Georgette Heyer’s books are hit and miss for me; this was definitely the most “miss” of the miss books to date. It’s got a nicely-drawn atmospheric beginning, but that doesn’t last for more than a few pages, and I didn’t take to any of the characters; certainly not the “bright young things” and “good old chaps” at the center of the story — nor even really Inspector Hanasyde, who is being introduced here. Also, the “who” in whodunnit has a likely candidate from early on, even though the “how” is a bit out of left field.
I’m not planning to read the entire Hanasyde series, just one or two more (those that have the most direct ties to the subsequent Inspector Hemingway books, which overall I prefer); and — but for the odd stand-alone — I think that’ll conclude my foray into Heyer’s crime writing.
ETA: Well, go figure, I did end up reading all of Heyer’s mysteries after all! This particular book, however, was destined to remain one of my least favorites of the bunch. When she was good, Heyer was really good. When she was bad …
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