After my attempt at Lovecraft, I decided that I needed some fluff. So, instead of reading one of the numerous books on my shelf that I haven’t read yet, I borrowed the second Stephanie Plum novel from my grandmother.
In this installation, Stephanie is attempting to find Kenny Mancuso, a man who shot his friend in the knee and then skipped out on his court date. Kenny is somehow tied in with a bunch of stollen coffins and army guns, and Stephanie has to deal with the “help” of Morelli.
I’m completely torn between loving and loathing Stephanie. On one hand, she is a complete flake, and I really, really dislike flakey main characters. It’s the main reason I stopped reading the Shopaholic series, and why I won’t read any more of Kinsella’s stuff. It’s the reason I don’t read a lot of chick lit. Bridget Jones is probably the only main exception, and that’s because Bridget is a snarky Brit, and that automatically makes her enjoyable.
On the other hand, she sometimes seems more realistic than a lot of the characters in books I like. I mean, who wouldn’t freak out if there was a severed foot in her refridgerator? I know I certainly would.
Still, the other characters might be enough to keep me going in these books. I love Grandma Mazur and Lula, and honestly have such a soft spot for characters like Morelli.