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We chase shadows we
Author: Richard OsmanPage Count: UnknownPublication Date: Expected publication 2026-09-15 APL Grating garlic over the quinoa while my butter chicken marinates elsewhere in the kitchen is an exercise in patience—much like waiting for Richard Osman’s next installment, We Chase Shadows. Compositional Brushstrokes and Italian Sunrises A body on the steps of a private villa in the Italian hills. How utterly Caravaggio. Yet, Osman refuses to lean entirely into high-art gloom, keeping his prose breezy enough to pair with a crisp Sancerre. The synopsis gives us a neat little tableau: the corpse, the threatening note, and a trio of investigators who look at law enforcement protocol the way I look at mass-produced polyester upholstery—with absolute disdain. The Curation of Suspects Sweden’s most-wanted criminal. A canny ex-wife. A fierce business rival. Is this a murder mystery or a guest list for a disastrous charity gala in Palm Springs? The sheer accumulation of archetypes feels slightly derivative—almost as if Osman looked at Elmore Leonard’s discarded notebooks and said, "Yes, let's toss all of that into a blender with a British village pub." But I appreciate the global canvas. Art is meant to travel, after all. Still, one wonders if the suspects are merely decorative objects placed on the mantelpiece for aesthetic variety. Will they actually possess interior lives, or are they just colorful baubles destined to be shattered by the final chapter? The Shadow Play of Genre Osman trades heavily in the cozy-adjacent market—think a sunnier, less nicotine-stained version of Mick Herron’s Slough House crew, crossed with the domestic comedy of Anthony Horowitz. But what fascinates me as a collector of rare aesthetics is the geography of the chase. Moving from the Mediterranean light of Barcelona and Italy straight to the arid heat of Palm Springs and back to a damp English pub? That is a jarring tonal shift. Can a writer successfully transition from sun-drenched coastal dread to cozy pint-pulling without giving the reader literary whiplash? I have my doubts. The synopsis promises danger traveling close to home, yet it plays its cards so close to the chest that I suspect the mystery itself might be entirely weightless. Just a clever parlor trick wrapped in international jet-setting. We shall see if the craftsmanship holds up under scrutiny, or if it merely functions as literary fast food for people who buy their prints at IKEA. My private chef is waiting for my dinner instructions.