Still death to me

Still Life
Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #1
by Louise Penny

This is a did-not-finish, but I'm writing about it so that I won't accidentally try another one of the series. It seemed to be everything I wanted in a cozy, but no. It's not all that cozy, for one thing--the victim is an elderly lady and the description of her best friend's feelings is awfully sad.

Since a murder mystery by definition involves murder, aka death of a human being, it's hard to write around the realism of human pain and come up with a believable, but non-bummer, story. Somehow writers do it--some make the victim really unlikable so they won't have any grief to write. Some simply gloss over the victim, as in "I wish I'd known her better!" But this is the only one I've ever seen that had a close friend who was grieving suddenly realize that, "but I'm a Christian and I believe in heaven, so why should I be sad? I'll be seeing her soon enough! I'll just shrug this off and be happy--right now, done."

Sheez. Anyone who could write that has probably never experienced loss. In any event, after reading that I put the book down and let it die a little death of its own.

There are two many characters and the author's POV switches from one character to another at a dizzying rate. And her writing style appears to be trying to imitate some Victorian-era novelist with the clunky and overly wordy descriptions. Here's a sample,
Carved pumpkins squatted on each step up the the sweeping veranda of the B & B. Inside, worn oriental rugs and overstuffed chairs, lights with tassels and a collection of oil lamps gave Gamache the impression of walking into his grandparents' home.

This level of colorful description can be tolerated--but only up to a very short point. Maybe one paragraph per chapter. No more, and preferably less.
Not for me.