One reads a P.D. James novel in something like the same spirit that one reads a novel by Zola, Balzac, Thackeray or Dickens. (Christian Science Monitor)
My thoughts (hastily scribbled on a postcard):
Well quite. Not exactly the most stunning book I’ve ever read. Tedious, more like. The only redeeming feature is the twist at the end where the crime was simple, but the detective was being over-subtle. But a single redeeming feature does not a good book make. Too formulaic, too clichéd; what writer of any quality would think that a hero can be made three-dimensional just by having them write poetry? The book verges on being crass in the extreme in terms of characterisation, development, and so on. Or is she merely a post-modernist? Am I supposed to read the book ironically?
