Mrs Death dictates her memoirs to a struggling London writer.

Dear Mrs Death, it’s not you, it’s me… I’m convinced that this is a book that I would enjoy (I was really expecting to), except that I picked it up at totally the wrong time, so don’t necessarily let my DNFing put you off! I loved that Death is an old black woman, which is a refreshing diversion from the usual representation of death as the (skeletal) grim reaper. But I struggled with the narrator - he was all over the place, and while the snippets of story were interesting, I felt like I was reading something written by an inconsistent drunk person. After 100 pages, although I wanted to know more of the story, it was just too much hard work for me right now. I do want to pick this one up again in the future, when I’m a little more receptive to something with such a “literary” feel to the writing (basically when I’m less sleep-deprived and have better powers of concentration…). An intriguing and promising story with interesting execution, but which I tried to read at the wrong time for me.