Sunday, 4 October 2015

Crocodile on the Sandbank

Image sourced from here
I was a bit excited for this book. Archaeology. Mystery. Victorian era. Sassy, societal and gender role shunning protagonist. Sounded like a rip roaring adventure through pyramids with parasols.

However, all I wanted to do was smack Amelia Peabody and her smug little face with her smug little parasol. The woman was insufferable. I am all for smartarse, outspoken, sarcastic, pushing society's role for you, female protagonists. But don't give it to me coated in smug.

I struggled through the book. In fact I put it down as I thought I was in a reading slump, but now I have finished the book, I think the book was the slump. But I waded through to show myself she got better and it was a fun little cozy that everyone enjoys. Nope. I just saturated myself in the smug.

And don't even get me started on the most forced love interest. I can sort of see what was being attempted but it was "sneaking" up on you from page 20 like a four year old hiding behind a pot plant, and wasn't convincing at all.

Urgh. Now I feel like I need a shower again.

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