Throwing Books

I finished The Body in the Library last week and have been having a hard time deciding on the next book to read. I picked up Fool Moon, the second in the Dresden Files series. About 30 pages in and I can't get into it. Maybe part of it is that they adapted this story for the television series and I already know "whodunnit." But the biggest part is the way Dresden talks about himself. "I growled" and "I barked" are used as dialogue tags several times. Okay, the book is about werewolves. Cute. Except people don't talk about themselves like that. And one of my nitpicks with the first book resurfaced over and over in this one. He keeps describing himself as tall, lanky, long-legged. I get it. You're tall. You don't have to tell me three times every chapter. So I put it down.

Then I picked up The Cat Who Dropped A Bombshell, the 28th book in the series by Lillian Jackson Braun. That is the book that I literally threw across the room two chapters in. All of the characters spent those two chapters telling each other things they already knew. Maybe it's a case of author malaise after so many books about the same characters. Maybe the editors just didn't have it in them to read another book about KoKo and Yum Yum either. Whatever the case, I just couldn't do it. I may go back and look at an earlier installment to see if it is the "curse of number 28" or just indicative of the genre. Which would make me very sad.

There are some good cozies out there. I have read them. So I'm not quite ready to give up on the genre altogether. But it is frustrating to run into so many bad ones.