Ah, Janet. Janet, Janet, Janet.

WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?

I so enjoy the Stephanie Plum books. Are they great literature? Of course not! Will they bring about world peace, end hunger, and cure split ends? Absolutely, without a doubt – no. Are they even believable? Well, in a hard-core, suspended-belief kind of way, yes.

But they are my guilty pleasure. And they are hilarious. And I (as is much of Houston) am so in need of something to laugh about these days. And, up to now, Janet has always so faithfully delivered.

Until now. Until Twelve Sharp. Sigh. Flat, stale, and unprofitable. Quell déception!

It might have been enough to put me off of this series altogether—perhaps after eleven books, Evanovich simply ran out of steam and fresh ideas. Fortunately, I had Lean Mean Thirteen. Which is quite simply hilarious.

So perhaps Twelve Sharp is just Evanovich not at her sharpest. Irony has always been my weakest type of humor.