on them. For it is revivalist times, and impassioned faith spreads like wildfire among the locals. While Laestadius's powerful Sunday sermons grant salvation to farmers and workers, they gain him enemies among local rulers, who see profits dwindle as people choose revival over alcohol. A completely absorbing and unforgettable novel, To Cook a Bear both entertains and burrows deep down into the great philosophical questions of life. "Intriguing... sensuous." — The Wall Street Journal  "Sumptuous." — Publishers Weekly "There is much more to this wonderfully idiosyncratic novel from Sweden; it is not only a riveting, psychologically astute mystery but also a work of history, natural history (the pastor is a gifted botanist), and religion...superb. It is not to be missed." — Booklist (starred) "Vivid and engaging. This marvelous historic crime novel plumbs the bogs of 19th-century Sweden--and the mysteries of the soul."  — Shelf Awareness  (starred) "Divine. This book is a masterpiece."  —Daglabet  (Norway) "Niemi is a born storyteller,  To Cook a Bear  is a beguiling and seductive read."  — Crime Time (UK) "Niemi succeeds in constructing a story that works as a murder mystery and as a compelling study of a dangerously inward-looking community." — Sunday Times (UK) "Niemi’s writing – that of a narrator and a poet, a dreamer and a storyteller – brushes the highest peaks of the most delicate lyricism, rising strongly out of the abyss of the darkest mystery." —Corierre della Sera (Italy) Mikael Niemi is the author of the novel Popular Music From Vittula (2000) which has sold over one million copies worldwide. It won the Swedish Best Book of the Year Prize and has been translated into over 30 languages. Mikael Niemi was born in 1959 and grew up in Pajala in the northernmost part of Sweden, near the Finnish border, where he still lives. 1. I wake to a complete absence of sound in a world biding its time before coming to life. Enclosed by darkness and sky, I lie with my eyes directed like conduits toward the great expanse, but there is nothing there, not even air. In the midst of the vast silence my chest begins to tremble and shake. The waves intensify; something growing inside threatens to force its way out. My ribs are pried apart like the bars of a cage. There is nothing I can do except submit to this formidable force, like a child groveling on the floor at the feet of an enraged father, never knowing when the next blow will strike. I am that child. I am that father. Before the world is fully formed, I rush out into the dawn with my knapsack on my back and the hand-forged ax in my fist. A short distance from the low barn I stop and shelter at the edge of the forest, pretending to busy myself with my clothing in case someone should see me and start to wonder; I wind a shoelace round and round, empty my cap of invisible lice, pretending to shake them onto the swarming anthill at my feet. All the while I watch the farmyard out of the corner of my eye. The first smoke of the morning rises from the cabin stove, signaling that the household is astir. And then she emerges. Empty pails swing from her hands. Her headscarf stands out, white like a winter ptarmigan; her face is a circle of light, her eyes bright, her brows dark. I imagine the smoothness of her cheeks and her small rosy lips singing softly, shaping tender little words. The cows, their udders taut, low in response and expectation when she opens the heavy barn door and slips inside. It all happens at such speed, far too fast, and I try to keep my senses sharp, to hold this picture so that I can summon it again and again. And yet it is not enough. I have to see her tomorrow as well. Her swinging hips under the apron, the gentle round of her bosom, the hand that grips the latc