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For nearly a FIFTH of my life (don't do the math) I have been mired in post-apocalyptic, dystopian and survival literature. Obsessed with it. Unable and unwilling to read anything else. I took breaks for the occasional chick lit beach read and went through a mini "phase within the phase" of guillotine-type historical fiction but I always went crawling back to my trusty zombies and nuclear holocausts. Jury is out as to the effect this had on my mental well-being. Or maybe the verdict is in.
The reign of the crumbling society is over, folks. While I still feel the lure of end of days tales, I've recently moved on to mysteries. Historical mysteries. I'm not even sure that's the genre's name, but I've embarked on three series that revolve around female heroines of yesteryear, ahead of their time as they launch into crime-solving detective work. The most recent novel twisted around so oddly at the end that the murder victim's father was also the father of her unborn child (eek) and was struck by lightning before he could be apprehended. Perhaps these are not so dissimilar from outlandish apocalypse scenarios after all. Anyway, who knows how long this will last, but for now, it's a welcome change. Hey, murders and crime must be better than flesh-eating zombies and roving bands of cannibals...right?
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