
Book #34 of 2021:
Moonflower Murders by Anthony Horowitz (Susan Ryeland #2)
This is another fun postmodern detective story, but it’s a bit too similar to its predecessor Magpie Murders, in a way that rather strains credulity. (The same dead writer knew about a second killer who had escaped justice and placed subtle clues to that effect in one of his other novels? Really? Is his whole bestselling catalogue going to turn out to contain such mysteries hidden underneath the surface? That’s so much effort — not to mention coincidence — with so minimal a justification for why he never simply alerted the authorities instead.) I also feel like some of the protagonist’s insights are too flimsy to support her deductions, and I don’t understand why the police inspector is willing to humor her staging of a dramatic parlor-room reveal scene at the end, beyond that the genre conventions demand it.
As in the first volume, a lengthy section of this text is given over to the book-within-a-book detailing a Poirot pastiche working a case that’s both enjoyable in its own right and a mechanism for taunting references to the real crime in the framing narrative. But at this point, I think I prefer the doubly fictitious Atticus Pünd to his editor-cum-investigator Susan Ryeland, and the meta trick that author Anthony Horowitz plays with the parallels between the two is starting to lose its novelty.
[Content warning for ableism including slurs.]
★★★☆☆
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