Stephanie Ney

Wrenching autobiographic memories of a family devastated by alcoholism and mental instability.

The reviews led me to expect more, as did Rowling’s well-earned rep as an inventive and imaginative writer. In this case she conforms to the detective genre and serves up a standard cast of characters—the damaged detective, the spunky sidekick, the beautiful tragic victim and the “most unlikely” milk toast murderer. Secondary characters are cringe-worthy cliches the worst of which is a gay diva fashion designer. There’s also an elderly woman , addled of course, a rich uncle who is, guess what, arrogant mercenary and soulless, models (vacuous) and a potpourri of druggy exploiting hangers-on who have great charisma because, hey, they look really cool. I expected Rowling to inject some creative wizardry on this foray into a new landscape but what I found instead was a competent but generic o.k. read.