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Ever since I discovered the joy of books as a young lad I've always told ...
on 22 July 2014
Ever since I discovered the joy of books as a young lad I've always told myslef not to give up on a book and to see it through to the end no matter how turgid I found it or how badly written it was. In the 40 or so years of reading everything from airport pot-boilers to the classics, I've tried to follow this principle and I can count on the fingers of one hand the few times I have actually given up.
I say this in an attempt to indicate how unremittingly bad this book is, because about one third of the way in I contemplated poking my eyes out with rusty nails rather than start the next chapter of this dire, cliched guff. Instead I decided to junk it. Maybe its my fault, maybe I should have researched the title a bit more but having read the blurb I thought i was buying a highly recommended crime thriller. How wrong I was. In actual fact it reads like the most trite of "women's fiction", all deep meaningful glances at the handsome hero cop, a complete lack of story progression and pointless chapter long padding between the widowed wife and her sister in law designed to inform the reader of past events. I will not miss this book.
Awful, awful, awful. Do not buy.