Cinnamon Skin by John D MacDonald

I have got to learn to
start saying no to you.

If, by now, you seriously think I can remember what makes this, the 20^th JD MacDonald novel different, and therefore worthy of an extended review, from the other 19 previous novels (of which I have read all), then you clearly don’t know me very well.

From a Good Reads synopsis, I recall that someone’s boat blows up, a niece is kabloo-ied, and Trav suspects foul play. Of course he’s right and so after some sex with another chickadee or punchboard or pussycat or honey he solves everything and he and Meyer can go back to some vague slobbing about and misogynistic reminiscences aboard their respective boats.

So far so formulaic.

And that’s it, basically.

Fun, fruity if a little dated, and worth reading if only for nostalgia’s sake, but at least I have only a few more to go now before I can consign this series to the dusty shelves of the unduly forgotten.

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