Reading, for me, is entertainment and an escape from the real world. But it can also inform and stretch the boundaries of the life I live.
I was enjoying this book so much that I have just blown off all my Saturday obligations to finish it. No yardwork, no housework, no work-work, no grocery shopping. Until the last three chapters. The author created interesting, and creepy, characters in three separate storylines, then wove those storylines together. Disaster was hinted at, increasingly looming in every chapter. Nearly all my notes to myself from about a third of the book forward were, “oh no, this won’t end well”. Chekhov’s gun principles were well applied – a plot device I always approve of. So I could not believe the last three chapters. Every little thread was so neatly, conveniently wrapped up. So many inconsistencies. So many gaping plot holes. I feel incredibly let down. Still, I couldn’t quite bring myself to rate this only three stars, because the majority of the book was a helluva ride.