For the last few months, I’ve been in a reading drought. 

Nothing I’ve picked up since Tress Of The Emerald Sea really hit home in the same way as Tress, her quest, and her collection of teacups. This immediate attention grab, for which Brandon Sanderson is adept at creating, rendered other books pale and uninteresting by comparison…or I’m tired of having to wear reading glasses every time I pick up a book these days.

It could be two things, I suppose.

In any case, when writing about a Golden Age Gals, I always secure at least one book by said author in order to form my own opinion on their writing. 

And let me tell you, this book — finally — burst my funk!

Murder is a Collector’s Item is an outstanding read! Not only does it hold up well against today’s eye, the humorous (though not screwball) mystery is engaging and believable.

What I appreciate, above and beyond the well-placed zingers, dry humor, and a mystery that Plays Fair, is Elizabeth Dean’s conscious effort to put Emma Marsh front and center. The majority of the mystery is told from Emma’s perspective. Even better, Dean doesn’t gloss over the foibles of a twenty-something female living on her own. The science experiments growing in the back of the icebox, clothes strewn across the bedroom floor, a habitually unmade bed, and dusty dishes sitting in a cupboard — are all things I understand. (And grown out of. Mostly. Though, that fridge science is a tough one to beat.) However, with my twenty-sixth birthday well and truly in the review mirror, this glimpse back into the past made me laugh.

I delighted in watching three separate investigation threads, whose ultimate goals varied slightly from one another, all propelled the mystery forward. Emma’s pure logic and luck (both bad and good) balanced well against her boyfriend’s application of the psychology angle, which was tempered by the Boston cop’s practical and pragmatic approach to the crimes. 

Moreover, I enjoyed watching Emma balance the stresses of her job. The battle of wits when trying to pitch the possible perfect (for them) item to a dithering customer, dealing with the foibles of a temperamental boss who you love (platonically) to bits but occasionally want to strangle with your bare hands, and the competative thrill of unearthing a gem from a rubbish heap you can sell for an order of magnitude more than what you paid for it. These are just some of the things I miss about my time at the book and record shops I once worked in. Plus, it’s fun to imagine how I’d balance my job duties against trying to suss out a murderer — something I never found myself needing to do.

I would happily recommend reading Murder is a Collector’s Item to anyone looking for a mystery on the lighter side. It’s not a cozy, but the murder(s) do take place off-stage, and the dry wit is precisely measured, so it only adds to the story without distracting. 

Seriously, it is worth the few extra clicks to find a used copy hanging out in the corners of the interwebs — I don’t think you’ll be sorry!

My 52 Weeks With Christie: A.Miner©2024