Memo to self: do NOT buy any more Anne Perry Christmas books.
I liked the first half-dozen, but the last couple suffered more and more from her increasing wordiness, repetition, and diffuseness, and this one wasn't worth the price. $10.00 for basically a novella, set in India and so thinly realised it cd. have been anywhere - except for the minor but irritating error of having tamarind leaves "rattle." I grew up with tamarind trees. They have tiny feathery leaves that sigh at the absolute utmost.
The narrative also advanced at the speed of a nicotined snail, with even more of the exasperating repetition that's begun to mar the larger books. It's set just after the Mutiny, in Cawnpore. We are told at least 50 times. We don't get much beyond how upset everybody must be by the Mutiny, and how the person accused of a particularly nasty murder and prison break HAS to have done it, and one specific detail of Cawnpore, the notorious well where the British bodies were thrown. Apart from that, we cd. be in Bucharest or Leopoldville or any other town after a war has passed. It doesn't *smell* like India. It doesn't *sound* like India (where are the cows? For heaven's sake, where are Kipling's *crows*?) And what little I cd. see didn't look like India either. As Kipling shows it, or as I've seen it for myself.
Even more irritating, Victor Narraway, who is told to defend the accused soldier-killer 2 days before the court martial, spends most of those 2 days bumbling around feeling melancholy, talking vaguely to witnesses, and making paper garlands with one of the garrison children. Do any research on the background of the escaped prisoner or the accused? Actually do any *thinking* about the case? Actually pick up any of the dangling ends which as usual hang about under the Perry detective's blissfully oblivious nose? O, no. Instead we get up in the middle of the night halfway through the court martial and start grilling someone about the background of the escapee.
That the entire thing is solved with a leap of logic in the final 3 pages - a leap anticipated far too well for me by some details a way earlier - was the final straw on the very bad camel's load. Anne Perry is admittedly getting older, and has certainly written a great deal, and I like her characters and have bought most of her books as a consequence, overlooking wooden-wheel writing and the irritating inability of her tecs to see what's under their noses, but something as thin and slipshod as this, at this price, is not worth it. Repeat memo: do not buy any of these Christmas books again.