A friend gave me the first four or five books in JD Robb’s series, with the promise of being unable to put them down, and to help address my kindle’s pristine emptiness. I think I had just finished the trimester’s exams and was looking forward to some mindless pulp, but I didn’t even care enough to finish this book. I still don’t know who did it, but it was a bit too Sex and the City for my liking. The ladykiller, whose initial I can’t even remember, the tomboyish female detective, the instant coffee, the predictability of every character.
Crimes fiction by numbers. It just doesn’t float my boat.