I am conflicted. I want to tell you all about James Renner’s first fiction novel, The Man from Primrose Lane. I want you to understand how this book is so gripping and filled with tension in one moment, yet entirely tender in another. I want to convey the way in which the characters drag you into their lives so completely, that despite the utterly fantastic events described, I found myself investigating whether this was actually a story of fiction at all. I want to share with you the torrential love and hate and heartbreak you will feel as the mystery opens up and swallows you whole. I want to write my way out of the rabbit hole that is The Man from Primrose Lane and meet you on the surface with a map and a glow-stick for when you read it. But, really, what fun would that be for you?
Instead, I will give you my poor man’s dust jacket plot and then urge you: read nothing else about this book. You do not want to know. Trust me.
This book follows David Neff, a successful true-crime author who, after an early retirement, begins to slip back into the game, investigating the murder of a peculiar old hermit. But, the more he learns about the case, the more intrenched he becomes, until he can no longer separate himself from the mystery.
It’s a bit crap, I know, but that’s all you get. The rest must come directly from the horse’s mouth. Avoid the Amazon reviews and even the book description, do not read the blurbs on the back of the cryptically morbid dust jacket, for goodness sake do not “click to look inside,” and let no one tell you anything about the book itself. Just get a copy here, available in hard cover or for your Kindle, and start reading. You will understand soon enough.