One of the especially lovely things about having a blog is when someone discovers an old post and restarts a conversation from, like, eight years ago. It was a key reason I opted for blogging ahead of other online options, since everyone reads books at their own rate and should be able to discuss them when they’re ready (I, for instance, am months and years away from reading a book that you, dear reader, already absolutely love). So when a representative of Digital Parchment Services cropped up on an old post to let me know that reprints of the wonderfully witty Kelley Roos novels and novellas were in the works, well, I was delighted, to put it mildly.
Sometimes you just have to bite a bullet: following the 
There are times when it’s possible to pinpoint the exact moment when a novel doesn’t fulfil its promise, and given the intricacy of many novels of detection these can sometimes be very keenly felt. Perhaps the detective is an absolute duffer (an accusation frequently levelled at Freeman Wills Croft’s Inspector French), or the guilty party comes disappointingly out of nowhere (as in John Dickson Carr’s The Blind Barber), or perhaps the solution offered up to a brilliant problem is a shade on the simplistic side (the disappearance from the locked bathroom in John Sladek’s otherwise-superb 
The Invisible Event 