Well, once again, I feel bad. I really should have liked this book. We've got a former spy who turned into an Anglican priest. I have a fondness for Anglican clergy. We've got an eccentric, small British village. I love old-time small British village life. We've got quirky characters galore. I love quirky characters. My spouse liked the book and recommended it. My spouse used to be my greatest source of reading material, and she's done a rather good job lo all these many years. But...I didn't really like the book at all. It didn't suck enough to garner a mere 2*s, but were I allowed to give +s and -s, I'd have marked it ***-.
I think part of the problem was that it was overly furnished, as Willa Cather might say, the property manager was too busy filling the pages with unnecessary descriptions of "things". Then too, overly much of the story didn't ring particularly true to me. Perhaps I'm all wrong, but it felt to me that many of the cultural references were appropriate to Americans, but not so much to the British, particularly British living in small, quaint villages. The various plot revelations, such as they were, hidden amongst all the furnishings, just sort of jumped out with no prior motivation or planning. It just didn't make a lot of sense. The final summary worked, sort of, but getting there was jumpy, clumsy and not well planned. I have no plans to read any sequels by this author.