I was 17 when I started working on my first Icelandic translation of an Agatha Christie novel. I had been reading her books for years and had already translated a few of her short stories for Icelandic magazines, but I was astonished when her publishers offered me the opportunity to translate a whole novel. I was even more delighted when they agreed to let me start with Endless Night (little did they know that my suggestion was because it contained far fewer pages than any other Christie novel I had come across).



I would never have guessed that 15 years later I would be writing myself, and have 14 translated Christie novels to my name. Through college, law school, and even when I had started full-time work as a lawyer, I never stopped translating her. Each new title was another chance to immerse myself in her writing and to learn from her as much as I could. And translating her gave me the confidence to write a novel of my own. Christie was not just an inspiration for my writing, but a support.

It is undeniable that she is a strong influence on my own writing – is there any crime writer that isn’t influenced by her in some way? But beyond the delight that the books can stir in any reader, translating them meant I was able to fully comprehend her exceptional technical skill. No other writer constructs plots so well. Her surprises are in jigsaw pieces. Her twists so simple and elegant that the tricks are fair: the clues are all there. Read The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, And Then There Were None or The Murder on the Orient Express to see the extent of this talent.

The books are never set in arbitrary locations: whether beginning in a snowbound country house, on a boat on the Nile, on a remote island or in a small village, the setting is always significant to the narrative and the tone – it feels almost like a character in itself. I have no doubt this has influenced my own writing. The atmosphere of the small fishing town of Siglufjörður, where my Dark Iceland books are set, is vital to their tone, and its remoteness and tight-knit community shape the plots of Snowblind, Nightblind and Blackout.

Though I began with Endless Nights due to its modest length, I moved on to books such as Death on the Nile – all 90,000 words of it. There are particular challenges in translation, regardless of length, one being that it felt crucial to hold on to the period language, and avoid Icelandic words that felt too modern. I believe that reading a Christie novel should, in any language, be like stepping into a bygone age.

One memorable challenge came when I was translating Lord Edgware Dies, which took me 10 years because of one almost impossible hurdle: a particular two-word clue, which to me felt inextricably bound to the English language. The words used in English sounded different in Icelandic, dissolving the clue entirely. In the end I resorted to simply referring to the English words as well, after trying dozens of alternative methods (for those interested in knowing the clue, read chapter 29).

Translating Christie is a challenge, but also a blessing. Because of her, I have developed an immense pleasure in reading (and rereading). Most marvellously, she has taught me how to write.

Extract from Rupture by Ragnar Jónasson

When everything was quiet again, Róbert heard the indistinct slamming of a door, muffled by the hammering rain. His first thought was that it was the back door to the porch behind the old house. Sunna sat up in alarm and glanced at him, disquiet in her eyes. He tried to stifle his own fear behind a show of bravado and, getting to his feet, ventured naked into the living room. It was empty. But the back door was open, banging to and fro in the wind. He glanced quickly into the porch, just long enough to say that he had taken a look, and hurriedly pulled the door closed. A whole regiment of men could have been out there for all he knew, but he could make out nothing in the darkness. He then went from one room to another, his heart beating harder and faster, but there were no unwelcome guests to be seen. And then he noticed something that would keep him awake for the rest of the night. He hurried through the living room, frightened for Sunna, terrified that something had happened to her. Holding his breath, he made his way to the bedroom to find her seated on the edge of the bed, pulling on a shirt. She smiled weakly, unable to hide her concern. “It was nothing, sweetheart,” he said, hoping she would not notice the tremor in his voice. “I forgot to lock the door after I took the rubbish out; didn’t shut it properly behind me,” he lied. “You know what tricks the wind plays out back. Stay there and I’ll get you a drink.” He stepped quickly out of the bedroom and rapidly removed what he had seen. He hoped it was the right thing to do – not to tell Sunna about the water on the floor, the wet footprints left by the uninvited guest who had come in out of the rain. The worst part was that they hadn’t stopped just inside the back door. The trail had led all the way to the bedroom.

More about the book

“Ragnar Jónasson writes with a chilling, poetic beauty – a must-read addition to the growing canon of Iceland noir.” – Peter James

Buy the book

Rupture by Ragnar Jónasson is published by Orenda Books priced £8.99 and is available from the Guardian Bookshop for £7.64.

