October's books

 It's been another horribly busy month - with sadly very little writing done. But that seems to be changing now and life is looking slightly more under control, so here is the very short list of what I managed to slump over in October!

Alison Leary, Beach Cat Blues: Oh, it’s good to be back in this world of Aubrey’s, where there are suspicious goings-on in a nursing home and a private school. Aubrey is beautifully written and I still maintain these are not cosy – there’s far too much of the real world in them, and not all cats are sweet and fluffy.

David Pearson, A Fatal Liaison: I found this a bit pedestrian, but perhaps it just didn't hit my mood. Burke, the main investigator, is an unsympathetic character and his sergeant, Moore, is a bit whingey. There was nothing much to mark this out in terms of originality, quality of writing, humour or charm, though it was perfectly readable. Some of the police procedure seemed a bit lackadaisical – why did they not talk to the victim’s daughter, or look into his and his wife’s bank details earlier? Never mind keeping an eye on some of the potential suspects to prevent absconding. It sort of worked in the end.

M.W. Craven, Dead Ground: Engrossing from the start with another blindsider played by Tilly before she and Poe head off to the kingdom of MI5 for a new case. As usual several things seem to be going on all of which wind up into one satisfying conclusion, and our intrepid heroes are as dysfunctional, in the most functional way, as ever. One of the books for which I leave my 10% at a time rule and just read straight through – excellent.

Joy Ellis, Shadow Over the Fens: This is a complex double case and the main characters are developing nicely – as is the understated but clearly deep love of the Fens.

There, see? That didn't take long!

I'm still (still!) working on The Bear at Midnight, but the end is sort of in sight with a decent pair of binoculars. Maybe by Christmas? Then, if my addled brain will co-operate, there's a sequel to The Slaughter of Leith Hall and the next Murray to write. It has a tentative plan and everything! well, sort of. Or I could just retire ...