Commuter book review: The Girl Who Played with Fire

It's the Swedish "Kill Bill." Read it and you'll know exactly what I mean.

Especially that end scene involving a cigarette case, an axe and a whole lot of dirt.

Is there anything Lisbeth Salandar cannot - ahem - dig her way out of?

(Spoiler note: She's not banging the irresistable Blomqvist in this one. But Mr. B. gets his fill of action nonetheless, maintaining his reputation as the pasty vortex of journalistic sex appeal from which no female character is safe.)

The only reason Uma Thurman is not being considered for the lead in the film verison The Girl Who Played with Fire is that she's too tall. And blond (which is kind of weird considering the character is Swedish and all). And perhaps illiterate with computers.

And this is a shame, because Salandar would kick ass in the yellow jumpsuit.