January 25: Tales from Perach (reread) by Shira Glassman, because something that happened in A Harvest of Ripe Figs made something in one of the stories much clearer.
January 25: A Harvest of Ripe Figs by Shira Glassman. I bought the two Mangoverse books I didn’t have yet and don’t want to stop after The Second Mango. I like it when queens do their own detective work!
January 25: The Second Mango by Shira Glassman, as unicorn chaser for Artists in Crime. It’s the first, and that shows, it doesn’t have the easy swing of the others yet, but full of nice people (and a couple of nasty people who are Dealt With). I’m reading it as a prequel but that works perfectly because it’s got large flashbacks itself.
 No unicorn though, only a big not-quite-a-mare that can turn into a green dragon.
January 23: Artists in Crime by Ngaio Marsh. Seems to be one of the less irritating ones. Finished it, though it was hard going: I remember now why I stopped reading Ngaio Marsh: pretty much all the characters are annoying unpleasant people. And they smoke so much! I wish I’d counted from the beginning because I don’t want to go through it again to mark every time someone lights a cigarette. Long enough since previous reading that I didn’t remember whodunnit. It’s foreshadowed rather cunningly, though (never said she was a bad writer, just that her characters are unlikeable).
January 19: Mio, min Mio by Astrid Lindgren (in translation). Childhood favourite, still gives me all the feels (but I didn’t remember the genie at the beginning!).
January 19: Het spiegelkasteel by Paul Biegel (exists in English as The Looking-Glass Castle). Somewhat more symbolic and less plotty than I remembered, a magical mystery tour rather than a magical journey.
January 19: The third Shakespeare and Smythe, Much Ado About Murder. More of the same but hard to stop. I can’t read on in #4 though: Kobo has never heard of it, only of Simon Hawke’s Star Trek novels (the one I’ve got is rather military and that’s not what I want to read right now). Shakespeare and Smythe did get ever more splainy as I read on, and retreading the earlier books, so perhaps it’s all for the best.