Having gotten my hands on Started Early, Took My Dog, I obviously had to start it as soon as possible.
Jackson Brodie gets himself mixed up, yet again, with a lot more old history than he had bargained for. This time missing children is the variation of the recurring theme. A far cry from archetypal crime, Atkinson is firmly rooted in tradition, but runs circles round most of her fellow crime writers.
For one thing, she produces passages such as this: «Schrödinger, whoever he was, and his cat, and anyone else that felt like it, had all clambered inside Pandora’s box and were dining on a can of worms. Jackson felt the beginnings of a headache, another one, on top of the one he already had.»
I’m already waiting for her next book.
Reading it myself at the moment. However, Junior seems to be of the opinion that no one should be allowed to read for more than five minutes at a time (alarmingly, my attempts so far at reading aloud to him have so far been met with wails) so it may well be that I’ll only be able to finish it just in time for the next one. *sigh*