The title of the book is actually When the Music’s Over but my title is better because it lets you know straightaway what the book is about. Peter Robinson is the author of a popular mystery series set in the UK but lately his books have been running out of steam. So Robinson decided to compensate for the absence of any kind of mystery or of an interesting plot with a desperate attempt to milk the Rotherham child rape scandal.
The author tries very hard to ensure that not a single prurient detail of sexual abuse of British girls by men of Pakistani origins remains outside of his novel. At the same time, he is careful to hammer the message that the homegrown British pervs are even worse home as often as he can. As a result, the novel has a weird disjointed structure and ends up being quite boring. Or maybe my disillusionment with the genre makes it seem that way.
I didn’t like it, in short. I don’t appreciate people trying to exploit Rotherham to make a quick buck. It feels distasteful to me.

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