Righty-ho.
I've just spent a couple of days on and off catching up with you all (and given the absolute stinker I'm going to review, your insights and posts have been better than reading books!)
Since we last spoke, I've:
- DNF'd Hamnet. Meh.
- Started an Excel for my TBR KIndles. I've got as far as 273. I have at least 6 times that many to still add. My name is Sol and I am an addict.
- Appreciated the idea of James Norton's bottom very much.
- Remembered my cousin was visited in hospital by Brian Clough when he had a cornea operation in the 1970s.
And been reading...not sure where I got up to on the last thread so forgive me if I repeat myself.
11 Trust Me: T M Logan
This was a does- what- it- says- on- the- tin -psycho- nutjob 99p. I'd read The Holiday last year and thought it was pretty dire, but this was much better, and I will buy more if they're 99p.
12 Tigerlily's Orchids: Ruth Rendell.
Quirky little standalone RR about ordinary people finding themselves in extraordinary situations. This time all based really on boring middle aged men living in suburbia getting the hots for a young Asian woman on their avenue and the dreadful consequences that ensue. Was OK.
13 The Ex: S E Lines
See above re: TM Logan. This was also a fast paced psycho nutjob themed story. Ultimately more twisty and believable than the TML and I'll buy more of these at the right price as well.
14: The Rites of Spring: Anders de la Motte
Scandi Noir tries to be literary and a bit woo with bizarre family saga thrown in. Too much going on. Too many characters. None of them pleasant.
15: The Woman in Black Susan Hill
Our old friend of the landing. Quick read. Was OK. She clearly fancied herself as a bit of a Bronte. She fails. Often reads like a parody of gothic ghostly goings-on. I doubt that was her intention.
And a drumroll for my stinker of the year. (and I include the 3 DNFs)
16 The Brighton Mermaid: Dorothy Koomson.
Christ on a fucking bike. KER-IST. I skim read the last 100 pages. I also looked this up at one point thinking I'd misunderstood the brief and this was also a parody. It wasn't.
Plot: 2 kids find dead body.
Observations:
The main character can drive all over the UK and is clearly a wordly wise well travelled independent woman, who, at one point when she hears someone lives in Lewisham, wonders if it's "even a real place"
There are three children very peripheral to the story who are always listed in the same order, and if one is listed doing something mundane and irrelevant, then the other two follow. Think Greek tragedy fixed expressions without the gods and muses. "Albert came in the door and put his bag on the table, then Bertha opened the fridge door and soon after Caroline said "hello Aunty" Ad infinitum but usually listing stuff that takes up a page and a half.
Not one redeeming character, but rather a series of 2 dimensional stereotypes. The black ones and the white ones. The (presumably, though not stated explicity) first generation immigrant father will say "we will go the shop and we will buy a hammer and a new door lock and I will change the locks for you" (seemingly the writer's way of distinguishing young black characters from older black characters lies in abbreviating verbs)
A cardboard cut out pantomime baddy policeman. If anyone has read the Wimbledon Poisoner it reminded me so much of the policeman in that, that that was the point I looked it up to see if it was supposed to be a ridiculous parody. It's never completely made clear (we are obviously supposed to think that it was pure and simple racism) why bad cop was so bad (apart from him whispering in teenage girls' ears that they are dirty sluts, (no me neither)) but it's OK! Someone runs him over!
We segue from lots of unnecessary detail about DNA and genealogy, alopecia, everybody sleeping with everybody else's partners, husbands, boyfriends and then being run over. (Spoiler! If you're a character in this book, or have given birth to a character in this book, not even the pavement will save you! I actually lost count as to how many people did the sadface thing to our heroine and said "my mother/father/parents/sister/brother/bloke I worked with was run over"
I could go on. But the absolute what the fucking fuck moment came when, after hundreds of pages of drivel involving DNA, genealogy, pantomime policemen, suggestions of child abuse, women with OCD who then leave home and try and fuck their sister's boyfriends, ex husbands who keep being mentioned to no real purpose, men without eyelashes, sons of pantomime policemen who pantomime policeman address in the same way as Michael Caine addresses Bob Cratchett etc etc etc and, BEARING IN MIND THAT FOR THE WHOLE BOOK THE DEAD BODY HAS BEEN REFERRED TO AS THE BRIGHTON MERMAID BECAUSE SHE WAS FOUND ON A BEACH (capitals for parody effect) we discover that...ta-da her real name was SIRENE. That was the point I decided that I will read Katherine May and that other whiny woman who moved to live on an island and then didn't like it for the rest of my days rather than pick up another book by this writer.
I've looked on Goodreads and am agog at the 5 star reviews. I've also looked her up on here and seen she's recommended as chick-lit. So, in fairness, I'm as confused as the woman who thinks Lewisham might not exist, or the other one who has to list her children in order in case she forgets one.
Ahem.
Anyway, I'm also in Troy now. A Thousand Ships was randomly generated so in I've gone. I'm quite enjoying it. Have a feeling it might be seen as the what Jean Plaidy/Philippa Gregory are to historical fiction, this is to Greek Myths, but that's fine. Anything is fine after the fucking mermaid.