I finished this yesterday too and am currently speechless.
Not in a good way obvs.
I did spend a fun half hour searching reviews of it on here (50 bookers threads and other reading threads)
Little to add to what I said when I was 10 chapters in and to what @EineReiseDurchDieZeit has said.
It's shit. Truly. Not one character seems like a real human being. It's like Jilly Cooper mated with Midsummer Murders but less realistic.
If just half the mentions of the 2 dimensional Strike's stump hurting had been edited out the book would only have been 300 pages long instead of 600. Her constant mentioning of it is starting to feel less like "here's another flawed detective let's make him disabled for inclusion" and more like some weird fetish. It's incessant.
That she also fills probably a fifth of the book telling us about how Strike (who let us not forget is built like Shrek, eats crap, drinks heavily in manner of all pretend detectives, sleeps in his clothes on the sofa in the office and chainsmokes- all of which we are told eleventy billion times) there is no way he is such a catch that all these madly named posh women want to have sex with him and go loop da loop when he finishes with them. They'd cross the road if he ever approached them because he sounds like a stinky tramp.
Robin's Hagrid pronunciation is tiresome but typical of lazy "northerners speak like" shit. Nobody, least of all stinky Strike, seems to have noticed that far from being "the best he's ever worked with" she's actually crap at her job . Never follows instructions, tells people things she shouldn't, keeps things from people she should tell, and it wouldn't be a Strike book if she didn't almost get killed by some axe wielding cartoon cutout loon. (Spoiler: she lives- but I expect the next book is 300 pages longer than it needs to be as we'll have all her PTSD over this one to deal with as well)
Matthew is a boring fucker who reminds me of every other boring fucker in books when the author needs a stroppy boring fucker partner for a main character.
The plot was embarrassingly ridiculous and like Eine, I neither cared nor really kept track on it beyond wanting it to end.
The posh stereotypes I agree are almost as offensive as the Dawn-the-working class-hairdresser ones. Do posh people really refer to themselves as Pringle, Plopsy and Fizzy? Do they have a posho Marauder's Map tracing their posho whereabouts?
Read it quickly. Skimmed bits. Will keep reading them just for the fun of reviewing them.