I imagine anyone who's read anything of any length that I've written knows that I like commas. I tend to throw lists of synonyms and clauses and excess prepositions and the like into what I'm writing just because I think it sounds snappy and it kind of matches what I like to think of as my bubbly speech patterns. It's actually kind of funny that I have yet to use a comma in this exclamation. Regardless, I feel as though Kira Henehan and I are comma kindred spirits. She clearly enjoys commas and adding qualifiers and prepositions and the like into her prose. I liked that about her. But it got old after a while and it wasn't enough to save the book from lack of discernible plot.
Guys, really: what was this book about? Finley is a private investigator of some flavor, and she's got a boss named Murphy who doesn't like her and two coworkers named Binelli and The Lamb whom Murphy likes even less. She's been given an assignment involving Professor Uppal of Uppal Puppets despite (or, more likely, because of) the fact that she hates puppets. But not as much as she hates Russians.
Fuck. I wanted to like this book. There's something really unique and quirky about it that somehow appeals to me instead of annoying me. And yet, confused and mystified, I had to give it up 70 pages in.
Seriously - I have read nothing but crummy books for the last month. Somebody give me something I can get excited about. Please. I will do (almost) anything in exchange.