Thursday, September 22, 2016

Tami Hoag-Queen of Prurience

Couched in what purports to be a novel about crime and detection lies a wealth of fare for the prurient mind. There is a time in adolescence when the mind seeks such pages with all the assiduousness of a bloodhound. Given the plethora of more openly marketed matter for this penchant, it is amusing to find such an author.

There is a corpse or two, a cop or so, of course, but these ingredients are sparsely scattered in a steamy jungle of purple prose: the heroine is forever exciting forbidden desires, kindling lust and merrily moping over failed relationships. The hero does much the same. 

For the life of me I could not proceed page by page and so flipped  desperately in search of some anchor for action. A vain quest! 

Still Waters is as stagnant as the best of swamps. Only, swamps harbour better tales.

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