David Fletcher (3) (1940–1988)

right... so there's this middle aged detective. he's failed a bit in life and especially love. he has something of a pathetic boy-crush crossed with tinges of lust for a suspect. he has a bit of a drinking problem and gets grumpy far too easily. there's some sexual shenanigans of the more outre variety involving the gentry. and the whole thing is solved via the detective's knowledge of opera. and this isn't an inspector morse mystery. i do suspect colin dexter may have read this though and thought "this is rubbish. i can do better crime fiction than this". pretty much anyone can actually. if it wasn't for the fact that it's just generally stunningly obvious who the criminal is as soon as they turn up, you could also work out the solution because of the ham fisted way fletcher writes the book. fletcher is *not* a bad writer. he's just a clumsy, heavy handed writer. and the sort of evidence that leads me to this conclusion? well, if you do read the book you will notice fletcher likes to indulge himself in heavy handed pieces describing the thought processes of characters. well most characters. in fact pretty much every character. apart from the murderer. just think two thirds through the book who HASN'T had a heavy handed thought piece and... yes, that's the criminal… (más)