Janet Evanovich is always a remarkably fast read, and couple that with a mere 228 pages and font that is probably 14 or 16 point, and despite my attempts to take the book slow, Foul Play hardly lasted two days.
As Evanovich claims in the opening letter to the reader, this is a red-hot screwball comedy. The action was amusing, the love instantaneous, and the ending predictable.
The other thing the ending was, though, was disappointing. In less than a page, the lovers reunite after being separated, do it (off screen, as all of Evanovich's bedroom action is), then decide to get married. After the buildup of the entire novel, the ending was plain flat.
Clearly, Evanovich's writing has evolved since the '80s.
My quest to pick the next novel to read from my Unread Books shelves lead to unexpected results: I felt a hankering to read a male author. I can't say this has every happened to me before. Not that I haven't read male authors (though my shelves are about 75 percent female authors), but I've never specifically wanted to read a book written by a man, rather than simply read a good book. Even more peculiar, I finally feel like reading David (and Leigh) Edding's novel, The Elder Gods. I haven't read David Eddings in years. At least ten, to be specific, since the last time I read one of his novels I was still living with my parents. It's also been a while since I've been interested in epic fantasies, but I think Peter Brett's The Warded Man whetted my appetite for them again. Unexpectedly, reading Eddings again after so long is a bit like talking to an old friend--it feels familiar, and I like it.