The Thursday Murder Club: A Novel (A Thursday Murder Club Mystery) PDF AZW3 EPUB MOBI TXT Download

A New York Times bestseller | Soon to be a major motion picture from Steven Spielberg at Amblin Entertainment “Witty, endearing and greatly entertaining.” —Wall Street Journal   “Don’t trust anyone, including the four septuagenarian sleuths in Osman’s own laugh-out-loud whodunit.” —Parade Four septuagenarians with a few tricks up their sleeves A female cop with her first big case A brutal murder Welcome to… THE THURSDAY MURDER CLUBIn a peaceful retirement village, four unlikely friends meet weekly in the Jigsaw Room to discuss unsolved crimes; together they call themselves the Thursday Murder Club. When a local developer is found dead with a mysterious photograph left next to the body, the Thursday Murder Club suddenly find themselves in the middle of their first live case. As the bodies begin to pile up, can our unorthodox but brilliant gang catch the killer, before it’s too late?

Richard Osman
August 3, 2021
384 pages

File Size: 59 MB
Available File Formats: PDF AZW3 DOCX EPUB MOBI TXT or Kindle audiobook Audio CD(Several files can be converted to each other)
Language: English, Francais, Italiano, Espanol, Deutsch, chinese

Editors’ pick: These pensioners who want to take their amateur sleuthing club pro serve up a riotously funny murder mystery.”—Vannessa Cronin, Amazon Editor Review Praise for The Thursday Murder Club:“Osman mixes mirth and murder in his exceptional debut. . . witty.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review)“A little beacon of pleasure in the midst of the gloom. . . SUCH FUN!” —Kate Atkinson, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Big Sky“Funny, clever and compelling. Mystery fans are going to be enthralled.”—Harlan Coben, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Boy from the Woods“So smart, so funny, so warm, and such a wonderful mystery. If we’re lucky Richard Osman will keep these characters alive forever.”—Caroline Kepnes, New York Times bestselling author of You“So smart and funny. Deplorably good.”—Ian Rankin, New York Times bestselling author of Westwind“I don’t know how to do this brilliant book justice. Diabolically clever, very funny, highly entertaining—utterly delightful.  I completely fell in love with it. I need more of The Thursday Murder Club!”—Shari Lapena, New York Times bestselling author of The Couple Next Door“Grinning like a monkey having just finished The Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman. Loved its clever, clever plot, great gags, Ealing comedy set ups and Elizabeth. Can’t say more but I want to be her one day…”—Fiona Barton, New York Times bestselling author of The Widow“A rich, textured, twisted, and fabulously funny tale of murder and mayhem.” —Alan Bradley, New York Times bestselling author of The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie“By turns hilarious and poignant, The Thursday Murder Club offers up a brilliant concept that’s flawlessly executed and told in a unique, captivating voice. These are rare qualities in any novel, let alone a debut. I read the first page, then put all else on hold to devour this pitch-perfect book in one sitting. Bravo!”—Jeffery Deaver, #1 international bestselling author of The Goodbye Man“Smart, compassionate, warm, moving and so very funny. I smiled a million times. This book will make a lot of people very, very happy.”—Marian Keyes, internationally bestselling author of Grown-Ups“A warm, wise, and witty warning never to underestimate the elderly.”—Val McDermid, internationally bestselling author of How the Dead Speak“Utterly charming and very very clever.”—Sarah Pinborough, New York Times bestselling author of Cross Her Heart“Funny, clever, and achingly British–what else would you expect from a book by Richard Osman?”—Adam Kay, internationally bestselling author of This Is Going to Hurt: Secret Diaries of a Medical Resident“A superb debut. Thrilling, moving, laugh-out-loud funny and packed with characters you will want to see a lot more of.”—Mark Billingham, internationally bestselling author of Their Little Secret“What a joy! Full of brilliantly observed humor, spot-on dialogue, and twists and turns aplenty. Joyce and the gang are now my favorite crime-solving team.”—Nina Stibbe, author of Reasons to be Cheerful About the Author Richard Osman is an author, producer, and television presenter. His first novel, The Thursday Murder Club, was a #1 million-copy international bestseller and a New York Times bestseller; The Man Who Died Twice was also a #1 international bestseller and a New York Times bestseller. Critics have already described The Man Who Died Twice as “his second novel,” and his third novel, The Bullet That Missed, is forthcoming. He lives in London with his partner, and Liesl the cat. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. 1.JoyceWell, let’s start with Elizabeth, shall we? And see where that gets us?I knew who she was, of course; everybody here knows Elizabeth. She has one of the three-bedroom flats in Larkin Court. It’s the one on the corner, with the decking? Also, I was once on a quiz team with Stephen, who, for a number of reasons, is Elizabeth’s third husband.I was at lunch, this is two or three months ago, and it must have been a Monday, because we were having shepherd’s pie. Elizabeth said she could see that I was eating, but she wanted to ask me a question about knife wounds, if it wasn’t inconvenient?I said, “Not at all, of course, please,” or words to that effect. I won’t always remember everything exactly, I might as well tell you that now. So she opened a manila folder, and I saw some typed sheets and the edges of what looked like old photographs. Then she was straight into it.Elizabeth asked me to imagine that a girl had been stabbed with a knife. I asked what sort of knife she had been stabbed with, and Elizabeth said probably just a normal kitchen knife. John Lewis or somesuch. She didn’t say that, but that was what I pictured. Then she asked me to imagine this girl had been stabbed three or four times, just under the breastbone. In and out, in and out, very nasty, but without severing an artery. She was fairly quiet about the whole thing, because people were eating, and she does have some boundaries.So there I was, imagining stab wounds, and Elizabeth asked me how long it would take the girl to bleed to death.By the way, I realize I should have mentioned that I was a nurse for many years; otherwise none of this will make sense to you. Elizabeth would have known that from somewhere, because Elizabeth knows everything. Anyway, that’s why she was asking me. You must have wondered what I was on about. I will get the hang of writing this, I promise.I remember dabbing at my mouth before I answered, like you see on television sometimes. It makes you look clever, try it. I asked what the girl had weighed.Elizabeth found the information in her folder, followed her finger, and read out that the girl had been forty-six kilos. Which threw us both, because neither of us was sure what forty-six kilos was in real money. In my head I was thinking it must be about twenty-three stone? Two to one was my thinking. Even as I thought that, though, I suspected I was getting mixed up with inches and centimeters.Elizabeth let me know the girl definitely wasn’t twenty-three stone, as she had a picture of her corpse in the folder. She tapped the folder at me, then turned her attention back to the room and said, “Will somebody ask Bernard what forty-six kilos is?”Bernard always sits by himself, at one of the smaller tables nearest the patio. Table 8. You don’t need to know that, but I will tell you a bit about Bernard.Bernard Cottle was very kind to me when I first arrived at Coopers Chase. He bought me a clematis cutting and explained the recycling timetable. They have four different colored bins here. Four! Thanks to Bernard, I know that green is for glass and blue is cardboard and paper. As for red and black, though, your guess is still as good as mine. I’ve seen all sorts as I’ve wandered about. Someone once put a fax machine in one.Bernard had been a professor, something in science, and had worked all around the world, including going to Dubai before anyone had heard of it. True to form, he was wearing a suit and tie to lunch, but was nevertheless reading the Daily Express. Mary from Ruskin Court was at the next table; she got his attention and asked how much forty-six kilos was when it was at home.Bernard nodded and called over to Elizabeth, “seven stone three and a bit.”And that’s Bernard for you.Elizabeth thanked him and said that sounded about right, and Bernard returned to his crossword. I looked up centimeters and inches afterward, and at least I was right about that.Elizabeth went back to her question. How long would the girl stabbed with the kitchen knife have to live? I guessed that unattended she would probably die in about forty-five minutes.”Well, quite, Joyce,” she said, and then had another question. What if the girl had had medical assistance? Not a doctor, but someone who could patch up a wound. Someone who’d been in the army, perhaps. Someone like that.I have seen a lot of stab wounds in my time. My job wasn’t all sprained ankles. So I said then, well, she wouldn’t die at all. Which she wouldn’t. It wouldn’t have been fun for her, but it would have been easy to patch up.Elizabeth was nodding away, and said that was precisely what she had told Ibrahim, although I didn’t know Ibrahim at that time. As I say, this was a couple of months ago.It hadn’t seemed at all right to Elizabeth, and her view was that the boyfriend had killed her. I know this is still often the case. You read about it.I think before I moved in I might have found this whole conversation unusual, but it is pretty par for the course once you get to know everyone here. Last week I met the man who invented mint choc chip ice cream, or so he tells it. I don’t really have any way of checking.I was glad to have helped Elizabeth in my small way, so I decided I might ask a favor. I asked if there was any way I could take a look at the picture of the corpse. Just out of professional interest.Elizabeth beamed, the way people around here beam when you ask to look at pictures of their grandchildren graduating. She slipped a letter-size photocopy out of her folder, laid it facedown in front of me, and told me to keep it, as they all had copies.I told her that was very kind of her, and she said not at all, but she wondered if she could ask me one final question.”Of course,” I said.Then she said, “Are you ever free on Thursdays?”And, that, believe it or not, was the first I had heard of Thursdays. 2.PC Donna De Freitas would like to have a gun. She would like to be chasing serial killers into abandoned warehouses, grimly getting the job done despite a fresh bullet wound in her shoulder. Perhaps developing a taste for whisky and having an affair with her partner.But for now, twenty-six years old, and sitting down for lunch at eleven forty-five in the morning, with four pensioners she has only just met, Donna understands that she will have to work her way up to all that. And besides, she has to admit that the past hour or so has been rather fun.Donna has given her talk, “Practical Tips for Home Security,” many times. And today there was the usual audience of older people, blankets across knees, free biscuits, and a few happy snoozers at the back. She gives the same advice each time. The absolute, paramount importance of installing window locks, checking ID cards, and never giving out personal information to cold-callers. More than anything, she is supposed to be a reassuring presence in a terrifying world. Donna understands that; also, it gets her out of the station and gets her out of paperwork, so she volunteers. Fairhaven’s police station is sleepier than Donna is used to.Today, however, she found herself at the Coopers Chase Retirement Village. It seemed innocuous enough. Lush, untroubled, sedate, and on her drive in she spotted a nice pub for lunch on the way home. So getting serial killers in headlocks on speedboats would have to wait.”Security,” Donna began, though she was really thinking about whether she should get a tattoo. A dolphin on her lower back? Or would that be too cliche? “What do we mean when we say the word security? Well, I think that word means different things to different . . .”A hand shot up in the front row. Which was not normally how this went, but in for a penny. An immaculately dressed woman in her eighties had a point to make.”Dear, I think we’re all hoping this won’t be a talk about window locks.” The woman looked around her and picked up murmured support.A gentleman hemmed in by a walking frame in the second row was next. “And no ID cards, please; we know about ID cards. ‘Are you really from the gas board, or are you a burglar?’ We’ve got it, I promise.”A free-for-all had commenced.”It’s not the gas board anymore. It’s Centrica,” said a man in a very smart three-piece suit.The man sitting next to him, wearing shorts, flip-flops, and a West Ham United shirt, took this opportunity to stand up and stab a finger in no particular direction. “It’s thanks to Thatcher that, Ibrahim. We used to own it.””Oh, do sit down, Ron,” the well-dressed woman had said. Then she looked at Donna and added, “Sorry about Ron,” with a slow shake of her head. The comments had continued to fly.”And what criminal wouldn’t be able to forge an ID document?””I’ve got cataracts. You could show me a library card and I’d let you in.””They don’t even check the meter now, dear. It’s all on the web.””It’s on the cloud, dear.””I’d welcome a burglar. It would be nice to have a visitor.”There had been the briefest of lulls. An atonal symphony of whistles began as some hearing aids were turned up, while others were switched off. The woman in the front row had taken charge again.”So . . . and I’m Elizabeth, by the way . . . no window locks, please, and no ID cards, and no need to tell us we mustn’t give our PIN to Nigerians over the phone. If I am still allowed to say Nigerians.”Donna De Freitas had regrouped. She was aware she was no longer contemplating pub lunches or tattoos, but was instead thinking about a riot training course back in the good old days in South London.”Well, what shall we talk about, then?” Donna asked. “I have to do at least forty-five minutes, or I don’t get the time off in lieu.””Institutional sexism in the police force?” said Elizabeth.”I’d like to talk about the illegal shooting of Mark Duggan, sanctioned by the state and-“”Sit down, Ron!”So it went on, enjoyably and agreeably, until the hour was up, whereupon Donna was warmly thanked, shown pictures of grandchildren, and then invited to stay for lunch.And so here she is, picking at her salad, in what the menu describes as a “contemporary upscale restaurant.” Eleven forty-five is a little early for her to have lunch, but it wouldn’t have been polite to refuse the invitation. She notes that her four hosts are not only tucking in to full lunches but have also cracked open a bottle of red wine.”That really was wonderful, Donna,” says Elizabeth. “We enjoyed it tremendously.” Elizabeth looks to Donna like the sort of teacher who terrifies you all year but then gives you a grade A and cries when you leave. Perhaps it’s the tweed jacket.”It was blinding, Donna,” says Ron. “Can I call you Donna, love?””You can call me Donna, but maybe don’t call me love,” says Donna.”Quite right, darling,” agrees Ron. “Noted. That story about the Ukrainian with the parking ticket and the chainsaw, though? You should do after-dinner speaking; there’s money in it. I know someone, if you’d like a number?”The salad is delicious, thinks Donna, and it’s not often she thinks that.”I would have made a terrific heroin smuggler, I think.” This was Ibrahim, who earlier raised the point about Centrica. “It’s just logistics, isn’t it? There’s all the weighing too, which I would enjoy, very precise. And they have machines to count money. All the mod cons. Have you ever captured a heroin dealer, PC De Freitas?””No,” admits Donna. “It’s on my list, though.””But I’m right that they have machines to count money?” asks Ibrahim.”They do, yes,” says Donna.”Wonderful,” says Ibrahim, and downs his glass of wine.”We bore easily,” adds Elizabeth, also polishing off a glass. “God save us from window locks, WPC De Freitas.””It’s just PC now,” says Donna.”I see,” says Elizabeth, lips pursing. “And what happens if I still choose to say WPC? Will there be a warrant for my arrest?””No, but I’ll think a bit less of you,” says Donna. “Because it’s a really simple thing to do, and it’s more respectful to me.””Damn, checkmate, okay,” says Elizabeth, unpursing her lips.”Thank you,” says Donna.”Guess how old I am,” challenges Ibrahim.Donna hesitates. Ibrahim has a nice suit, and he has great skin. He smells wonderful. A handkerchief is artfully folded in his breast pocket. Hair thinning but still there. No paunch, and just the one chin. And yet underneath it all? Hmmm. Donna looks at Ibrahim’s hands. Always the giveaway.”Eighty?” she ventures.She sees the wind depart Ibrahim’s sails. “Yes, spot-on, but I look younger. I look about seventy-four. Everyone agrees. The secret is Pilates.””And what’s your story, Joyce?” Donna asks the fourth member of the group, a small white-haired woman in a lavender blouse and mauve cardigan. She is sitting very happily, taking it all in. Mouth closed but eyes bright. Like a quiet bird, constantly on the lookout for something sparkling in the sunshine.”Me?” says Joyce. “No story at all. I was a nurse, and then a mum, and then a nurse again. Nothing to see here, I’m afraid.”Elizabeth gives a short snort. “Don’t be taken in by Joyce, PC De Freitas. She is the type who ‘gets things done.'””I’m just organized,” says Joyce. “It’s out of fashion. If I say I’m going to Zumba, I go to Zumba. That’s just me. My daughter is the interesting one in the family. She runs a hedge fund, if you know what one is?””Not really,” admits Donna.”No,” agrees Joyce.”Zumba is before Pilates,” says Ibrahim. “I don’t like to do both. It’s counterintuitive to your major muscle groups.”A question has been nagging at Donna throughout lunch. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, I know you all live at Coopers Chase, but how did the four of you become friends?” Read more <div id="

  • I read so many mentions of The Thursday Murder Club being brilliant and hilarious that I began to wonder. For one thing, humor is probably the most subjective form of writing there is. For another, I always get nervous when the hype about any book begins to pile up. I almost changed my mind about reading it but decided to go against my better judgment.The premise is fantastic. Four old folks who have all their marbles and are able to get out and about with no problem, who meet once a week to solve cold cases. What’s not to like? The four– a nurse, a spy, a psychiatrist, and a professional protester– all bring their special skills and considerable intellect to the table, and they also get to help educate a detective constable who’s new to the area.There are poignant moments concerning growing old, death, and grief scattered throughout the book; this book is about more than your typical mystery. I did find myself smiling from time to time as I read some witticism, but at a quarter of the way through the book, that sort of humor seemed to vanish. I also didn’t feel comfortable with a detective chief inspector working with anyone outside law enforcement so closely. The Thursday Murder Club also suffered from one or two first-timer mistakes. First, the mystery solving seemed to vanish occasionally because the author was so enamored of his characters he forgot about the story and just wanted to spend time with them. Yes, they’re interesting characters, but please don’t forget why they’re there in the first place. Second, I found the mystery confusing. Too many bodies piled up. Too many killers were hauled out of the shadows. Motives were flying around like bats pouring out of a cave at dusk. It takes a lot for me to become confused when reading a mystery, and I have to admit that I lost the plot a few times. I finally got to the point where I was reading just to get it over with, and that’s not good.As much as I wanted to enjoy The Thursday Murder Club, I did not, but since so much of the enjoyment hinges on humor (and as I said before, humor is so subjective), your mileage may definitely vary.
  • From the standpoint of my expectations of quasi-believability when it comes to investigating a murder mystery in a novel I would only give this book a 3 star rating, maybe even a little lower because the main characters here went way, way beyond the limit of police/amateur cooperation. (In all honesty, though, I see this happen in ‘Golden Age’ mysteries all the time and it doesn’t bother me one bit. Maybe it’s because this one is set in modern times?) However, I’ve decided to settle on a 4 star rating because I really did like the members of the Thursday Murder Club and how the author had portrayed them. At almost 78 I would fit right into that group from the age perspective and I enjoyed seeing my contemporaries presented as being highly functioning from a physical and mental angle. That isn’t true most of the time; usually age automatically means a fictional character in a modern crime story has lost too many little grey cells to contribute much to solving crimes.I have many friends who live in “villages” of this type so I was able to accept the entire location as well as the interesting mix of characters. I really did think I had solved the mystery, once again, only to have my solution proved totally wrong by the final revealing twist. I’ve been wondering if I would be interested in reading a second book featuring this group of characters and I find I’m wavering and hesitating somewhat. I really would have liked for the police to have acted more like professionals and not set-dressing for the real solvers of every aspect of the solution. Hmm, I suppose I’ll just have to wait and see because as popular as this novel seems to have been it is probably a sure thing that there will be a second book.Many thanks to the one who practically insisted I read this book. Yes, I liked it. Yes, I’m glad I read it.
  • No smarmy sympathy, no faked respect. This story is about people living their best lives– no matter what. Honest about aging, about loss, about unlikely but sustaining friendship. Well worth reading for the characters more than the mystery.
  • What fun Murder Club was to to read. A cast of wonderful characters and plenty of twists in the story. I read it on my Kindle and hated to see the reading time winding down toward zero. The Thursday Murder Club, consists of four members of a retirement community who have been working out solutions for cold cases (the founding member of the group was a retired police officer) though it can be only an academic exercise. Now, however, with the death of construction contractor, they find themselves with a current murder they can investigate. Roping in two officers officially involved in the case…who are both good at their job and not hostile to the Club as is often the case of police in books with amateurs investigating murder. I hope this is the start of a series.
  • If I had reviewed this after the first 100 pages I might well have rated it higher. Loved the setting, the characters and the whole dealing with age and it’s inevitable progression. However, after a while the plot meandered through too many twists, the clever Elizabeth started to annoy and the police were unrealistic and shallow. The gentle witicisms charm, the setting is some sort of old people utopian village. This is well written and a welcome break from the blood, gore and angst of mainstream crime fiction. Where it fell down for me was it’s failure to keep me inside the world and the fantasy for the whole book.If you are debating reading it, go for it. I enjoyed it and finished it – but am debating whether to bother with part 2. Certainly not now.
  • I love this book. The mystery is deep, the writing excellent, and the characters delightful. I was worried about figuring out the murderer too soon, but it was fine; Richard Osman is clearly far smarter than I am.
  • Enjoyed this book. Amusingly written. Light hearted murder mystery.
  • I have read so many brilliant reviews of this book by well known and ordinary readers like myself. I like Richard Osman and find him witty and I was really looking forward to this widely advertised first novel. Therefore I am so disappointed that I found this book almost childish in the way the characters were presented. To me there was nothing comical about it apart from the idea that the police would have happily liaised with a group of pensioners to solve a murder. Even when laws were broken by the group this was perceived as acceptable and everyone swapped theories as to perpetrators over tea and cake. Mostly lemon drizzle but orange drizzle on one occasion. I have every respect for anyone who can write a book and on reading reviews I am sure this will do well. It was just too far fetched and rather silly for me.
  • I have always enjoyed watching Richard Osman on TV, in fact one of my favourite programmes is Pointless. So, my ears pricked up when I briefly heard someone on the radio mention that he’d recently penned his first ever novel. After listening to the outline of the book which, amongst other things, entails four elderly friends whose hobby it is to solve murders, well I just had to order myself a copy.This is a typical ‘very English’ whodunnit, featuring eccentric characters who come alive on the page. The principle players are: Elizabeth (ex-spy chief), Joyce (former nurse), Ibrahim (retired psychiatrist) and Ron (ex-trade union boss) who reside in a gated retirement village situated on the south coast. These are folk who I soon came to care about, despite their individual flaws. They may be fictitious, but Richard effortlessly brings them to life, and gives each a unique personality of their own. Old age can sometimes be a burden to them, and they may have to endure certain physical and mental issues, but combined they are still a force to be reckoned with. These amateur sleuths are also somewhat unorthodox when it comes to the methods they employ to investigate and potentially trap a killer. Despite murder being the theme running through this excellent novel, this is very much a cosy read. It’s clever, it’s sad, it’s moving in places, and it’s wickedly funny throughout.You know, these are difficult, worrying times we find ourselves in, and so we all occasionally need a break, a diversion, some form of escapism – and if that’s what you’re looking for, then reading this book is one way of achieving that. I’m not easily amused, but I have to say that at times The Thursday Murder Club had me in fits of laughter. This novel is the perfect antidote to the sometimes depressing stuff that has been going on around us of late. My advice is to get your hands on a copy of this book ASAP – then sit back in your favourite armchair, with a mug of tea and a plate of biscuits at hand, and just lose yourself in this compassionate, witty mystery created by the inimitable Richard Osman. All that’s left for me to add is that I really cannot wait for the next book in the series…..
  • When you find that the three page acknowledgements from the author at the back are more interesting and better written than the novel itself then that is a worry. Let me say that I like Richard Osman on the television but a novelist he is not! Banal, tedious and poorly written. I read somewhere that it is aimed at a TV audience whatever that means – possibly for the folk who enjoy ‘Death in Paradise’ or ‘Mrs Brown’s Boys’? The novel is made up of caricatures and I didn’t care what happened to them. I can be stubborn so refused to give up on this story but it was very hard work and with hindsight I should have done. The police are portrayed negatively and as somewhat dim and we are meant to believe that these other characters in a retirement home have all these contacts around the world enabling them to solve crimes from their armchair.Kate Atkinson and Ian Rankin are on the book cover making flattering statements. Why? That seriously undermines their judgement and credibility in my eyes. On the back cover someone says: ‘Laugh out loud’. Really? The humour is tired, cliched and resorts to stereotypes; in effect little asides from the author which are not amusing. Richard you can do so much better than this surely? It needed editing. In fact, I am wondering if the first draft was published by mistake and now no one can admit the error. The Joyce diary entries are tedious and nothing more than padding.I came to this novel with enthusiasm and expectation but it is the worst text I have read in years. Who actually writes fiction in the present tense and thinks it is cool? I despair that another one of these novels is already planned and I can see a film version of this on the television in the future as a Christmas special. Perhaps when ‘Death in Paradise’ has had its day? Is that actually possible? If you are thinking of buying this for someone’s Christmas stocking, I urge caution. I like ‘cosy’; it is not cosy like Agatha Christie might be. Someone who agrees with my assessment, said it reminded them of Enid Blyton. They are right. Instead of lashings of ginger beer however, we are given lemon drizzle cake instead.I admire the way Richard has transformed himself from a producer to a successful presenter. But I ask myself would this have been published if he was not a celebrity? I feel the pain of all the talented writers out there who fail to obtain a publishing deal and remain frustrated throughout their writing career. What a disappointment and an anti-climax. Coming to this having finished a David Nicholls novel the difference in characterisation, language and overall quality is immense. Not your finest moment Richard.
  • The wheel goes round and round, but it’s the same wheel, charming and witty, time after time. Very boring after the first two or three chapters. Not a very good novel, but a great idea for a novel that didn’t develop into one in spite of trying.21/3/21. Revisited. Tried to give it another go. Didn’t work, truly awful, do not understand on any level the 5 star reviews. Would really like to give zero stars but not possible.29/4/22. Fail to understand why this book has so many 5-star reviews.
  • Sunday Times Number one! Did they read the same book?I really like and enjoy Mr Os appearances and television personality and looked forward to reading his first crime writing effort. Usually I would not pay more than £5 for any Kindle book but decided in lockdown to indulge.What a mistake. The first half needs some severe editing. Using the character Elizabeth as pivotal (ex M15 or whatever) was a sloppy device. By the end I rather wished to share Penny’s state.Sorry Richard I really felt it all a bit “Pointless”
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