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A review by emmareadstoomuch
The Wife Between Us by Sarah Pekkanen, Greer Hendricks
2.0
I believe pretty constantly that I am stuck in some purgatory-esque punishing cycle of monotony.
https://emmareadstoomuch.wordpress.com/2018/02/03/am-i-only-capable-of-unpopular-opinions-the-chalk-man-the-wife-between-us-reviews/
I believe I am sentenced to a lifetime of reading the same comment on my pre-review of Turtles All the Way Down. I believe I will never escape my apparently unbelievably high standards for books, considering I never like anything. And now, I believe that I will forever hate every thriller.
BECAUSE NOW EVERY THRILLER IS THE GIRL ON THE TRAIN.
Let’s back up.
The Girl on the Train is a bad book. I talk about how it sucks harder than anything here. The characters are bad. The protagonist is drunk and also drinking all the time, so 80% of the hellscape language is vodka and/or wine related, and the 20% that isn’t usually revolves around the protagonist’s worrying about their (but almost always her) weight. This combination accomplishes the impressive feat of making the book even boring-er. There are no thrills or spooks or compelling mysteries. There are some twists, but they don’t feel twisty, either a) because they’re predictable, b) because they’re uninteresting, or c) because the writing is so sh*t that it doesn’t even inject some shock value into what’s supposed to be essentially the sole redeeming moment of the whole shebang.
Some of this is observable in The Grown-Up and Final Girls. Most of it can be found in The Couple Next Door and The Chalk Man. ABSOLUTELY ALL OF IT CAN BE FOUND IN THIS BOOK.
Especially the thing with the twists. There were maybe 4 twists? Not exactly the nonstop thrill ride the synopsis indicates, but definitely has potential, if not for the fact that I predicted at least half of them and couldn’t tell whether I predicted the other two or was just so hopelessly bored that nothing mattered anyway, and therefore nothing held the capacity to shock.
I’ve said this a million times, and I’m still astounded I’ve ever had to say it at all: All I want from a thriller is thrills. I’m mystified as to how that seems to be so much to ask for.
The other thing I know for goddamn sure is that I never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, EVER in my life want to read about an aging alcoholic worrying about the softness around her hips while handling the world’s most boring mystery with the greatest incompetence ever beheld by the eyes of man EVEREVEREVER again.
Bottom line: (Michael Scott voice) No! God! No! God, please, no! No! No! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
https://emmareadstoomuch.wordpress.com/2018/02/03/am-i-only-capable-of-unpopular-opinions-the-chalk-man-the-wife-between-us-reviews/
I believe I am sentenced to a lifetime of reading the same comment on my pre-review of Turtles All the Way Down. I believe I will never escape my apparently unbelievably high standards for books, considering I never like anything. And now, I believe that I will forever hate every thriller.
BECAUSE NOW EVERY THRILLER IS THE GIRL ON THE TRAIN.
Let’s back up.
The Girl on the Train is a bad book. I talk about how it sucks harder than anything here. The characters are bad. The protagonist is drunk and also drinking all the time, so 80% of the hellscape language is vodka and/or wine related, and the 20% that isn’t usually revolves around the protagonist’s worrying about their (but almost always her) weight. This combination accomplishes the impressive feat of making the book even boring-er. There are no thrills or spooks or compelling mysteries. There are some twists, but they don’t feel twisty, either a) because they’re predictable, b) because they’re uninteresting, or c) because the writing is so sh*t that it doesn’t even inject some shock value into what’s supposed to be essentially the sole redeeming moment of the whole shebang.
Some of this is observable in The Grown-Up and Final Girls. Most of it can be found in The Couple Next Door and The Chalk Man. ABSOLUTELY ALL OF IT CAN BE FOUND IN THIS BOOK.
Especially the thing with the twists. There were maybe 4 twists? Not exactly the nonstop thrill ride the synopsis indicates, but definitely has potential, if not for the fact that I predicted at least half of them and couldn’t tell whether I predicted the other two or was just so hopelessly bored that nothing mattered anyway, and therefore nothing held the capacity to shock.
I’ve said this a million times, and I’m still astounded I’ve ever had to say it at all: All I want from a thriller is thrills. I’m mystified as to how that seems to be so much to ask for.
The other thing I know for goddamn sure is that I never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, EVER in my life want to read about an aging alcoholic worrying about the softness around her hips while handling the world’s most boring mystery with the greatest incompetence ever beheld by the eyes of man EVEREVEREVER again.
Bottom line: (Michael Scott voice) No! God! No! God, please, no! No! No! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!