My latest book had been out for less than a month when the emails started to arrive.
One came from “Elena”, with the tantalising subject line, “When history flutters its wings and reveals a crime too beautiful to ignore.” Then followed a long, florid message about how it was “one of those rare true stories that makes you question everything you thought you knew about history, museums, and human obsession”.
What’s more, she said I had written with “prose that feels like chasing a butterfly through time graceful, deliberate, and a little dangerous”.
I don’t know what it says about me that my gut reaction to such gushing praise is suspicion.
There were other red flags. A reverse image search of Elena’s profile picture revealed that this smiling woman dressed in white, raising a coffee cup to the camera, was in fact a widely circulated stock image.
Elena wasn’t my only new fan.
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