Amongst my catholic reading habits (I like anything by the Pope, [thanks Alexei]), is a bias in favour of thrillers/detective stories or whatever.
I have read most of the works of Ms Patricia Cornwell. I am not sure how good a writer she is, she is very popular which does not mean a lot, but I cannot say that I look forward to reading her work any more than many other producers of fiction of that genre.
I have nothing against her being a proponent of lesbianism. Some may say that there is not enough graphic lesbian action in her books, but I am getting on a bit and prefer to read about gratuitous violence these days.
I can forgive her writing about dull Italian recipes. If her heroine chooses to grate parmesan while the killer creeps up behind her, then I will not quibble much, although given my druthers, I would opt for my meal being prepared in a more tranquil and mellow atmosphere.
I can even forgive her for using the ridiculous expression “high rate of speed”. Perhaps. Actually, no I can’t. If she uses the language like that, and identifies with her heroine, then I am on the side of the machete-wielding maniac who slices through her aubergines, as she slices through her aubergines.
However, what is truly inexcusable is the plot repetition, which, in every book of hers that I can recall, includes a finale in which the killer - who the heroine and her highly trained professional police detectives have failed to detect and stop from killing – breaks into the her house and tries to kill her. Despite having eliminated countless other defenceless victims with no problem throughout the tale, a middle aged unarmed woman proves to be too much. Don’t they offer courses in American high schools for serial killers? I find it difficult to believe such inefficiency in the execution of what is virtually the nation’s favourite pastime.
I have to say that if the current tome upon which I am just starting finishes in the same way as the rest, then I will be more than a little annoyed. Caroline, there may be insufficient prunes in North East Hampshire to assuage my ire.