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Thörn and Persson parody our fascination with crime and play with the conception of what is real by creating a sort of reality fiction.

This is not some lurid tale of a serial killer, but an examination of what happens when complex social structures such as the legal system or healthcare fall prey to enthusiastic or misguided professionals. This book bites back at the therapists, police and lawyers who for some reason viewed this patient – Sture Bergwall, also known as Thomas Quick – as a professional battleground.

This gripping and absorbing account is real Scandinavian crime and deserves the widest possible readership by those who not only take an interest in crime and justice but also enjoy excellent writing and a compelling narrative.

Åsheden examines her material again and publishes her account of events, hoping to lift the curse still hanging over Holmér’s name.

A readable, fascinating journey into politicised crime, set in a past that feels both distant and very close.

The Börjlinds’ huge experience as scriptwriters – 25-odd Sjöwall & Wahlöö film and TV series, goodness knows how many Arne Dahl and Henning Mankell ones, and a large number of their own contributions – tells at every turn and twist.

It makes sense to review these two political thrillers together: both reflect the professional preoccupations of the writers as well as their strongly held and strikingly similar political views, both explore sympathetically the Islamic/Islamist anger that interacts with what is arguably an unlawful Western overreaction, and both are very well informed.

The strength of this first novel set in Lapland is not so much the plot and the whodunit, but rather the account Lars Pettersson weaves around the people eking out a living in this frozen wilderness and their struggle to keep alive local traditions of language and culture.

Renowned for his vivid imagery and soul-searching portrayals of contemporary urban life in Sweden, poet and author Johannes Anyuru returns with an intensely personal tale of suffering and determination.

‘I was Händel. I am nobody. This is my tale of immortality and beauty.’

A fusion of fictionalised reportage and interpretative biography.

Shines a light on a shamefully ignored chapter of Sweden’s modern history with immeasurable sorrow and intense anger – but also with warmth and love.

Where Ovid writes his lament in Latin to and for his friends at the centre of the glittering Empire, Kallifatides writes in his adopted language, holding up a comical mirror to his new fellow-citizens, to whom these letters are really addressed.

Garbo wants her fellow Swedes to be proud of her for making a film that the whole world admires, and then to let her abdicate from Hollywood stardom.

Even as a fictional character he would be fascinating. But he was real.

An anti-hero for our time.

Lundin challenges the reader to take notice.

The idea of a Swedish disaster story is interesting in itself. The Hollywood output of scare stories is mind-numbing, but something about setting this story in rural Sweden makes it more unsettling than the most imaginative zombie invasion; we expect the Swedish countryside to be safe and uneventful.

This is a haunting story in which events are viewed in stream-of-consciousness style through the eyes of a grieving child.

Saga has just started secondary school when she meets him: the man who is to become her obsession, ‘Stockholm’s most beautiful man’.

How challenging it is to be caught between two – or more – worlds.