Josephine Bailey does an adequate job with most of the female characters in this work, although she delivers a rather wilted and insipid Laura- but I nearly had to give this wonderful book down during offering of Mrs Mickleson's account. Has to be heard to be fully appreciated, ugh, but sounds as if she is speaking down a long pipe-- tones bearing down on air (think Jan Brady as a fussy noblewoman down at heel and full of pride). Her vocals would have sent poor Mr Fairlie to his grave!
Simon, yes. Ms. Bailey, doubtful- depends upon the story.
As have not read, cannot answer
Such a different turn- from, for instance, the Agatha Raisin series, or the Hamish Mcbeth stories. I feel this is the author's best niche, really. Some of the sex biz with Agatha is awkward and mortifying- as if Beaton felt it necessary to insert, but was not quite comfortable with it. She seems much more at home with this series.
Jane, rightly so
'Upstairs, Downstairs Lite"
The author's customary character development is missing, and we are left with Ms Silver and her detective endlessly discussing case details and possibilities. I found I was in a fog of Mettie and Maggie and Renie, sometimes called Irene, to further complicate. After a bit, i just didn't care, really.
I felt no connection with any character, save Ms. Silver; and even she got on my nerves after a while, because it's impossible that she should've solved this particular case with so little contact with the 'suspects' or opportunity to observe them--they were none of them on the scene long enough.
The perpetual stuttering of the various characters, whenever anxious or fearful, just works my nerves. This is true for all the books I have heard in the series, but this time in particular, she was on my last nerve.
Disappointment and aggravation with both narrator and author. Come on, ladies; you can do better than this.
I will certainly listen to more in this series-- I should say again that this volume was singularly disappointing for the reasons given.
All the sexual innuendo in CC's conversations with her ex--and with all men in the story-- just comes off as silly. Trying too hard for chemistry, and will-they/won't they? sideline. The continuous coffee lore regression was tedious. Then the main character's description of her own petite frame and (required) perky C-cups. Eww. Please stop.
Any food based murder mystery. And, it must be said that it comes off as more of a serious attempt than many. However, there was the same sense of 'she's dead; let's eat' found in some of the more comically intended foodie mysteries. In this case, let's have a spectacular brew; the most superior brew in the city, the country, and here's why it is so marvelous: don't rush the process....etc, etc
It is evident that she took time to get some of the more difficult pronunciations of French terms--objet d'art, omerta, and others; but, when it came to the most frequently repeated French term, 'Madame," she never once veered away from the completely lazy and downright grating 'Mu-DOM.' Not a petty complaint after the first 300million repetitions, trust me!
I bought this one through Daily Deal; otherwise, would probably have returned.
Just meh. Did not even make me crave a latte.
As all Ms. Gabaldon's books run 30+ hours, some 40+, I have to say No. I have been treated to Ms. Porter in other selections, and am sure to encounter her again. Not a terrible prospect, but not one to which I look much forward, either.
Obviously, the author dedicated all her time and much of her energy to it. Most impressive.
Ms. Porter makes Claire Randall sound as if she might be approaching 50. Another reader would have brought more vitality and sexuality to the part
Only if it were boiled down to @ 2 hours, which is doubtful.
I simply expected more of Dame Judi- as she was given first billing in Audible's synopsis (in list of narrators).
Yes; the man was brilliant.
Opening scenes, I suppose. It does labor on toward the conclusion.
Mary Roberts Rinehart is one of my favorite American writers of the light or 'cozy' mystery story, as well as a master of the sardonic style of journal-telling format.
I have read this book a few times; it is somewhat convoluted and maybe not MRR's best.
The Roberts Rinehart heroines deserve MUCH better! A narrator who is as familiar with MRR's style as many of her admirers and readers. Also, one who does not think a middle-aged woman has the vocality of a septua- or even octogenarian.
It should have been; however, I hope it will not be the first try by many readers of MRR's books.
I had been almost angry in the past at Flo Gibson's aging of MRR's middleaged characters- these are strong women, full of wit and sarcasm, daring, and even romance. Yet Flo gave the 80 year-old's quaver to every one of them. In the case of Tish, perhaps, this was acceptable--but not for ALL. Some of these women end up in a romance by story's end with the detective, investigator, etc., of the story--and, incidentally, these same-aged male characters are given a sound normal to a middle aged man. Therefore, I was pleased to see a new name for narration when I found MRR's offerings on Audible.com. Alas, this narrator apparently learned at the knee of Flo!
The murder just does not make sense. There is no meat in it, nothing to serve as catharsis, or even reward, for trudging through the mid-1970s hippie trappings (as imagined, clearly, by someone not of the tribe. And the talked singing passages--cringe. More importantly, the victim, introduced immediately, is summarily abandoned, remaining a nonentity for the balance of this loose tale. By the time (finally) the murderer is revealed and the scene described, I had ceased really to care. And the misinformed use of marijuana as psychotic motivator just seems so silly. Bad trip all the way.
Michael Bryant: Thank you for NOT singing; you did your best with the talk-sing. Still; ugh.
Coherence, an outline, and a reduction of force (living and dead) As I had enjoyed the two other Father Christmas mysteries available through Audible, I looked forward to a pleasant listen with Ten Lords.. Alas. The appearance of the labyrinth in the story setting might have been a warning. Granted, any mystery worth air time has twists and turns; but the shifting accounts, behaviors, alibis and characters- many of whom are known by multiple names!--is like the labyrinth once one is properly lost: nothing seems real or accountable. I was hard pressed to keep in mind even the name and significance of the murder victim--THIS one, not the 4 or 5 others who keep popping up with apparent relevance (as, on a ouija board- ugh). When the two-named girl came on the scene to add her complication, labyrinth turned to maelstrom. Let me off!
Yes; but not for a while, and not without numerous strongly positive reviews.
Steve West is lovely forMartha Grimes' Richard Jury mysteries. He was, however, not at his best with this reading, strident and urgent too much of the time. He really did bring Max to life, though- I felt I could see him and like him. Too babyish, perhaps, with Miranda. Oh, yes, and Canadians do NOT sound like MidWesterners who've spent a lot of time in Alabama!
Ms Gilpin must be as provoked as by now I am with Madrin's (sp?) stuttering letters to her mother. In print, are the words actually CROSSED OUT?? No one types or writes letters that way; ridiculous. Ridiculous that anytime the character will use a word of more than 2 syllables, the author refuses to let her get it right the first time--Madrin's poor mother, having to sort through all the blunders, EVERY DAY.
Disappointment, of these; recognition of time wasted. And, it must be said, although I am not proud to admit it, I was completely put off (off put?) by * SPOILER ALERT * Father Tom's bedroom escapade, and continued mention of arousal. I've just never thought of him 'that way'
Just once more, to all Brit narrators, beloved as you are: Not all Americans come from Texas, S Carolina, and/or Tennessee. Just as annoying to the American ear, as must be the American narrators' habit of making all UK dwellers either cockneys or dowager duchesses. But I still love you all!
The main character is lost in a sea of cut outs and caricatures--most with really bad accents. But, accents aside, the story is just a big, lumbering lummox of a thing; tedious and ill-conceived. The author has forced outrageous stupidity into the Detective Witherspoon character--a SY detective!-- for the purpose of creating the Mrs Jeffries (smart servant helps hapless employer while giving employer all glory and making same believe he is the smart one) character. Yawn.
I made it through the South Texas for American accent on one of the 10000 minor characters- because, I've heard much worse- but the Frenchie French-French maid did me in.
Mrs. Jeffries, taken out of the employ of the buffoon SY detective, and allowed to solve cases on her own, could be of interest. Even the narrator seemed to recognize that this role deserved her best effort. But she (Mrs J) just labors and labors the point of 'oh, sirrrh; aren't you clever..?' Like a mother encouraging a backward child through sheer, slavish indulgence. Maddening.
After some time has passed, I might try a book far down in the Mrs Jeffries series, just to see if her author ever turned her loose
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