Kopp Sisters on the March by Amy Stewart (audio)

As ever: mild spoilers for earlier books in the series, but not for this one.

Part of me keeps wanting to say “more of the same, but in a good way (promise)” – but this installment in the Kopp sisters’ adventures does in fact see a change of scenery. Following
Constance’s sad and upsetting dismissal from her work as sheriff’s deputy, she has spent a winter moping. But her country seems on the brink of entering the war in Europe, which will become World War I; Norma is up in arms (nearly literally) about her pigeons’ ability to serve as important wartime messengers; and Fleurette is getting restless as well. They will end up heading as a group to a camp of the National Service School in Chevy Chase, Maryland, where women are to be trained to help in the war effort.

But, as is Amy Stewart’s practice, this novel doesn’t begin with the Kopp sisters, but with a character introduced in this book: Miss Beulah Binford has been living under an assumed name in New York City, but her life has hit a roadblock, once again. She hasn’t been able to use her real name in years, since that name was associated in the national press with a sensational case: a man murdered his wife, and Beulah was identified as one of the girls/women he had known on the side. In distress, she grasps at the idea that she might be sent overseas to France as part of the war effort. And so she winds up in the same camp, and the same canvas tent, as the Kopp sisters (and another young woman named Sarah, who is earnest in her desire to go join her twin brother as an ambulance driver in France).

I think Stewart made an excellent choice in expanding her characters’ world from Hackensack, New Jersey (where options for Constance’s work, and Stewart’s plots, were running low) to this training camp. It’s a fascinating setting and collision of worlds: many of the camp’s attendees are young society women of privilege, on a lark, interested in at most some light sewing and play-acting at marching in lines. But some, like Sarah (or in more eccentric fashion, Norma) hope for harder work and greater discipline. Constance is hoping to hide out from her own past, a little like Beulah (who for her fellow campers identifies as Roxie Collins); but when the camp’s matron is disabled by an accident, the former deputy is back in a position of authority, and it feels so good.

This setting and new cast of characters allows for more of Stewart’s good work with her (well-researched) fictionalization of true history (the camp, and Beulah Binford, were real), as well as an examination of the way different walks of life approached the idea of war service. Central is the idea of what women might have to offer, and you can just imagine how diverse those beliefs are; many of them play out right there in Chevy Chase on these pages. I found it all absorbing. Also, for the first time I think, this audiobook included the author’s note on historical sources and the line between fact and fiction in her work, which I really appreciated (and, it made me realize, I’ve been missing in the earlier books). The short answer is, much is true, and I think Stewart does a good job of spelling out where she’s chosen or been forced to invent.

Christina Moore’s narration is strong as ever – I think she excels at the various voices, and it should go without saying at this point that I could not hear any of these Kopp sisters in any other narrators’ telling. Moving on to book six.


Rating: 7 missing bananas.

The Witch Below the Dreaming Wood by H. G. Parry (audio)

I love H. G. Parry.

This is a reworking of the myth(s) of King Arthur et al, with a timeline in the second World War interacting with earlier legends. It foregrounds two women: Nimue, who is raised by Morgan le Fay, the Lady of the Lake, to be Merlin’s doom; and Elaine (Ellie) Ambrose, a librarian in 1941 London who is sent to a remote estate in Wales after the bombing of the British Museum Library. Chapters alternate between Nimue’s first-person perspective (I believe hers is first-person because she has knowledge of most all events) and Ellie’s third-person (she is still working things out). Nimue’s girlhood is spent under the lake, knowing only her mother, Morgan le Fay; Lancelot, raised as her older brother; and Mordred, raised as her younger one. She is to bring down Merlin, the greatest wizard in the land. But when she leaves her underwater home, she finds out how little she understands about people, herself, her mother’s motivations, Arthur, Guinevere, Merlin himself, etc., etc. Meanwhile, Ellie is mystified and a little peeved to have been sent away from London: the bombings, the books, the work she is so committed to. But here she is in a backwater, at Camlan House, tasked with cataloging a private collection for an absent owner. She finds the housekeeper Mrs. Leaf odd and unfriendly, but the groundskeeper, Tom Wilder, will become a dear friend.

Ellie has been mostly dismissive of the recent wave of dreams, shared by much of the British populace, about King Arthur. It is only at Camlan House that Ellie begins to dream, too: not of Arthur, but of Nimue. Staunchly practical, she persists in believing that Arthurian legend can have no bearing on the bombs and the Nazis of the present–right up until she and Tom together rescue an actual questing beast from a rock pool on the coast. And then things start to get really strange.

I won’t say too much more. Things I loved about King Arthur and the Round Table are present here: the exalted ideals of the chivalric code, the loves and tragedies of Arthur-Guinevere-Lancelot’s triangle, the brooding mystique of the Lady of the Lake; all of which benefit from the recentered women of The Mists of Avalon. T.H. White even appears as a character here! (Also Maid Marian…) And then there is the passionate librarianship of Ellie, a very shadowy character herself. I loved Tom, I loved Merlin in every version. I couldn’t wait to get back into it, even with an overlay of tragedy everywhere we turn. This book is about the same length as Breeze Spells and Bridgerooms, but felt so different. I love both–but where Bridegrooms raced past in bliss and cakes and punch and fairy lights, The Witch feels epic and inexorable. This is a matter of pacing but also content: Arthur’s time and World War II are both at least as full of darkness as of light, and hinge upon the battle between the two (in simplest, most mythic terms). It’s not a cheerful story, but it is a brave, beautiful one.

Helen Day narrates in a variety of voices and accents that felt very immediate and right to me. I think I will seek out audio versions of Parry’s work in future. Definitely recommend, for lovers of books, legend, the Arthurian stories, history, and the kind of fantasy that strives to save the world.


Rating: 8 tutting mice.

Breeze Spells and Bridegrooms by Sarah Wallace and S.O. Callahan

I had the best time with this lively tale of human-fae relations, magic, and enemies-to-lovers romance. It’s sugary sweet but hit just the right note for me.

In this alternative Regency-era London, same-sex relationships are as usual as hetero ones, and humans and fae folk live together, although not entirely with ease. Everybody (human and fae) takes the Hastings test when they are twelve. This exam claims to test magical ability, and the score assigned dictates each individual’s options for the rest of their life: who inherits, what profession one can enter, and one’s marriageability (which we know is terribly important in Regency London). As we enter this year’s social Season, one Roger Barnes (human) is less concerned with finding a mate, and more concerned with reworking the infamous Hastings test. Roger’s low score has labelled him as worthless, but his hard work on a new test rubric makes the reader suspicious of that conclusion early on. Unfortunately, Roger is assigned to work with Wyndham Wrenwhistle on this project. Wyn (fae) and Roger have known each other since childhood, but never gotten along. Wyn is beautiful, stylish, and aloof, where Roger is chubby, bookish, and deeply anxious. Their partnership for the test rubric is unlikely and prickly from the start, although from the reader’s privileged perspective, they may indeed have complementary qualities and much to offer one another. The trouble really begins when an unusual and eccentric gossip columnist prints the news that the two are engaged–this is false, but once printed, by the mores of their society, it would mean social doom for both families if retracted. And so Roger and Wyn find themselves working not only to fix the Haynes test, but to fake a romantic partnership, complete with romantic walks in the park (chaperoned, of course), deep sighs, and choreographed dances. And spells.

I was tickled by the combination of Regency standards and Wallace and Callahan’s worldbuilding. Human and fae magics, respectively, have long been understood for their differences, not their complementary possibilities. And some features of each will be rediscovered, by accident and with purpose, by this unlikely duo. Roger’s academic enthusiasm is absolutely genuine, and infectious. He really does need help with anxiety; and Wyn, it turns out, needs help with certain aspects of being in the city, as well. This lovely tale includes scholarship, social politicking as well as the political kind, finessing of human-fae relations, and swoon-worthy romance. Breeze Spells and Bridegrooms feels as good as fluff, but with substance. Over 400 pages flew by in an actual blink; I will be looking for more.


Rating: 9 honey-covered biscuits.

Black Moon by Stephen Wright

This fiercely imaginative, blood-soaked, starry-eyed, and exuberant epic based on the life of Irish pirate Anne Bonny will capture the dreams and nightmares of any daring reader.

Stephen Wright’s Black Moon is a wild romp of an adventure, lush with blood and debauchery, starring a spectacularly colorful character based on the historical figure of Anne Bonny. Readers will need a strong constitution for the violence and rape that populate these pages, but the heroine and her associates offer plenty of humor, thoughtful philosophy, and transcendence to balance the scales.

Not much is known about Anne Bonny, an Irishwoman turned pirate in the early 1700s. With this inspiration, Wright (Meditations in Green; M31: A Family Romance) invents Amethyst “Meeks” Connell. From early trauma to an orphanage, then a “sewing shop for recalcitrant maids” and a youthful marriage into the minor gentry, Meeks continually reaches to improve her circumstances. When her devoted husband, Georgie, lusts after the latest round of developing war between the major European powers, Meeks plays along. “In a short amount of time she [becomes] considerably adept at fencing,” followed by other forms of combat–it is a feature of Meeks’s character that she is good at most anything she puts her mind to. Georgie decides he must join the war himself and secures himself a commission, and Meeks accompanies him. Within minutes of reaching the battlefield, Meeks makes her first kill and is widowed.

Wright’s swashbuckling, stylish narrative unfolds perfectly naturally as Meeks lives as a soldier and a man (with a short haircut, she simply fails to correct the assumptions of her fellows); marries a woman and is widowed again; and, on the lam, sets sail for Ireland and home. When her ship is boarded by pirates, no reader will be surprised that she joins them. It is at this point that Meeks’s real adventures–and the shining love(s) of her life–begin.

Meeks loves the sky over the ocean at morning, which she judges “the ultimate source of all value.” She loves the lifestyle, the freedom, the riches, the violence, and the friends she makes. At sea, she lives as a woman again; vehement misogyny is common among sailors and pirates, but there are those who honor her skills. The pirate life is for “those who can work like miners, fight like demons, and revel like tosspots,” and Meeks keeps up with the best of them. “There remains, of course, the lingering issue of love.” Black Moon, however bloodthirsty, is also a romantic novel: spirited, atmospheric, raging, and joyful unto its unforgettable end.


This review originally ran as a *starred review* in the August 13, 2026 issue of Shelf Awareness for the Book Trade. To subscribe, click here.


Rating: 7 fingers.

The Weed That Strings the Hangman’s Bag by Alan Bradley (audio)

I read the first Flavia de Luce mystery many years ago. When I read recently that Alan Bradley had died, I felt moved to try the second. This eleven-year-old narrator and amateur sleuth is funny, impressive, indomitable, precocious, and very clever, but not precisely likeable. I keep coming up against this in my reading: I know likeability is not supposed to be a requirement for our reading enjoyment, but it sure does help, and in its absence, something else must step in. Here, happily, it was plot. I was drawn in by the twisting mystery and a genuine curiosity about whodunit (there being at least two crimes for which to assign blame), but I have to say, I don’t feel moved toward book three.

The problem with we de Luces, I decided, is that we are infested with history in much the same way that other people are infested with lice. There have been de Luces at Buckshaw since King Harold stopped an arrow with his eye at the Battle of Hastings, and most of them have been unhappy in one complicated way or another. We seem to be born with wisps of both glory and gloom in our veins, and we can never be certain at any given moment which of the two is driving us.

I like Flavia’s backstory, the murkiness surrounding her late mother, her beloved bicycle Gladys (which belonged to her late mother), and the difficulty with her terribly obnoxious two older sisters. The historical framing is pleasing, and the twistiness of the plot is expert. I think Alan Bradley was quite talented. I just don’t quite fall into line with Flavia herself – and everyone else in this world seems purposefully at least a little bit unsympathetic. I thought about putting this one down until maybe halfway through, at which point I was fully committed, and I don’t regret this time, but won’t pick up another either. So many books in the world, and clearly, there are many readers perfectly matched to this series. If you’re one of them, please come tell me what you love about it!


Rating: 6 beautiful laboratory instruments.

Addendum: Jayne Entwistle’s narration feels perfectly suited to me and I love her voices for these characters – full points for the performance.

The Case of the Murdered Muckraker by Rob Osler

Following on the events of The Case of the Missing Maid, Harriet Morrow is working on settling in to her job at the Prescott Detective Agency. It is 1898, Chicago. Harriet is an outlier, as a young woman (just twenty-one years old) employed as a detective – a ‘girl detective,’ they call her. She is also an outlier in her preference for unadorned living, hard work, using her bicycle for transport – not particularly ladylike qualities, especially for her time – and she has recently discovered a preference for wearing men’s clothing. She is attracted to women, and in book one, began a romantic involvement with a young woman named Barbara Wozniak, a Polish immigrant. One of the throughlines of this book and this series is Harriet’s search for a place in a world where she mostly feels like she does not belong, does not live up to expectations. In one of the subplots of her investigation, in fact, Harriet will take to full male drag – a disguise, and a false identity as Harry Dunn. This strategy makes sense from an investigatory standpoint, and takes advantage of her large, sturdy frame. It also doubles as an experiment, and allows her to observe that she does not think of herself as a man nor wish she was one. She wishes rather for a version of womanhood that her society doesn’t recognize. Without putting modern labels on Harriet’s 1898 experiences, this nicely parses some aspects of her sexuality and sexual identity.

But ho, this is a mystery novel. The back blurb tells us that “Rob Osler writes traditional mysteries featuring LGBTQ+ main characters.” While I mostly agree, I think these facets of Harriet’s identity are more than a mere twist on the traditional genre. In The Case of the Murdered Muckraker, we do pursue the murderer of the muckraking journalist, and the evidence of political corruption for which he was killed. But the social issues creeping in there – political corruption, wealth and wage disparities, immigrants’ experiences, working and living conditions, and more – I think play a larger role than the ‘framing elements’ in a knitting mystery or a culinary mystery. I think this is a mystery novel inseparable from its historical setting, and concerned with social-political conditions and change. As well as the character arc of a young woman we would definitely call a lesbian in today’s terms.

Harriet is a delight. She is earnest and serious in her work – admittedly a pure amateur at detective work, but committed to the job, to serving justice, and to making her own way in the world. She is a head of household, providing for her sixteen-year-old brother Aubrey since their parents’ death, and did you catch that Harriet is herself just twenty-one? She and Aubrey’s relationship is not always smooth sailing, but it’s written with compassion for both of their circumstances. Her budding romance, though it doesn’t play a huge role in this story, is also told with nuance – I hope that plot thread will continue to play out. She is developing some meaningful friendships, too: the wealthy, older Pearl gives Harriet an important outlet, and then there is her friend and colleague Matthew, who is also queer. Osler is doing a lot of work with Harriet’s story: the mystery plots, the detective agencies, the social-political time-and-place setting which is super rich, and his main character’s own development, as a queer person and just as a person. It all feels pretty ambitious, but he has it all in hand at this point, by my standards. I can’t wait for book three – as yet unannounced, but surely?!


Rating: 7 sticks of dynamite.

Miss Kopp Just Won’t Quit by Amy Stewart (audio)

Here we have book four in the Kopp Sisters series, and I think I’m more and more bought in with each one. There’s a trajectory here. As ever, I’m not sure how much of it is about differences in the books, and how much is me. I always find this a fascinating question, about beers and mountain bike trails and everything else: how much has it changed, and how much is my taste buds / skill level / preferences? We can never know. Thank you for making it through that moment of philosophy, and now the novel.

If anything, Miss Kopp Just Won’t Quit takes a step further from the mystery or puzzle sort of plot, and (while absolutely telling a story about Deputy Kopp and her work) considers the time and time in which it is set.

…the sheriff maintained his posture of unruffled detachment.

I, on the other hand, was the very opposite of unruffled. John Courter was, in every way, a small-minded, petty, vindictive man unworthy of public office. I didn’t care to stand at the edge of a crowd and listen to him hurl insults and lies at us.

What made it worse, though, was that the crowd seemed to love it. It was an uncertain time in Bergen County: there was labor unrest in the factories, a mistrust of immigrants who might be German sympathizers, and the very real fear that a munitions depot might go up like so many crates of firecrackers at the hands of secret agents of the Kaiser. And most of all, there was the absolute terror of war – a war we surely couldn’t avoid much longer.

These people were looking for an enemy, and John Courter had one on offer.

Constance has been at work as a sheriff’s deputy for a while now. She’s been involved in investigations and arrests, including wrestling in the streets with male criminals (she would be affronted that that even needs pointing out). She’s cared for the female inmates at the jail, which includes basic food-and-shelter sort of needs as well as something we might call counseling, and questioning. She has pioneered a system of probation that (with the help of a friendly judge) allows women whose crimes are minor, or that shouldn’t count as crimes at all, to keep their freedom, work, and contribute to society. In a world that still isn’t sure women should do this sort of work, she has not only had some real successes, she’s also gotten to contemplate and enact improvements in the system. She’s the breadwinner for her household of three adult women, with her sister Norma and her ‘sister’ (biological daughter) Fleurette. And in that last role, she has also undertaken some thoughtful changes and modernizations. All of this is arguably made possible by her supportive boss, Sheriff Heath.

Thus the great conflict of this novel: the sheriff is an elected position, and Heath is term-limited. A change is coming for Constance either way, but the two men running for election offer rather different outcomes for her: bad and worse. The shift away from police work and into politics pleases no one – not Sheriff Heath, not Deputy Kopp, and not the reader. But here we are. Constance loves her work, and has found a comfortable place in the world, where she feels good about what she can contribute. In a nutshell, Miss Kopp Just Won’t Quit is about what she’ll do when continuing on that path is no longer an option. It’s terribly sad, but it’s also heartening to see her come to terms. Not all reviewers agree with me, but I really liked the ending, and I can’t wait to see what she’ll do in book five.


Rating: 8 first names.

Miss Kopp’s Midnight Confessions by Amy Stewart (audio)

I continue to feel deeply involved with the indefatigable Miss Kopp and her earnest pursuit of betterment for herself, her sisters, and her community.

Following closely on the events of Lady Cop Makes Trouble, Constance Kopp efforts at the Bergen County Jail to keep her female inmates safe, in line, and pointed toward rehabilitation. She continues to enjoy a good relationship with Sheriff Heath, whose progressive ideals inspire her. It’s 1916, and times are changing: much of Miss Kopp’s Midnight Confessions deals with the options of young women to make their own way in the world, in terms of work and housing. (Other lifestyle choices remain yet more controversial.) Edna Heustis, for instance, left home to go to work in a munitions factory, patriotically hoping to contribute to the war effort as her brothers prepare to go fight in France. She lives in a respectable (strict) boarding house for young factory-working women like herself – and yet is arrested for waywardness, because her mother would rather she stay home and keep house. Minnie Davis left home with the (perhaps slightly less righteous) ambition of having a little fun and getting out from under her parents’ thumb. Shacked up with a young man she’s not married to, working in a mill and drinking at night, Minnie is likewise subject to criminal charges, just because she’s interested in flexing the moral boundaries of her day. (Minnie and Constance both repeat the question: why isn’t the young man locked up for ‘waywardness’ or ‘moral depravity’ as well?)

Constance feels strongly about defending the rights of women like Edna and Minnie to find their own paths in a changing world. But when it’s Fleurette who wants to leave home and work for a living, and maybe have a little fun – well. Constance’s values will be put to the test. And Norma is even less ready to entertain looser restraints on the youngest Kopp sister.

Norma’s lips worked furiously over her composition. From time to time a word escaped: presumptuous, unconscionable, iniquitous, abhorrent. She took a breath and continued: indecorous, opportunistic, unprincipled, opprobrious.

Fleurette had been right not to breathe a word of her plans to her sisters. Nothing – not a tour with a theater troupe, and certainly not an offer of marriage – stood a chance against Norma’s formidable vocabulary of refusal.

It’s one of Amy Stewart’s greatest strengths that she can tell such complex, fascinating, moving stories about history and women’s rights, alongside absolutely laugh-out-loud funny moments, perfectly played by audio-narrator Christina Moore.

I love the interplay of serious (and true historical) issues with family dynamics and simple human struggle. These moments can be both funny and serious.

Constance had grown to count on Norma to be that domestic presence who sat in the parlor and disapproved of things. She did not, however, like to find Norma disapproving of things at [Constance’s] place of employment, and wished she knew how to discourage the habit.

I’m still having a riotous good time, and simultaneously, enjoying considering some hefty issues through the lens of these expertly drawn mysteries. Three cheers for Amy Stewart, and on to the next one.


Rating: 8 trinkets.

Thistlemarch by Moorea Corrigan

This was a compelling, engrossing read – not always quite a pleasure, because despite the presence of faeries, there was a lot of darkness to this tale. But it was absolutely rewarding.

Thistlemarch is historical fiction, set just at the end of World War I in rural England. We meet Mouse on a train: after serving as a nurse in France, she is on her way home to the estate called Thistlemarch, outside the village of Tithe. Her dear cousin Bertie was killed at the Somme. Her dear brother Roger lies in a hospital bed, raving, shouting, rarely recognizing her. Her uncle, holder of the estate, has also died. Mouse was always looked down upon by the proper, lordly wing of the family: her mother had the temerity to marry an Irish gardener, and so the girl who would be called Mouse lived in a room that would be called the Matchbox, tucked away. By a twist of fate, it falls to Mouse, disregarded niece, to inherit – but only on a seemingly impossible condition.

Faeries disappeared more than one hundred years ago; much as Mouse has always loved the tales, she has put away her childish hope of ever meeting the magical beings who once blessed the now dilapidated Thistlemarch. So when a High Fae appears to her, she feels disbelief, and distrust. Like her mother, Mouse has studied the old stories, and she knows that a bargain with a faerie is not to be taken lightly. But she needs this inheritance to pay for Roger’s care – and so Mouse makes a deal.

As the story unfolds, the falling-down estate takes on a bit of a life of its own, rebuilt and falling down again. The faerie called Thornwood seems to be allying himself with Mouse, but she’s not sure she can trust him. A hateful, grasping cousin, a longtime friend in the village vicar, a nasty lawyer, a loyal gardener, and an enigmatic faerie servant surround our protagonist, who will encounter a dragon, a dog, and a stone mermaid along the way. Faeries and magic, yes, but also class differences, penury, and various prejudices, shellshock and a nation haunted by war. It’s a riveting combination, and for all its twists, finishes with something like a fairy tale ending. I was entranced, and would read more from debut author Corrigan.


Rating: 7 egg sandwiches.

Lady Cop Makes Trouble by Amy Stewart (audio)

It’s been years since I listened to Girl Waits with Gun, and I guess I’d forgotten all about it*, but I’m so happy to have now rediscovered Stewart’s work. I love Constance Kopp: subversive, contrary, big and strong, determined to do the work she sees fit. As we left her, Miss Kopp lives in the New Jersey countryside with her two sisters: no-nonsense Norma, who loves her carrier pigeons and has strong opinions about everything but rarely leaves the farm; and Fleurette, young, flighty, fashion-forward, and yearning to live in a wider world. (Also, Fleurette is not in fact a sister but Constance’s own daughter, although I still don’t think she knows it.)

Lady Cop Makes Trouble offers us two main mystery plotlines, but also importantly follows the home lives of the Kopp sisters and of Sheriff Heath. Following the events of that earlier book, Constance is proud to be employed as a sheriff’s deputy in her rural county. She was promised a badge, but that’s now in jeopardy because, predictably, the 1915 New Jersey public (not least, the sheriff’s wife) is not sure about having a “lady” deputy (or a “girl” one), let alone Constance’s take on the job, which involves wrestling suspects to the grimy ground, whether in New Jersey or New York City. It’s quite unfortunate, then, that Constance happens to be the one on duty guarding an inmate who escapes from custody – never mind that he’d faked a debilitating injury and was in the hospital, during a power outage and a mass casualty event, and the (male) deputy who was supposed to be on duty had defected. It just goes to prove to those who wanted it proved, that Constance is unfit. Worse, it goes a ways toward making Constance question her fitness. She ramps up her devotion to the job in hunting down the fugitive – sometimes crossing over into insubordination in her enthusiasm. I found it interesting to see the conflict between following orders and Doing Right, especially as Sheriff Heath has always been a sympathetic character. And here we see him face some difficulties of his own.

The manhunt is the main mystery-plot-driver, but there is also a secondary puzzle of a case involving one of the female prisoners Constance is in charge of, a woman whose murder confession is being questioned. I like this second line for the foundation I think it might offer for future books.

*I had also forgotten that I wasn’t a huge fan of that first book, apparently, but I’m glad I did forget this. Something changed – about the books, about me? – and I was on board with the pace this time around. I can’t explain to you whether it got snappier or I got more patient, but this reader and this series have come into sync. (Stewart did bring this one down to 320 pages.) A benefit to my long hiatus: there are now seven books in the series! Oh, good.

I was once again pleased by Christina Moore’s narration, and appreciated the same things I did in that earlier review: historical setting and detail; some very funny exchanges, between the Kopp sisters but also Constance with many others; characters; and now pacing. I am already on to book three, with no more qualms.


Rating: 7 nights in a cell.