OKAY SO this very easily could have been a 3 or even a 4 star read until it took a hard swerve into Problematicville, very much showing its age. I've had a mountain of my mom's old Katie Fforde books for ages, and I've been meaning to read them my whole life. Yesterday the urge gripped me after twenty or so years of seeing them around. I picked Living Dangerously at random and was instantly engaged.
Fforde's writing is HILARIOUS, witty, and nimble. Her books are cozily, clunkily, old-fashionedly English, with lots of talk of AGAs and Rayburns and public schools and English Warms and Wellingtons and tea kettles. I loved the main character, and I even quite liked the main dude. BUT OH GOODNESS, does the fact that this was written in 1995 show up in GRAND FASHION near the end, when Fforde has the hero (who, up until this point, was sort of lovely and stuffy and vERY INTENSELY STIFF UPPER LIP BRITISH) develop this terrifying and horrid and sexist temper and all these absolutely terrible randomly abusive things and OOF and NO and ARGH and WHY and WHERE DID THIS COME FROM and CRINGE
So, yes, delightful and hilarious and made me laugh out loud many a time, but oh dear, Katie Fforde, why????
I'm so going to read the rest of her books, aren't I? SIGH.