His curls are a dark jungle, bis black jeans (extra-extra-longs) are grubby, which is perfectly normal, but now he's wearing a khaki T-Shirt two sizesHis curls are a dark jungle, bis black jeans (extra-extra-longs) are grubby, which is perfectly normal, but now he's wearing a khaki T-Shirt two sizes too small. The front of it reads Jesus loves you - Everybody else thinks you're a wanker.
Although I don't exactly know what I had expected - apart from great chemistry, extra-ordinary writing and mystery, because no other than brilliant Cath Crawley! blurbed the young adult Aussie Sherlock Holmes retelling, I can safely say it wasn't this.
My main problems consists of the two main characters. I don't get them, I don't get their relationship, I don't like them. James Mycroft (I know the original Holmes isn't particularly endearing either) even repulses me somehow. His slobbery, pig-style method to eat with his hands, his dirty clothes, his chain-smoking habit, his conviction that if you small-talk to the bus drivers (view spoiler)[ or any people in the service providing industry (hide spoiler)] often enough, they gratefully feel your friendship and let you hop on for free, his aloofness that borders on stupidity. When I entered his room, Christmas twinkle lights and all, together with slightly childish, neighbor-besotted heroine Rachel Watts (Watson), I had the strong nasal impression that it must smell unbearably rancid and sweaty-socked. That multi-sensual picture firmly settled itself in my mind before the teenage hobby detectives stuff the rest of the dinner Mycroft had dragged his greedy fingers through into a container or bag to offer their homeless friend in front of the zoo. It turned out to be so off-putting that I have a faint reminder on my palate a day later.
Strangely the ripped jugular of the victim and the consequent gut-spilling did not effect me at all. I repeat: The problem is the characters. Relatable characters are the most important thing for me in any book, chicklit, crime story or dystopia.
There is no way I am going to fall for the duo in the course of this story. Thus I stopped reading at the 17% mark and deleted the sequel from my electronic TBR pile.["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>["br"]>...more
*** I must have read it for the first time on Christmas 1984, since it had been a Christmas present from grandma and grandad. *** Oh, how I loved it t*** I must have read it for the first time on Christmas 1984, since it had been a Christmas present from grandma and grandad. *** Oh, how I loved it then. Sweden! Horses! A misunderstood, diary-writing city girl who finds new friends in the countryside! A deep-voiced, polite boy who blushes... But the thing that impressed nine-years-old me the most was that Sofie, at the advanced age of thirteen, travels with a handbag that contains a compact mirror to check her sickly city complexion with. How very grown-up! How like the princess-like ladies in our games of aristocratic make-belief. Oh, my!...more
Welcome to "Howl's Moving Castle" (view spoiler)[why limit yourself to four doors when your mansion could also have, let's say, 16? (hide spoiler)] meWelcome to "Howl's Moving Castle" (view spoiler)[why limit yourself to four doors when your mansion could also have, let's say, 16? (hide spoiler)] meets "Nevermore" and "The Girl in the Steel Corset". The mixture features a refreshingly independent, smart heroine (it isn't just the narrator's stange judgement) and unforseen twists, but includes also some unnecessary lengths, the death of a favorite side-character and a fluffy sugar-coating that tasted a little too sweet for me at times. ...more