I had thought this Wexford mystery by Ruth Rendell would be the perfect "holding pattern" book leading up to Christmas (and which point I assumed I would find mounds of books under the tree for me to read), but it turned out merely irritating. I usually like the Wexford mysteries. He's a fine character--and I'm always impressed (?) by Rendell's ability to make him vaguely sexist and so out of touch with "modern" technology. For awhile I suspected those traits were elements of her own personality (which seemed weird) so I finally settled on it being due to good writing.
The two old bodies unearthed promised a nice bit of whodunnit, but then Rendell had to bring in Somali female genital mutilation, which was just a huge distraction. In another book she brought in baby selling in Africa. Okay, so kudos (I guess) for the ripped from the headlines elements (I guess?), but who cares, really? Give me dead, and not gross bodies, and I'm happy to read your book for a few hours, in a warm house, by a crackling fire.
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