So I finished The Cat Who Dropped A Bombshell by Lilian Jackson Braun yesterday afternoon.
I have to say I found it to be a minor improvement over the last entry in the series. I mean, this book actually had a motive. Still, it's a dismal read - one I'd rank around a D- for fans of the series and an F for newcomers.
Where to start? Well how about the fact that there is no character or plot development to speak of. The "mystery" is a joke and the author kills off a semi-regular character in a car accident without a by-you-leave. This character will not be missed per se, but she was featured prominently in an earlier book in the series.
Unfortunately it's not Polly who dies. Sorry, I had to get that jab in there.
However reading this entry has finally helped me understand why I've hated the last several books so much. Pickax (the town where this series takes place) has taken on a creepy Stepford quality. Honestly. Who are these people? They're like Norman Rockwell on acid. Supposedly charming and folksy, but with an unbelieveably spooky streak. Frankly they're all starting to read like serial killers in training. "He seemed like such a nice fellow until he started murdering family members with a chainsaw."
I really need to stop reading this series. I really, really do. But I know come January 2007 I'll be checking out a library copy of The Cat Who Coughed Up A Hairball.
Drat nostalgia anyway.