Lucy Valentine can't go in to the family business. A freak accident when she was fourteen transformed her inherited ability to see people's auras and match them accordingly, to a form of ESP allowing her to find lost objects when someone touches her palm. When a family crisis leads her parents to take a sudden vacation, leaving the renowned matchmaking business in her hands. Things are going okay on her first day until she shakes the hand of her last client and sees the engagement ring he'd given his high school girlfriend on the finger of a murdered and hidden corpse. Lucy enlists the help of the handsome P.I. upstairs and delves into the mystery.
In reading the synopses and quotes that accompanied my copy of the book, I began to worry. The comparison to Janet Evanovich sent up red flags. Was it the classic over-hyping of a new author? I needn't have worried.
While Truly, Madly shares some similarities with Evanovich's Plum series, notably a motley cast of supporting characters including an eccentric grandmother, the premise is unique and interesting. The book started off slow, and I felt my mind wander for the first 150 pages or so, but the second half of the book picked up the pace and I began to truly care about the characters. By the time I finished, I felt as though I had made a new friend. I even laughed out loud once or twice.
I'd highly recommend Truly, Madly to anyone looking for a fast, fun read. Particularly those who have enjoyed books by Evanovich, Charlaine Harris and similar authors. It's not going to change your life or the way you look at the world, but it will give you a couple hours of escape and sometimes, that's all we can ask of a good book.
- I'm human, so I've got some issues, but all things considered I guess I'm reasonably normal. My parents are still married. My best friends are my sisters...okay, so I'm normal for the 1850's whatever. I'm opinionated and nerdy. I'm walking the line between tweener-style pop culture love (witness my ever-burning New Kids love and inexplicable Twilight obsession) and elitist culture snob (I can't seem to get enough 19th century British Lit and historical biographies) but, after 30 years, I'm finally learning not to give a crap what anyone else thinks about me. Oh, and those are my feet in the picture. The socks were made by a friend.