I can't even

Darcie Wilde’s A Useful Woman makes you think it’s an Austenian murder mystery featuring a bright and charming woman of the upper echelons who uses her wit and connection to solve murder cases to the surprise and sensation of the ton. But it’s not. It’s really not. There’s nothing vaguely Austenian here to make you gasp in schadenfreude delight and/or glaring indignation. The heroine is wearisome and infuriating, the hero a cardboard cutout of a Disney prince. The murder is utterly uninspired and this entire affair as uneventful as it gets. Don’t bother. Just don’t.