What do you do if you’re an American ex-pat living in London who loses your job reporting for NBC News? Write a mystery-comedy about a bumbling amateur detective searching for the 10-year- old bully who has gone missing from her son’s posh English private school, natch.

That’s the outline of Sarah Harman’s first novel, “All the Other Mothers Hate Me,” and while it’s not going to win any publishing prizes, it’s a breezy read with more than a few lol moments.

The narrator is Florence Grimes, the 31-year-old single “mum” of Dylan. A former singer in a band called Girls’ Night, she left the group (to her eternal regret) before it became famous and is now delivering balloon arches to Londoners who can afford them.

While the police investigate the disappearance of the bully Alfie, Florence starts to find troubling signs that maybe Dylan had something to do with it. And so in an effort to clear her son’s name, she teams up with another single school mom, a high-strung corporate attorney named Jenny, to play their own version of Keystone Kops.

While Florence is a fun hang throughout the book, the plot doesn’t hold readers’ attention like more tightly crafted mysteries by the likes of Paula Hawkins or Ruth Ware. To be fair, it has a much lighter tone than those literary thrillers, but by the denouement, it would be nice to feel more dread. There’s never a sense that Florence is really putting her life in danger, despite the presence of a kidnapper and a gun.

There is a conclusion though, and Harman writes eloquently about motherhood in the story’s final pages. She has created a character in Florence that readers will like spending time with — so who knows, if enough of them buy the book, maybe this is the start of a No. 2 Ladies’ Detective Agency. — Rob Merrill, Associated Press

It’s a commonplace that women of middle age and older become invisible, meaning they are no longer noticed by men, or by the world in general. For Jane Tara’s heroine, Tilda Finch, this is no metaphor.

In “Tilda Is Visible,” the title character wakes one day to find she cannot see her pinky finger — she senses that it’s still there, but it has disappeared. She will soon learn that “disappear” is a politically incorrect word for what’s happened to her. As her doctor tells her, “We don’t use that term anymore. Invisibility advocates are very much against it.”

This witty bit is an example of the ongoing humor that tempts one to put aside concerns about the unabashed on-the-nose- ness of Tara’s premise. Yes, Tilda is becoming invisible; her ear and nose are next to go. But why?

Though her husband left her years ago, and she has been single ever since, she has a house on the beach, loving, successful 21-year-old twin daughters, a supportive friend group and a great business she started herself.

Though Tilda’s doctor informs her that the condition is incurable and sends her to a rather discouraging support group, her woo-woo best friend Leith gets her an appointment with the illustrious Selma Nester, who is either a quack or a genius, depending on whom you ask.

The wittiness of Tara’s tale comes hard up against its preachy, teachy intentions. You should also not throw in the kitchen sink, introducing a domestic abuse subplot with equally instructive lineaments at the 11th hour.

But there’s more! This book also is a rom-com, giving invisible Tilda a hot, deep, sensitive, billionaire surfer boyfriend who is —wait for it — blind! This is so over-the-top it’s almost fun. Which, as a person who probably knows everything she needs to know about becoming a self- actualized woman of a certain age, is the best I can say for “Tilda Is Visible.”

Some will love this self-help book masquerading as a novel, and the rest should consider yourselves warned. — Marion Winik, Minnesota Star Tribune