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Vivian Davenport is your typical writer. She lives alone in the woods with seventeen cats, every back issue of Cosmopolitan Magazine since September 1965, and a framed autographed photo of Phyllis Diller. Divorced, she swears she's not bitter about her husband running off with a younger woman, who used to be a man. And she lies. Lies like a rug. (The photo of Phyllis Diller isn't autographed.) But she channels her mendacity into her fiction, which flourishes in a spot in the pretend world where we all like to live. And she likes nuts, all kinds.
Daniel G. Keohane
on Jan. 12, 2012 :
This was a wickedly fun book to read. Davenport's got a clean, fast-moving style and her wit is alternately subtle and in-your-face hilarious. With such an original cast of characters, incuding a hero detective with a reputation for sleeping with his clients. Dusty Darling (that's his name and the author uses it often for some pretty clever dialogue) finds himself in the middle of a murder mystery on the high seas, which grows more complex as the voyage continues. If you like light-hearted whodunnit's, I highly recommend this book for consistently enjoyable, funny and clever read
(reviewed the day of purchase)