A Red Herring without Mustard by Alan Bradley

I still find the Flavia novels to be incredibly humorous, and I had a lot of fun with the chemistry as usual; however, I will admit book three was not top notch.

The state of Buckshaw Manor ever declining into a state of bankruptcy because of a man who will only stare at stamps all day was just depressing. Add on top of that a dysfunctional butler and cook, and the hateful relationship between Flavia and her two older sisters, and you just have a giant rain cloud over the story.

A beacon of light in the darkness was the introduction of a Romani gypsy. Her fortune-telling, and subsequent truth-telling during the caravan drive, were brilliant.  I'm just sad we didn't get to experience more of it, and I most certainly could have lived without Porcelain.

The mystery was decent and full of red herrings as the title suggests, but the world of Bishop's Lacey seems to be sliding further from the path of reality with each book. 

1. We have an 11-year-old who merely considers the chemical make up of blood when she finds herself covered in it. 
2. A very tiny amount of time has lapsed between dead bodies. (That is one hexed part of England.)
3. Flavia behaves like a 40-year-old with only small moments of remembering she is not even a teenager.
4. And her fascination with Inspector Hewitt and Antigone...

I seriously wonder at the mental health of Flavia. I'm hoping that the next novel is a bit more believable, otherwise I might have to consider the author a wash. Fiction stretches the rules of reality, but it shouldn't be insane.