How can I so enjoy a book in which nothing much happens? It's the sense of place, I guess, and visiting old friends.
This is number umpteen in The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series, and I have read them all. The author is an internationally known professor emeritus of medical law--not that you'd ever know that from his subject matter--who completely daunts me with the productivity of his "other" life. How is it possible that someone with such an important-sounding career has written (at last count) 22 books, when I can't even get to the grocery store on a regular basis?
If that isn't reason enough to pick up one of these little mysteries, there's always the gentle pacing, the charm of funny, very human characters, the allure of Botswana, and the emphasis on traditional values.
I'm tempted to call this a bonbon of a book, but it's more like a glass of hand-squeezed lemonade. Perfect for a refreshing break from whatever reading occupies you the rest of the year.
But there were people, she imagined, whose names said nothing about them and who had only the haziest idea of who they were, people who might never even have known their parents. Mma Ramotswe could not remember her mother, who died when she was a baby, but at least she had known her father, the late Obed Ramotswe, whose memory seemed undimmed by the passage of the years. She thought of him every day, every day, and believed that in due course--but not too soon, she hoped--she would see him again in that place that was Botswana but not Botswana, that place of gentle rain and contented cattle. And perhaps on that day those people who had nobody here would find that there were indeed people for them. Perhaps.