Reading dates: 3 October — 11 December 2013
I read this book in the wrong way. I don’t think it is meant to be read in one go, in the same way that a box of ibuprofen is not meant to be taken all at once. Yes, it feels I have overdosed on something that in small chunks might have taken a pain away. The stories are lovely, like a bowl of spicy chickpea stew, warming, just right. I love Father Brown; I am a little hesitant about this heresy but I think I love him more than I love Sherlock. He is, of course, less flawed, more moral and spiritual, easier to love. The stories I cared for less are those where he took his time to appear into. Once his little round body and crooked umbrella were in sight, the room had light, everything was going to be ok. And it was. Even if it was too much, I cannot deny the enjoyment of reading these stories. Now that I have read them all, I will go back to them during my next virus, my next flu, one at a time, as I think they are meant to be read.