I get it wrong Every Single Time. I put a turkey, or two, in there, somewhere.
OK, so I’ve not yet read Richard Osman’s The Thursday Murder Club, but it is lying in wait for me. I veer between looking forward to it, because some people have loved it, and fearing I’ll regret it, because some have not. Was heartened to discover that Susanna Clarke and her husband got one for each other for Christmas. Not, I assume, because they habitually buy two of everything, but when you know that the other one would love this…
Still no turkey, despite it being Christmas for them.
Then I read the Guardian interview with Richard, and was heartened – again – when he said he’d been afraid of being seen just as a celebrity success, until people in countries where they don’t know him from television, seemed to like his first crime novel too.
So that was reasonably modest of him.
And then, the Guardian Review yesterday happened to mention that Agatha Christie’s The Tuesday Club Murders is being reissued.
No turkey there either.
No, the reason I keep wanting there to be turkeys is Craig Rice’s The Thursday Turkey Murders. Which I read half a decade ago (it’s from 1946), and it has clearly formed a beaten path through my brain, and I simply cannot separate turkeys from Thursdays. Especially when there is also a murder.
Although I note Craig Rice also wrote The Sunday Pigeon Murders… Can’t stand pigeons.