The Quiet Girl By Peter Høeg, translated by Nadia Christensen, Farrar, Straus & Giroux, Hardcover, 424 pages, $26
All the world loves a clown. At least, they’re supposed to. And, back in the day, everyone loved Kaspar Krone. But then something happened: namely, gambling debts. And with them, Krone’s four-star life of three-ring fame went straight to hell.
Broke and despondent, he’s got one gift they can’t take away from him: he possesses an auditory capability that outguns the Bionic Woman. It’s a good thing, too, since, along with allowing him to grant everyone he comes across a musical chord — he’s B-flat, she’s A-sharp — it also keeps him one clown step ahead of the Danish tax authorities. Who might be behind a secret plot. Unfortunately, Krone’s super-hearing fails him when it comes to KlaraMaria, a spooky little girl who shows up, then disappears, leaving ol’ Red Nose to sniff out her silent whereabouts. Which leads him down practically every alley and roadway of Copenhagen — including my favorite street name of all time, Middelfart St. — searching for the quiet girl. But where can she be? Why, with a secret order of nuns, of course, who offer protection to Ronald McDonald — I mean Krone — if he agrees to watch over a group of ethereal little waifs who also have special powers of their own. But can he trust these mysterious sisters? Or the girl who confounds his cochlea? What’s a white-faced loser to do?
Who cares. If you manage to get even halfway through this mind-numb of a book, you’ve probably got a thing for washed up Bozos. And I ain’t knocking anyone’s kinks. But you shouldn’t have to slog through such high-brow malarkey just to get off. Instead, catch a few Simpsons episodes, laugh your ass off at Krusty, and remind yourself that a clown’s misery can be pure comedy. As opposed to just plain miserable. Like this book.
—Rosette Royale