Now, that said, the idea that I will actually get through all these books is more aspirational than likely, particularly as I immediately turned to the work of several authors whose acquaintance I made or whose work was already familiar to me. But I did grab one from the bag pretty fast, because the author was recommended to me by a fellow conference goer.
The Killer Next Door was intriguing enough in the beginning, but I began to be put off by the macabre crime at the heart of the tale. So when I thought I had lost the book in my complicated holiday travels, I wasn't too bothered. I didn't think I would replace it.
However, it suddenly turned up in my house a couple of days later, and guess what? I was happy. I had missed it more than I thought. And as soon as I began to read it again, I saw it in a different light. Essentially, this is a London tale, and as I've said on this blog before, I do love me a good story set in London.
The criminal in the story remains macabre, and he's not the only one. But what the book is really about the neighbors of the criminal, at first their individual somewhat oppressive lives and the way they, slowly, come together. It's really the story of anonymous urban life in any city, and the way that anything can be the sudden catalyst for breaking through the walls.