I have been stuck trying to write this review for six weeks. (I didn’t read during two of those weeks due to repercussions arising from major tooth surgery, but continued to write the review in my head.) The points I wanted to make were coherent. How to organize these points into a logical, comprehensive commentary were not.
I kept returning to a line from Stuart MacBride’s novel “The Dead of Winter” that expressed my state of mind, so I’ll begin with that. MacBride’s perfect emotional comment:
’AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH’
Just how bad is THE JANUS STONE?
First, there is the writing—Grade 3 level at best. Subject-verb-predicate, subject-verb-predicate, over and over again. And the repetition. Everything changes, nothing perishes, sometimes altered to Everything changes, nothing is destroyed. And hidden amongst this simple sentence structure and continuous repetition, the author uses a present tense third person narrative style that made the writing (to me) even more unworldly. Nothing seemed real when it was described using this verb tense.
Second, there is the scientific research—or more precisely, the lack of scientific research. The author’s husband is an archaeologist, and so her writings on this topic should be fairly accurate, but she does seem to view archaeological research through the lens of pagan ritualism. However, when it came to describing the results of a genetic test, the author showed that she knew nothing about genetics, and she obviously wasn’t willing or interested enough to carry out any research on this topic. The genetic test was not even needed to advance the plot; it simply served as an attempt to mislead the reader. It appeared to have been added because the villain was notably obvious even before the novel hit the halfway mark.
Third, the genre is mislabeled. This is not a mystery, or a thriller, as advertised. It is a Harlequin Romance. The majority of the story focuses on Ruth and Nelson’s love life. The murder plot is so thin that it could have been contained within a short story, and the murderer was so obvious early in the story that the narrative had to be drawn out using hackneyed devices such as intimidation and physical threats to Ruth (already thoroughly explored in the first novel in the series), and a wild chase scene. The author began her writing career as a romance novelist, failed to attract a following, and then transformed herself into a thriller writer, inserting all the stereotyped, overused maneuvers associated with thrillers into her Ruth Galloway novels. But at heart, she remains a romance writer.
Over the years, I’ve enjoyed many cozy mysteries. Periodically, I just want to wrap myself in a warm blanket and visit with a charming community while they solve a not-too-difficult (but not-too-easy) puzzler and, at the same time, simultaneously untangle complications that arise in their own lives. A good “cozy” can earn a four-star rating from me—not five stars because five-star novels should not only be entertaining but also have a bite, engage my mind on several levels, and make me think about the universe beyond the confines of the cozy community depicted in the story. [If mainly I seem to read cozy mysteries set in the U.K., that’s because I read so many set in the U.S. decades ago, before I joined Goodreads. A good cozy series can last only so long. By book 20 (or sometimes 25), they become repetitious and boring. Cozy mystery series that have been on hand for years in the U.K. have been published only recently in North America.]
I do like my cozy mysteries to be well-written, and most of the U.K. ones are. That is why I cannot understand why the Ruth Galloway series is so popular. It‘s reading level is YA at best, yet is marketed for adult readers.
The best justification for the popularity of the Ruth Galloway series is that many female readers identify, or want to identify, with Ruth, the protagonist. Almost forty, overweight, decidedly independent, dresses to suit herself and not others; yet “non-conformist” males are strangely attracted to her. Ruth is captivating. She also appears to be unique. I have written “appears” because if you google pictures of the author (real name “Dominica de Rosa”), you will find a pleasant-faced, overweight woman, who dresses simply—the mirror image of Ruth’s physical appearance. The author’s husband is an archeologist. So she simply merged these two parts of her personal life into one, and created Ruth Galloway. Many authors combine characteristics of real-life people to create the characters who populate their stories, so this is neither unusual nor particularly ingenious.
If my judgment seems harsh, it’s because I know the territory well. For too many decades, after gaining weight at age 42, I remained stubbornly overweight. I wore the same comfortable clothes, day after day, week after week, month after month—because like the fictional Ruth, I was a university professor and could get away with it—no need to “dress for success” like an office worker. And I never wore high heels, not ever in my life (except when photographers supplied them during my modelling days). After age 35, I lived in loafers, and after 50, I wore old-lady shoes—black, boxy, and supportive. I even worked in the criminal justice system as an expert, though not as part of an investigation, just in the police training and legal trial systems. But never were there intriguing men swarming about me. That is a middle-age female fantasy. Exciting men stopped swarming shortly after I hit 30. (I looked young for my age and most of them thought I was younger than 30; so, in reality, alluring men usually stop being interested once a woman reaches 29.)
Ruth Galloway is a romantic fantasy figure. Suitable only for a romance novel. And that is what THE JANUS STONE is, a Harlequin Romance masquerading as a thriller. I wanted to give it 1.5 stars, because I did read it, taking less than five hours (very fast for me giving my deteriorating eyesight), skimming through the chase scene but not the other sections. The book’s simple grammatical structure makes it easy to read. A YA novel for older women.