Which is why at my library I eagerly snatched up a novel with the following blurb:
Atlanta lawyer Miles Lord, fluent in Russian and well versed in the country's history, is thrilled to be in Moscow on the eve of such a momentous event. After the fall of Communism and a succession of weak governments, the Russian people have voted to bring back the monarchy. The new tsar will be chosen from among the distant relatives of Nicholas II by a specially appointed commission...
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you The Romanov Prophecy, by Steve Berry.
The novel is in the Da Vinci Code tradition, involving a prophecy, a secret handed down for generations, Rasputin, and a hero who has people trying to kill him for no apparent reason. All good fun.
Stylistically the book leaves something to be desired. "The man from the front seat had the sloped forehead, bushy hair, and bulbous nose of a Cro-Magnon." Well, maybe that will only bother anthropology majors. But I will forgive much to an author who can, in the twenty-first century, write: "This man had royal blood coursing through his veins. Maybe that was what gave him such presence."