David Hewson had assured me,on his website, that the fact that the Rome detectives would be 'crossing the pond' for this latest instalment in the Nic Costa series would not detract from the enjoyment of this essentially Italian crime series. I still had my doubts but was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt until I'd read the book. Well, sad to say that although the novel is beautifully written as always it lacks the excitement and taughtness of the previous books. It starts off so well: an American actor is murdered in gruesome fashion before the Italian premiere of 'Inferno' a big budget movie that sees the return to directing of Roberto Tonti, an Italian who started his career in the USA working on Hitchcock's 'Vertigo'. There is the usual antagonism between the Carabineri and the state police which is amusing and leads to Costa,Falcone and Peroni going to San Fransisco to guard the precious artefacts that form part of an exhibition alongside the movie itself-all dealing with Dante-the author of The Divine Comedy the subject of the movie. The fourth member of the 'team' Teresa Lupo,the pathologist pays her own way to get there as she is convinced that the movie has a lot to do with the death of the actor. Great up to now but as soon as the action moves to San Francisco the pace and the story seems to fall into just the same kind of limbo that Dante described in the play. Peroni, a loveable,ugly,old fashioned cop is shunted to the sidelines in the story, Falcone spends much of the time yearning for a San Francisco detective who does not reciprocate his attractions, Teresa, while becoming heavily involved seems out of her milieu, and Costa is the only one left to do anything much. It is a very clever book,perhaps too clever,and although enjoyable leaves you yearning for the sights and smells of Rome where the protagonists can be themselves again. Costa's somewhat cathartic relationship with the actress Maggie Flavier, his first since the death of his wife in the last book was handled well, but you fervently hope that it remains a brief interlude in his life. Roll on the next book, but let it be wholly Italian this time. Why spoil a winning formula by involving another continent?