I just finished an online class, so I’ve been giving my brain a much needed break. I picked up a stack of mysteries from work, and I’ve been making my way through those.
When I want something light, I read “cozy mysteries,” which are mysteries that frequently feature some sort of theme (coffee mysteries, Sudoku mysteries, gardening mysteries. One day we’ll talk about the absurd number of hobbies and professions that have been the basis for a mystery series) and usually have titles that are puns on the chosen theme. In these books, somehow the dead people are almost never the point. Murder is mostly a puzzle to solve. I also only read mysteries written by women. I’ve made a few exceptions, but the last one I read is a pretty good example of why I tend to avoid the male authors.
It was a standup comedy mystery written by a guy who is a professional comedian. It was a weird mix of cozy mystery and attempts at noir. There were basically two women in the story, a sexy redhead and a sexier desert goddess. Both women slept with our hero—a brawling, Irish comic—but other than that, they didn’t DO anything. One of them actually orchestrated the murders, but she outsourced all the actual work of putting her schemes into action. *Sigh.*
So, I read books written by women because the chicks are always in the middle of the action. That doesn’t guarantee that I’ll like them, though. When I found a book called Ninja Soccer Moms, I didn’t have high expectations, but I read a few pages on Google books out of curiosity. I forced myself to read until our heroine got her shirt caught in a paper shredder, but that right there is a deal breaker. I’m pretty sure that’s neither funny nor possible.