Hiss of Death

I usually enjoy Rita Mae Brown's mysteries co-written with her cat Sneaky Pie Brown.  However, if you have even an ounce of flab on you, you might want to give Hiss of Death (#124) a miss or you risk being offended.  In this outing Harry Haristeen is diagnosed with breast cancer, and though people are murdered, the whodunit aspect takes a distant second place to Ms. Brown's soapbox.

Okay, I get that Ms. Brown hates obese people, that only the really serious "gym rats" are worthy of consideration (Harry even criticizes her eighty-five year old grandmother for having a little bit of flab on her upper arms that revolted her!) and that the government is evil, as are the pharmaceutical companies, and basically pretty much anyone who isn't furry and four-legged don't deserve the air they breathe.  I wondered as I read her extended rants whether or not Ms. Brown was ever going to get back to the story.  When she did, it was in a very premptory manner - "Oh, yes, I must name the murderer, and hey, I'd better work the animal characters Mrs. Murphy, Pewter and Tee Tucker into the plot a bit more."

Her pencil illustrations of the animals are as charming as ever, but as far as I was concerned, they aren't enough to save this book.  The only reason I kept going was that I was too sick to get out of bed to find something else to read.

Unless you absolutely must read it because it's the next book in a series, I'd skip Hiss of Death, and hope for better in the future.  Or maybe not.