What Angels Fear

I love a good historical mystery, as is fairly evident by my book blog so far (note to self - expand horizons). This book is what can be determined as the Jane Fallon of historical mysteries - pleasant to read, kept me mildly interested, but ultimately I don't feel like I spent a magical few hours with a book - it was simply sufficient.

Set in 1811 with the rape and murder of a popular actor (and sometimes whore), it settles around a roguish aristocrat trying to clear his name by figuring out whom the real killer must be. He goes all over industrial London, and enlists the help of another actor-whore and a plucky young eastender. Several red herrings/romances/mistaken identities/ridiculous costumes/regency balls later, he finally gets his man.

Honestly, it was OK. I was mildly entertained, as much by the story as by the portrayal of the thick London Police. It seemed pretty unlikely that even they could not find this guy when he went underground - the hero was about as stealth as myself, but a whole lot less dashing.

Anyway, this mildly amusing tale gets 2.5 rakishly tied cravats out of 5 - a grand total of meh.