This is another in a long series of Aimée Leduc mysteries. My sister says it’s too squishy with all the
French words. Maybe she’s just too Ohioan
or Nebraskan: remember Frog-Fries?
I got used to, and like, the designer names, and the common argot
phrases. I bonded with Louise Penny’s
French-Canadian Inspector Gamache, who was recommended to me, by my sister – go
figure.
Paris is my favorite
city, but it’s all through memory and reading now, thus mellowing with age like
a good Chambertin, and enjoyable in sips.
O.K., my sister must
have stuck it out farther than I did.
The first few books were cute with their mentions of designer shoes and
bags and coats, and I liked that, superficial as I am. But this is too much.! Cara Black, the author, is dumping product
placement ads 2/3 to a page. As an
author, she’s prostituting herself and reflecting badly on her trade, which
supposedly is writing murder mysteries, not whoring.
After 100 of 300
pages, I am returning this book to the Library and I do not recommend it to
anyone. The plot is thin, character
development is lacking. The author
appears to be just grinding out “another one” for maximum $$$ payback.
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