Daniel B.
If you are a guy, you're going to need to take a double shot of estrogen and binge a season of Ally McBeal with a box of Kleenex to get you in the mood for this novel. No, wait, see if you can find an edited version of Ally McBeal that has been stripped of every enjoyable shred of content...then you're set to launch into this molasses-paced romp through Cliché-land. A single mom struggles to raise an obnoxious five year-old child with thick glasses and a bad heart while her medical insurance is cancelled by a moustache-twisting vaudevillian villain of a boss. What could be more endearing than the toddler wrapping himself in TP while clutching an open jar of peanut butter in the crook of his arm? I spent what felt like fifty miles of a ten mile journey hearing how the li'l scamper insisted on getting a dog rather than a hamster. Oh, and the mom is a lawyer having trouble seeing her client in jail, but that part occupies relatively little of the first 30 minutes of this "Patterson" book. I was slightly tempted to see how the interaction between our protagonist and the handsome hunk of a judge panned out (because every judge you see in real life is a romance novel hunky Adonis, right?), but I decided to spend the rest of my evening staring at a dripping faucet, as I found that far more captivating. Moving on to a Connelly ASAP.