Is crime fiction a dish better served in the fall and winter? Looking over some past posts I find that most of our heroes of late have been depressed and depressing (Rebus, Zen, Quirke). I'm just starting J. Robert Janes' Mayhem, much beloved in historical crime circles, and I see no letup from this theme in one of his protagonists, St-Cyr. I'm just getting to know Kohler, St-Cyr's reluctant partner in Occupied France criminal investigations, so hard to know if he is depressed or just dense, like a fox. It's hard to wallow pleasurably in their darkness when it is so darn nice outside, and you are grilling some dinner in anticipation of eating on your lovely deck in the middle of your surprisingly-lush-for-the-almost-city neighborood. Somehow one just doesn't have the patience for crime that winter brings.
There is also a new Andrea Camilleri out, that is winning a lot of awards. Given that it is pretty much always hot in Sicily, it may be time to check that out. And, I've got the last of Colin Cotteril's great Siri Paiboun series, which, being set in Laos or southeast Asia more generally, may provide more climat-suitable crim reading for the summer.