Lit Crit

Earlier this month, a friend gave me a pile of cozy mysteries featuring a quirky police constable in the north of Scotland named Hamish Macbeth. I’ve been in a kind of escapist mood, so I stacked them in order of publication and ripped through them.

(Fun fact: I’m actually descended from Duncan I, the historical basis for the king murdered by Macbeth in that Scottish Play.)

At any rate, they were amusing and didn’t require a great deal of attention on my part, so mission accomplished. But as I progressed through the series, I found them increasingly irritating, especially Hamish’s various romantic relationships. That guy just cannot stick a landing, and the one he can’t get over, Priscilla—well, I just wanted to bitchslap her.

At one point I even texted my friend, “Please tell me that Priscilla gets murdered.” (Sadly…)

But in the pile of paperbacks, there was also this one, wrapped with a warning:

I’ve put that, still wrapped, in the box with the others for donation.

 

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