Mikael Blomkvist is my homeboy!

More Action than JacksonThat's right, say it, accept it, believe it. Everyone you know is reading the Stieg Larsson "Girl Who..." novels this year. Yes, they're crime/mystery; yes, they're good; yes, they're filled with hilarious street and town names and characters who fell out of the consonant factory too early.

Anyway, I'm here to say it up front: Mikael Blomkvist is a bronze god of writer-mojo idealism! And, he's definitely my homie. I'm making a bracelet that says WWBD (What Would Blomkvist Do).

The answer, as some of you have already pointed out on facebook and other sites is to schtup everything that walks. I could handle this in book one when he basically worked his way through the female characters in the book, handle this when he did clean up in book two by finishing off the job on the one woman he hadn't slept with in book one. But now, in book 3 (The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest), Larsson has elevated him to god status. Ridiculous? Very. Funny. Yes.

Basically, Larsson spends a few pages in the first part of the novel setting up a character as a full-blown hottie: tall, six foot, blonde with short curly hair, blue eyes, impossibly physically fit. Not only was she close to making the Swedish national gymnastics team at six foot (when was the last time you saw a six foot gymnast for crissakes?), but now she's a policewoman who's addicted to working out and does it two or three times a day. She pumps iron at lunch, runs an hour in the morning, who knows what else she can think of for after work.

Then we find out what she can think of! After suddenly winding up dining with Blomkvist at a Bosnian restaurant (burek anyone?) (and at Fridhemsplan, no less!), the next time they're together they have this quasi-brilliant exchange:

Her: "Do you feel like having dinner later?"

MB: "Bosnian again" [admit it: you're dying to lay this line on the ladies!]

Her: "No, I can't afford to eat out every night. I was thinking of something simple at my place."

She stopped and smiled at him.

Her: "Do you know what I'd like to do now?" she said.

MB: "No."

Her: "I'd like to take you home and undress you."

Yep! That's how he rolls! Just like that! She's hot and she throws herself at him! Either the women in Sweden are a whole other breed of forward, or Blomkvist is the mack of all macks. Remember people, he's a writer!

A few dozen pages later, same hot woman lays this gem on him:

"I don't know what this is going to turn into. You're a man who gets more than his fair share of action, as I gather. Is that accurate?"

MB: "Yes, unfortunately. And I may not be looking for a steady girlfriend." (emphasis my own)

So just DAMN! Homeboy just lays it out like a 12-incher! That's studly. Nuff said.

Can you believe any of this? I hope not, but it sure is fun to fantasize about a semi-pudgy, out of shape writer being the chief mack hustler of Sweden, isn't it?