I was attracted by the title. The cover depicts a pair of little-girl feet dangling in midair. It seemed intriguing. But it turned out to be a Netflix-style murder mystery that centers on Norwegian detectives trying to solve a series of bizarre child murders.

Maybe the translator shares some of the blame—I’ve rarely read books translated from a foreign language for fear something will be lost in translation. For me, the writing was the weakest aspect of the book. It was all on a very simplistic, elemental level. (So is mine. But this, I’m afraid, was even worse). The story, however, was woven together well. It’s what my writing teacher called a braided plot. Each chapter started with a character’s name. The very short chapters bounced from thread to thread, each following the actions of a different character, all weaving together at the end.

I never review a book to which I would give less than three stars. This is because, if it doesn’t grab me in the first few chapters, I drop it and move on to something else. So it says something that I actually finished this one. I like this kind of stuff in movies. I’ve watched several foreign-made crime genre films on Netflix and other cable channels and enjoyed them. But from books I expect more. As an author-in-training, I’m always looking for authors who can teach me something about writing. I’m Traveling Alone did not do this. But the story grabbed me enough so I stuck with it to see how it comes out. I found the ending less-than-satisfying. No startling surprises.