Once the cat was out of the bag that debut detective crime novelist Robert Galbraith was actually J.K Rowling, I decided to give The Cuckoo's Calling a whirl as a suitably 'summer' read.
The Times in Britain describes it as:"A scintillating novel set in the world of models, rappers, fashion designers, druggies and illicit liaisons."
Publishers Weekly and the Daily Mail also gave it the thumbs up, which is encouraging, as the author's first novel after the Harry Potter series was complete, was the most miserable and depressing read.
Apparently, though, Rowling's more recent release under the Galbraith pen name was considered so sophisticated that publishers and reviewers soon suspected a ruse in the first-time novelist bio.
According to the prolific Rowling, she fancied a bit of anonymity in her penmanship after all the hullabaloo of HP and I can't say as I blame her. But she can't have thought that Robert Galbraith would remain under wraps for too long.
Looking for something with substantial literary weight, The Kite Runner's Khaled Hosseini's And The Mountains Echoed proved a superbly satisfied late July read.










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