‘It really was a hell of a blast.
The explosion occurred at daybreak on the second Tuesday morning of September, its shock waves rippling through the beer-stained streets of Mornington Crescent. It detonated car alarms, hurled house bricks across the street, blew a chimney stack forty feet into the sky, ruptured the eardrums of several tramps, denuded over two dozen pigeons, catapulted a surprised ginger tom through the window of a kebab shop and fired several roofing tiles into the forehead of the Pope, who was featured on a poster for condoms opposite the tube station.’
And with that, I was hooked. Or so I thought.
As I read on, alittle later, I wondered why I was less taken. Not taken at all. It was as if the author had dropped the ball somehow.
Oh well. I have three more detective novels awaiting me, so this is not a huge loss. Though I was so excited there, for a few minutes!
I gave it one more chance, though, and then wondered why I’d thought I wasn’t interested. This was good. This was fine!
And so I read on.
Oh. It’s Full Dark House, the first in the Bryant & May mystery series by Christopher Fowler.