129, NG66, M64, E118, NA12 / WG63, F65, D11, C1, B9

Richard Osman, The Thursday Murder Club

Ja, ganz entfernt erinnerte es mich an Agatha Crhistie. Und ein bißchen an Midsomer Murders, immerhin gibt es hier auch die standardmäßigen drei Leichen. Aber das wars auch schon wirklich, spätestens nach dem ersten Drittel hatte mich das Buch mit seinem ungewöhnlichem Ermittlerteam und der guten Mischung von Humor und Wehmut überzeugt. Besonders die Tagebuchpassagen von Joyce sind einfach nur schön. Wenn es tatsächlich eine Fortsetzung geben sollte, dann hoffe ich, dass er sie genauso gut hinkriegt.

After a certain age, you can pretty much do whatever takes your fancy. No one tells you off, except for your doctors and your children.
.
Memory was the bogeyman that stalked Coopers Chase. Forgetfulness, absentmindedness, muddling up names.
What did I come in here for? The grandchildren would giggle at you. The sons and daughters would joke too, but keep a watchful eye. Every so often you would wake at night in cold dread. Of all the things to lose, to lose one's mind? Let them take a leg or a lung, let them take anything before they take that. Before you became 'Poor Rosemary', or 'Poor Frank', catching the last glimpses of the sun and seeing them for what they were. Before they were no more trips, no more games, no more Murder Clubs. Before there was no more you.
.
Every time you like the look of someone you swipe their picture to the right (or to the left, I can't remember). Meanwhile, somewhere nearby they are scrolling through pictures too and if they like the look of you they also swipe to the right (or left) and the two of you are a match.
Honestly, it breaks your heart to scroll through. It's reminded me of those photos of lost cats you see on lamp posts. It's all that hope, I think.

(Richard Osman, The Thursday Murder Club, 2020)