There is a special joy in discovering a new (at least, new to me) novel sequence.
I will have fingered the piles in the local Waterstone’s serially, before taking the plunge. Sometimes it works (those “get second book half-price” offers help). Too often it doesn’t; and a couple of years later I might be, plucking at the shelf, having a second bite.
Then the bitterest gall of all is to find the paperback the tables, while at home lurks the tasted-but-unfinished hardback.
It was inevitable that, sooner or later, I would go for James Runcie’s Grantchester teccies. I’d caught a couple in their TV adaptations.
Finally I took the plunge, making sure I had the sequence in proper order.
So here I am, setting out with Sidney Chambers and the Shadow of Death. The next month, with luck, is going to be booked.
Stout, but not Cortez, here I am willing and wishing to be dazzled by this new planet swimming into my ken.