You know those books that really aren’t very good, but somehow keep you reading anyway? The Torso in the Town is one of those. A bit of an obvious mystery novel, it has a reasonable plotline with some fairly well-developed characters, but the style of writing is… clunky. It sort of tentatively pokes at the idea of actual writing in the same way in which the people of England are currently traversing their pavements: with uncertainty and trepidation. The feeling of utter despair that shot through me when I realised the book was one in a series was also not a very good omen. Bearable, somehow gripping, but ultimately not really worth it.