Behind Her Eyes by Sarah Pinborough

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"That ending!"

"That ending!"

"That ending!"

And my personal favorite, the ever-eloquent: "that ending was fucked up," though I would describe it more as absurd, outlandish, and bullocks, to use in favor of the American version of "complete bullshit." Behind Her Eyes by Sarah Pinborough is like bad sex - interesting and cryptic, but a little confusing at first; a decent enough middle to keep you powering through, but then an ending that is a complete disappointment, leaving you wishing you had just watched 20/20 instead.

Louise is a single-mom and a part-time secretary who, one night, meets a man at a bar. They talk and flirt and spark a connection fueled by alcohol and excitement, only to discover the next day their boss-secretary relationship. Then Louise meets Adele; the beautiful, luminous, mysterious, Adele, wife of The Man from The Bar. And though Louise tries in vain to stay away, she is inexplicably drawn into the lives of David and Adele, and the extremely shaky foundation on which their marriage is built. As Louise peels back the pages of their lives, there are definitely way more questions than answers, and one that you will most undoubtedly have is, "What the fuck am I reading?"

The problem with there being so much hype about the ending is that I found myself reading for the ending, and it didn't help that the story is confusedly cryptic, the dream analysis and whole Second Door business going way over my head. It is sinister and haunting, if only for the choppy way in which it's written, and the transitions aren't at all seamless, which I suppose is the point. The beginning is a bit boring, but once things start to be explained, the pages flip much faster, and then, of course, there is the infamous ending, which you either love or hate. I find it to be a bit of a cop-out; a dumbing-down of an otherwise good story. And, yes, even though it is completely unpredictable and everything a shocking twist should be, it is also the strangest way to explain it all away, and the weirdest ending to a Domestic Noir that I could ever imagine. Now it's pretty much impossible not to read this book for the ending. ⭐⭐/5 on my goodreads.

Hidden Bodies by Caroline Kepnes

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If you're the person who wrote the synopsis of Hidden Bodies on the book jacket, then consider yourself one of the lucky few who didn't actually read this novel by Caroline Kepnes, the follow-up to the darkly sexual You. Be thankful that you side-stepped this filthy poor excuse for a story (but still got paid).

The book jacket says that Joe Goldberg, Serial Stalker and Accidental Serial Killer, moves to Los Angeles for a fresh start, and to find love, but can't stop looking over his shoulder because "hidden bodies never stay hidden," when - in fact - Joe does not move to LA for a fresh start, he is most definitely not looking for love, and hidden bodies aren't actually a nuisance to Joe until the second-to-last chapter. This book - which is coated in a thin layer of ick - is a big fuck-you to Hollywood and everyone in the industry. It's a running list of rejected screenplays, and, yet, is somehow a tale of wildest dreams coming true, and it's the most unexpected representation of blatant sexism, Kepnes unabashedly portraying every male character as a simple-minded, blow-job obsessed, robot, including our hero, Joe. I'm not going to tell you the synopsis, and if you've watched the second season of You on Netflix, it's not that either.

The beginning is as you'd expect for the sequel to You - erotic and sinisterly sexy - but quickly turns dirty, raunchy, and just plain gross. As you power through the filth, and presumably shower several times, Joe is bitter, angry, and crass. OG Joe was our hero stalker, protecting Beck from Benji and Peach and herself, but LA Joe is on the hunt for revenge; a hunt for "Supercunts," the use of this word a little too prolific for my taste, but ultimately getting distracted by feeling compelled to murder everyone who irritates him. I've read trashy, grocery-store pseudo-romance novels, and I've watched porn, but this book is just foul; absolute garbage.

The only redeeming qualities of this book, if you can call them that, is that Joe has remarkably good luck and a remarkably fulfilling sex-life in spite of his penchant for killing people; he's moved on from simple stalking. And I agree with his sentiments about LA: it's claustrophobic, dirty, expensive, you spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about parking, you experience three different seasons in one day - mild spring in the morning, intense humidity in late morning, desert-like heat for the afternoon, and freezing nights - and although everything is literally leaning up against everything else, everyone drives everywhere even though everyone is worried about parking. Wow, I sounded like Joe there for a minute. But while a lot seems to happen to Joe, nothing actually happens; it's just the wanderings and bitter observations of a bitter man; hundreds of pages of Joe's melodramatic, narcissistic, bitching and moaning. I sped through it because, like bad sex, I was waiting for something interesting to happen, and when I eventually realized that that was never going to happen, I just wanted it to be over so I could move on to a good book, which is a true story involving the Holocaust, if that tells you anything about how much I enjoyed Hidden Bodies. ⭐/5 on my goodreads profile, and that's being generous. Will I continue to follow Joe's journey in You Love Me? Most likely no.

I'm Thinking of Ending Things by Iain Reid

Since giving birth, I've read the last half of Sold On A Monday, the entirety of The People We Hate at the Wedding, and half of This Is Not Over, and yet I managed to read I'm Thinking Of Ending Things by Iain Reid in exactly two days. And those two days involved the older kids being home from school, and the first drop in temperature and snow storm, virtually stranding them inside the house. I first saw this book - where else? - on Instagram, and when I saw it in Target, I bought it for this tagline alone: "You will be scared. But you won't know why." In my ever-evolving reading career, I've grown to appreciate books with little to no description, and I even find myself steering away from books with overly long and complicated synopses. I'm Thinking of Ending Things lives up to its limited description. You will be scared and you won't know why, and then you will feel incredibly uncomfortable.

The book doesn't offer a synopsis, so I won't either, but that might just be an impossible task, anyway. How do you describe a book like this? This book? It's short and to the point even though there are moments when it feels like the story is getting away from you. It is, at times, overly complicated, but in a way that makes you feel creepily disoriented, like you're walking through a maze of mirrors. It is a scary story, but it also offers insight and epiphanies into the complex function of our brains and our minds, and what it means to be human. It's like those dreams where nothing innately scary happens, but you wake up feeling weird and scared, anyway. Between reading this book and watching The Good Place, my mind has been properly fucked with.

I don't usually read scary stories until this time of year, just like I only read beach-reads in the summer, and I am always hoping that what I choose will be scarier than The Shining, even books deemed, "scary as hell," by King, himself. But nothing has measured up to The Shining, not even Pet Sematary, which is scary for an entirely different reason altogether. I'm Thinking of Ending Things definitely keeps you guessing and keeps the pages turning; there is no way you won't want to know the conclusion, until you do, and then you kind of wish you didn't.

In my limited knowledge of triggers, I believe the end of this novel is one. BUT, I can't tell you what the trigger is without spoiling not just the ending, but the entire book as well. The end isn't exactly unexpected, but it is disturbing, and I honestly don't know how I would be able to watch the Netflix movie after having read the book. Well, ok...I am slightly curious...maybe tomorrow as it continues to snow...⭐⭐⭐⭐/5 on goodreads. CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE $5.00 Like New.                     

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A Simple Favor by Darcey Bell

I seem to be coming across more and more reviews on Goodreads that I find particularly confusing or...inaccurate, for lack of a better word. I don't usually read the reviews in order to determine if I will read a book or not, mainly because people like to play it fast and loose with the details. But once I am done with a book, I'll peruse the reviews out of curiosity, and those of Darcey Bell's A Simple Favor - yes, the very same as the movie starring Blake Lively and Anna Kendrick - are some I didn't agree with, but not because I feel like A Simple Favor is some kind of literary masterpiece.

One review in particular that shows up first says that Bell is lucky to have her "contrived," "stinker of a novel," purchased for the movie rights, when the very first thing that I thought was, I know exactly why this book was purchased for the movie rights.

Stephanie is an isolated Stay-at-Home Mommy-blogger (not unlike myself) who suddenly finds herself immersed in her best friend, Emily's, life once Emily goes unexpectedly missing. What is artificial on the surface - the juvenile writing, the blatant ineptitude of the would-be protagonist (if one actually exists in this story, and I don't think one does), and the story as old as time - actually speaks to more complex themes and explores different ideas, and *that* is why I think it was snatched up to be made into a movie, and why the multi-faceted talents of Kendrick and Lively were picked to play the main characters.

The foundation of the book, that everyone has secrets, is the stable ship that carries some very unstable people. And where other Domestic Noir novels work extra hard for character empathy and elaborate reasons for unreasonable actions, A Simple Favor simply tells the story of best friends behaving badly. And in direct contrast to my usual complaints that every mystery thriller is compared to Gone Girl, I am going to go ahead and compare it to Gone Girl in that it is exactly like Gone Girl if Gone Girl was about two female best friends instead of a husband and wife; and, just like Gone Girl, everyone deserves each other.

Also on the surface is the cheesy, over-used theme showcasing the underbelly of misrepresenting ourselves online. Stephanie is an insipid character who is subtly narcissistic and manipulates the tragedy of others to gain validation from online strangers. She is that special kind of willful ignorance who avoids the truth in favor of feeding her own ego and self-interests, though she tries (unsuccessfully) to be remorseful for her ideas and behaviors.

Unlike Stephanie, Emily makes no attempt to veil her unfavorable thoughts or actions, which speaks to present day real life in that most of us do things that we know are wrong simply because we want to do them. In reading this book, I found that I have more empathy for these women than I did in any of the other domestic thrillers I have read *because* there is no special, overly-detailed, vengeful reason for why they do what they do. And it certainly isn't as a result of some dumb male acting dumb. This book makes the movie unlike any other - where the men sit back and enjoy the ride. I find that, currently, nothing is more relatable than these two characters.

This certainly isn't the best book I have ever read, which is why I gave it three out of five stars on Goodreads, but I feel the need to defend it to a certain extent. I would enjoy seeing the movie, I'm curious to see these characters acted out on screen, and if - also like Gone Girl - the intentions of the characters remain the same. This book is definitely a page-turner, but not one to read if you need to like any of the characters; you will definitely not like any of these characters.