Admittedly, I've found that the so-called "cozy mystery" isn't my cuppa. Particularly in a series. Agatha Christie is so clever in plotting, I can forgive that her Miss Marple stumbles into one homicide after another. I'm less forgiving with other books featuring amateur detectives and including cute cats or delicious recipes isn't enough.
No particular gimmick that I could note graces this series featuring interior decorator Ellie Haskell "blissfully married to the handsomest man outside a gothic novel, with three lively children" and a cat. The Thin Woman is the first, but the earliest book I could find in bookstores is Withering Heights. (Is that it then? A literary allusion as extended metaphor? In this case the Brontes?) I just found this so annoying from the first, and I couldn't put my finger on it exactly until one paragraph on page 22 that so got on my nerves I couldn't take it anymore. Here--sometimes a quote is worth a thousand reviews:
Such a pity! Ben had, without raising a dark sardonic eyebrow in my direction, reminded me why I had known on first meeting him that there would be no joy in my remaining an unattached overweight female with a bunch of finely tuned neuroses. So much had happened since. I no longer needed two mirrors to get a good look at myself. But I still thrilled to the image of him striding across the moors with the wind whipping his black hair to a wild tangle. The intent set of his shadowed jaw, the opal fire of his blue-green eyes, and the way his mouth curved in wry amusement all mocked the impudent folly of the elements in enlisting him as a opponent.
Blech. The writing reeks of romance aisle. No way I could take over 200 hundred more pages of that.
