An orchestral conductor has been found dead and Detective Inspector Jack Robinson needs the delightfully incisive and sophisticated Miss Fisher's assistance. Hugh Tregennis has been murdered in a most flamboyant mode by a killer with a point to prove. But how many killers is Phryne really stalking?
At the same time, the dark curls and disdainful air of mathematician and code-breaker Rupert Sheffield are taking Melbourne by storm. They've certainly taken the heart of Phryne's old friend from the trenches of WWI, John Wilson. Phryne recognises Sheffield as a man who attracts danger and is determined to protect John from harm. While Mendelssohn's 'Elijah,' memories of the Great War, and the science of deduction ring in her head, Phryne's past must also play its part as MI6 become involved in the tangled web of murders.
"Greenwood's strength lies in her ability to create characters that are wholly satisfying: the bad guys are bad, and the good guys are great." (Vogue)
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too much romance, too much singing
- Kara O'Halloran
By far the worst Phyrne Fisher ever.
The narrator did the best of what must have been a very difficult job. She definitely should not have tried to sing, although she tried very hard. Rupert's voice was constantly irritating and I could not understand what John saw in the ghastly man, except for his angelic lavender eyes - come on!
It was disappointing, because otherwise the narrator was excellent and I would certainly listen to her reading again.
Leave out the gratuitous sex. I kept on wondering who had told her it was a good idea. Lovers of Phryne Fisher love her subtlety and what is implied - unfortunately nothing was left to the imagination here.
The book could have been immensely more enjoyable if it was a swift mystery with the delicious Phryne solving it in her inimitable manner. This story dragged on for ever - it is the first Phryne I have considered so boring that I couldn't care less what happened. The good stuff was thoroughly buried in the mud.
Flexible, adaptable, clear.
No, not really.
Please, Kerry - may this be a sad aberration from a winning formula!