The Quiche of Death

Some people post every hour during a readathon, carefully tracking pages read, minutes read.    I doubt I could keep track of minutes read.   I read for an hour, but I did a few other things, too.   No idea how many minutes that was of actual reading, but it was the last 23 pages of the first Agatha Raisin mystery.    And I’m definitely disappointed.   Agatha is rather silly and stupid.   I guess it’s supposed to be funny the policeman dragging her out the window by her hair, but it was decidedly not amusing me.   Plus she microwaved an entire frozen chocolate cake (which she’d stolen) – how would that turn out?   Awful, I should think.   I’ll probably read the next one, as they came as a set and they might get better.   Trouble is, my taste in mysteries was formed by Agatha Christie – I want a detective who investigates, who’s intelligent, who is at no point in mortal danger.    I also like them cozy – no rape, no torture, minimal drugs, certainly no trafficking, but not too cozy.   The Carsley Ladies’ Society is a bit too cozy.

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