Picked this up in the Valentin bookbox, it is thick but looks like a page-turner. Unfortunately I left it outside on the balcony and we had a storm... usually my balcony is sheltered from the rain but this was a bit of a wild storm and my cushions and several books that were out there are soaked. No real harm done but it will look a bit puckered when dry.

More than 700 pages but it was a quick read - an involved story about a mysterious painting claimed by an old resident of Amsterdam, which had been confiscated by the Nazis. Plenty of amstellodamois (as they say in French) atmosphere and a fascinating foray into alchemy... I don't want to say too much so as not to spoil. I did find the writing style very much over-the-top at first: this writer can't say anything simply, but once the intrigue got underway, the purpleness seemed to fizzle out and things speeded up. Suspense right to the end. But some things don't seem natural - addressing someone as Chickenshit for a start. And things like this:
A low soup of fog still clung to the water, the odd gossamer wisp tearing itself away. "Tra la!" she thought. "Tra la!".
What?

dans la boîte