In the late winter, hummm, about February, there was a
CBC interview on Q with P.D. James. Delightful. I love
Unsuitable Job for a Woman. I also love
Pride and Prejudice. And oh, amazing, P.D. James had written
Death Comes to Pemberly. Oh, goodie. Finally a sequel worthy of Jane. I had great imaginings. I order the book from the library and settled back to enjoy the anticipation of the coming read. I got to enjoy it for months. Who would die? What new characters would I meet. Had Elizabeth brought Darcy to the point of being able to laugh at himself yet? How would they solve the murder? It was great. I must have imagined the book a dozen times. And then it came.
What a disaster. Same characters. Elizabeth had become uptight rather than Darcy more relaxed. Much time was spent reminding me of what happened in P&P, as though I had never read it for myself, or watched endless tv productions. You really must try the
1940 one with Greer Garson.
Death Comes to Pemberly is, in short, deadly dull. I couldn't even finish it.
All that anticipation for not you are thinking?
Au contraire (that's French for 'on the contrary', if I may quote Jasper Friendly Bear). The anticipation was delightful. I enjoyed that book for months. Instead of a quick partial read of a disappointing book, I got months of enjoyment. Wait for it.
