I'm a little astonished to rate this so low, as I generally love the Phryne Fisher books, and have been using a couple to try to break the book deadlock I've been experiencing: I just can't read anymore. I can't remember the last time I opened a print book, paper or 'e', and even audiobooks - normally the staple of my humdrum office life - have been ... unappealing. Fiction just seems oddly pointless, and I can hear a faint screaming in the back of my mind at the idea of listening to non-fiction longer than a podcast or YouTube video. I hate it - but there it is. (I wonder if it's somehow COVID brain ... )
Anyway. I did listen to Murder on the Ballarat Train, partly to get to sleep one night, and figured since this was newish and available on Everand I'd move on to Williamstown. I kind of wish I hadn't. It was all over the shop, with everybody sleuthing in sundry and varied locations and random parties and so much Hispano Suiza I can't even. (SO much Hispano Suiza. Even more Hispano Suiza than there was food.) And then one of the mysteries (there were - what, eighty-two?) (All right, actually ... three. I think. Maybe four) was resolved, and there was still a lot of book left. Then one by one the others got wrapped up, and ... there was STILL a lot of book left. Oh, great, another party. Honestly, I've seen The Lord of the Rings complained about because people thought it had multiple endings - this took the cake. I'm fine with the children having a portion of the book's focus, and their own investigations - but it all needs to mesh better.
The narrator didn't help. Ballarat Train was read by Stephanie Daniel, and I enjoyed her very much. This one had Wendy Bos, and while I don't think I'll actively avoid her in future, it ... lacked a bit. Part of the problem - a huge part - was in the editing, as the little vignettes between two lovers that were interspersed through the book blended right in, with no more pause before or after than there was for a paragraph in the middle of a scene. I would assume there were markers in the text to separate these bits, rows of asterisks or all italics or what-have-you - somebody failed to make sure those markers were communicated in audio form. It was occasionally startling, and consistently annoying.
And hey, why is there suddenly such an anti-Catholic bent? I'd remember that if it was as obvious in other books, wouldn't I? I think it was particularly vicious here. Did the author make Dot Catholic purely to mock her? The faithful as a whole did not fare well in this book; morals are depicted as pure prudery, and as completely lacking in the two clergymen depicted. Lovely.
All in all, it just seemed surprisingly low-stakes - the murders weren't of anyone I was given any reason to give a damn about, and the non-murder crimes were petty. And it was a little hard to "watch" Phryne, the bold and intrepid heroine, hear a scream and, after a fairly perfunctory attempt to investigate ... pretty much do nothing. She resolves to call a different police station - but not until she's had a nice long bath and a lengthy chat with her new beau.
There were a few times when this book's Phryne seemed more Dot-like than Phryne-like. She seemed a lot more easily unnerved and flustered and rendered incapable - it was a little weird.
And I'm not really supposed to believe that all 22 books in this series took place in the span of a year, am I? That's ... ludicrous.
Yeah. Not a good one. And not helpful to my current anti-fiction prejudice.
Edited to add: For some reason this stupid book haunted me - not in a good way, I hasten to add. I was awake at four a.m. and started thinking about how Phryne's "stalker" was handled. And it irks me. And then I thought about how the whole discovery of who the "stalker" was was handled, and I became more irked. Spoiler: PF gets notes in her mailbox that become threatening. She sets her teenaged boy adoptee to find out more (which involved a full morning of taking over someone else's paper route, when ... couldn't he just have looked at the other kid's checklist? What could have taken him five minutes took hours - yeah, great detective work). Turns out there are three possibilities - and I would need to go back and re-listen or find a text edition, and I don't care enough to, but if Kerry Greenwood didn't outright lie to me in that scene she came damn close, because a few minutes later I, along with Dot, was saying "Wait, what?" as the minister they'd questioned was put in the frame. The misdirection to make me (and Dot) think it was the other guy was - whatever, fine, that's how the game is played. But PF identified herself by name to the minister, and there was no reaction. Is the man supposed to not know her name? No, he does know, because he apparently calls the prostitute he visits "Phryne". So - he's a really good actor?
Anyway. What annoys me more is the aftermath. She yells at him, which he deserves, but then goes on to belittle the fact that he visits a prostitute - although the prostitute has already been interviewed and is always glad to see him, and speaks highly of him, and he already feels guilt and shame about it, and who the hell is Phryne Fisher, ravisher of anyone she decides she'll have, to comment on anyone else's morality? And then she has the gall to tell him she's going to complain to the bishop - with whom (is this irony?) she has slept. And then does so. And the so-upright bishop becomes entirely outraged and says he'll move the minister elsewhere. And Phryne glows with satisfaction. And all I could think was - wait, isn't that what the Catholic church is constantly being criticized for, moving sexually deviant priests from parish to parish without doing anything about their actions? I know Greenwood wants to be historically accurate, but - how is it going to help anyone except Phryne to make the man move? The prostitute will lose his business; he'll be plunked down in another town somewhere, still with the same ... er, needs, and the same inability to fill them without paying for it, and now with additional guilt and shame about this situation added on top of the guilt and shame he was already feeling for being a minister going to a prostitute - so the same, only moreso, and in a new environment. The man apologized - wouldn't a better, more Phryne-like, more advanced solution have been to accept the apology and see what happened, and then if there was any recidivism whatsoever, then going to the bishop? Or - here's a thought - maybe try to help the poor sod? She sleeps with everybody else - why not this one? Or at least find him a psychologist...
Oh, and something I forgot to bring up in the original review - what the hell was going on with Hugh? He was inexplicably, unexplainedly cold and anti-Phryne for 95% of the book, when he wasn't simply absent, and then suddenly it was all chums again. The whole promotion thing doesn't explain his behavior. At all.
If I wanted to take the time, I feel like I could pick apart every aspect of this book. But the more I think about it, the more I hate it. So I'm not going to think about it anymore. And I'll be a little surprised if I read any more Phryne Fishers, honestly.
Oh well. So much for trying to get my reading mojo back. Thanks, Kerry Greenwood.