We are required to read and write a paper on a work of forensic anthropological fiction for one of my classes, so I picked out
Death du Jour by Kathy Reichs. I'd been getting through it relatively well despite the irritating perfection of the main character, Temperance Brennan, and was enjoying the fact that I finally had an excuse to read something unpeer-reviewed. I was right in the middle of a grisly chapter detailing the autopsy of a arson victim before class when a friend walked past and asked,
"Is that a romance novel?!"
To my horror, I realized that the size and cover art of Death du Jour bore a heavy resemblance to your average grocery-store bought romance novel. The only thing missing was Fabio. I now know to read Kathy Reichs in the privacy of my own apartment.
