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Honestly, you guys, I read this so you don't have to.

What the heck happened here? Was the author high when he wrote this? Do I also need to be high to understand it? Because the entire time I was reading this, I kept waiting for someone to jump out of the bushes and tell me that it's a joke, that they're pulling my leg, because this was such a hot mess I'm having trouble believing it's for real.

Let's start with my biggest issue, which was the writing style. There was something really strange and off-putting about it. It felt impenetrable on purpose, there to maximumly confuse and confound the reader. And I'll tell you what, it succeeded.

The dialogue in particular was incredibly affected and obtuse, almost to the point of incomprehensibility. Often, one participant would make a "witty" remark about something random, then the other participant would parry back with something equally "witty" and baffling, and we'd go back and forth. Obviously no real people talk like this, so it makes the characters all seem ridiculous and full of themselves.

But it wasn't just the dialogue. Almost every description and scene felt overly theatrical and bombastic, to the point of pretentiousness. At times, we even got stage directions and setting of the scenes, as if we were in some sort of dramatic play instead of prose. To say I was puzzled is an understatement. Why would the author choose to write in this way?

The pace was excruciatingly slow. Almost nothing happens for a long time. You could conceivably skip the first 100 or even 200 pages without having missed anything because nothing really happens until the last few chapters. And this book has a lot of pages (400) and chapters (100), so you're in it for a long time.

The mystery itself has potential, but it's so buried under how the story is written that it's hard to take it for what it is. By the time we get to the reveal, I feel like someone had been messing with me for so long, I couldn't muster up enough excitement to care about what was happening.

The whole time reading this, my primary feeling was one of bewilderment. Bewilderment at the bizarre writing style, bewilderment at the long length, and bewilderment at the lack of editing and polishing that somehow sent this out the door.

Perhaps the author had an idea, went to write it, and proceeded to write himself into a corner he could not back out of. While I wasn't a fan of A.J. Finn's first book (unreliable narrators aren't my usual jam), I could still see its appeal to others. But not so much with this one. My suggestion is, if you're a fan of the author's first book, it's probably best to pretend this one doesn't exist and just wait for his next one.

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See also, my thoughts on:
The Woman in the Window
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