Fantastic fiction, elder-abuse or an amazing discovery, I didn't care. I just wanted to get hold of it. How could I resist? I'd loved To Kill a Mockingbird.
Yup. The rabid dog. The mysterious neighbour. Gregory Peck.
Wait a minute.
I eventually concluded after scouring my library and my memory (I trust the first more than the last) that I hadn't read To Kill a Mockingbird, I'd merely enjoyed the fine movie adaptation.
As a long believer in the fine tradition of ridiculing movie or television adaptations as inferior to the real thing I immediately bought the kindle version and set to work.
I don't remember the old-lady heroin addict appearing in the movie (although it has been a while so feel free to correct me) and there was a lot of use of certain words that I'm pretty sure I'm not allowed to type into a blog on the internet for fear of forever making it onto some sort of list that Edward Snowden has long warned us all about, but that was a fine book.
A damned fine book (if you don't mind me cussing).
I really must pick up some more books by that author to see if her talent expanded throughout her career.