Southern Cross

Southern Cross - Patricia Cornwell I didn't think I was going to like this much when I first started it, but I eventually got the hang of the black humour and found myself giving it some grudging chuckles. I very much liked Weed, the teenage protagonist who is forced into graffiti painting, but does it in a wholly artistic and heartfelt way, and only in poster paints(!); and of course who can object to a blond god of a protagonist/detective named Andy Brazil? I have always found Cornwell's Scarpetta series to be a bit on the gruesome side for my tastes, so I appreciated having a bit less blood-stained anatomy to deal with here. The climax, chaos during a parade, seems to have been entirely written with a screwball movie in mind! My biggest reservation, and it was substantial, was having someone as thoroughly unsympathetic as the buffoon Southern alien-believing gun-toting cigarette-manufacturing quasi-protagonist with the ridiculous name presented as though one should somehow find him anything but horrible and dangerous (as I fully believe such semi-humans to be). Oh well. The book kept me engaged for a couple of days on my long commute, and that was all I ask of a second-hand thriller picked up at a church(!) booksale.