Long, long ago, in the century prior to this one, I read a book about detective fiction from my boyfriend's father's shelves (he had a grand and delightful library, one that almost made visiting the boy's 'rents worthwhile. Almost). I can't remember the title, but it was a collection of essays about various detective stories. The authors of both the essays and stories reviewed were English, and the writing was brilliant -- taut, precise, with an economical use of five-dollar-words that punched straight to the heart of the topic. It was delicious and it reminded me that college essays were not the pinnacle of literary criticism, that thinking about and enjoying books was a true and worthy passion.While P.D. James's short book Talking About Detective Fiction
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