book reviews · Bookish

The Boy at the Door by Alex Dahl (Review)

I’m pleased to be bringing you a book review as part of the #LoveBooksGroupTours for The Boy at the Door by Alex Dahl. Available now on Kindle, in Hardback and Paperback editions.

The Boy at the Door is a psychological thriller based in Norway and goes between the perspective of Cecilia and Tobias. Cecilia, the main character, is married to Johan and has two daughters. She initially appears to be a snobby, obnoxious and entitled woman, but it turns out that there is way more to her than you’d think, and frankly, the blurb doesn’t do the tale justice.

Tobias is a young boy who met Cecilia when he was at the same swimming lessons as her daughter, and when nobody came to pick him up after his lesson.

This book was a strange read for me, although an enjoyable one. I felt a few parts dragged a little, but this negative point was far outweighed by the excellent way Dahl built up the characters and their world and the parts that dragged were a part of that. Can’t have it both ways! So while I wanted to get on with the “meat” of the story, I was happy to really get to know the characters. The writing style was different to what’s typical of the genre and may not appeal to people who dislike a direct sort of tone and prefer a more nuanced style of writing.

Cecilia is not a good person. She’s also clearly got some mental issues. She makes you mad but also evokes sympathy from the reader too. She’s hard to be angry at even though she’s clearly quite regularly in the wrong. Tobias is written so well that you will want to just scoop him up and soothe him at times. The other characters mentioned are easy to visualise – one in particular, Annika, have a very firm and significant presence through the book and her characters story is woven through and will give you a dose of “feelings” too.

The story hits you with a significant event fairly early on and from there, it’s a wild ride. I guessed a small portion of the outcome but there were a bunch of twists that were entirely unexpected. Cecilia is a master at deception. So much so, she manages even to convince the reader with her lies.

We get to the truth in the very end, and I found myself rooting for Cecilia, despite all that she had done. I wanted the ending to be happy, but instead, the ending felt unfinished and left me with so many questions. One significant question – What about Tobias? It felt a little like a see-saw. Up and down and up and down but then the other person gets off and you go down with a massive thump and you’re a bit stunned. It ended with a bang but personally, I find these types of endings a little unfulfilling – I’m bad at imagination, even though you can likely fill in the gaps yourself. This is the only thing about the book that bothered me personally. That being said, it didn’t spoil my enjoyment of the book as a whole and I would recommend it to anyone who likes thrillers that are a little bit different.

About the Book

On a rainy October evening, Cecilia Wilborg – loving wife, devoted mother, tennis club regular – is waiting for her kids to finish their swimming lesson. It’s been a long day. She can almost taste the crisp, cold glass of Chablis she’ll pour for herself once the girls are tucked up in bed.

But what Cecilia doesn’t know, is that this is the last time life will feel normal. Tonight she’ll be asked to drop a little boy home, a simple favour that will threaten to expose her deepest, darkest secret…

About the Author

Alex Dahl was born in Oslo, Norway, and is half American, half Norwegian, fully Francophile, and London resident.

Alex is the author of The Boy at the Door, published world-wide in 2018.

She holds an MA in Creative Writing from Bath Spa University, as well as an MSc in Business Management. Alex loves to travel and has previously lived in Moscow, Paris, Stuttgart, Sandefjord, Switzerland and Bath.


book reviews · Bookish

The Judas Tree by Susan Bacoyanis (Review)

The Judas Tree is the second book in the linked series by Susan Bacoyanis, available now, published by Endeavour Media. It is a short read [185 pages] suited for anyone who is a fan women’s psychological thrillers. It’s available both in Paperback and Kindle formats and is available on Kindle Unlimited. If you’ve not tried Kindle Unlimited before, you can get a free, 30 day trial here!

Mary, a 46-year-old divorcee, is a damaged woman who endured many years of abuse and buried it, never dealing with her issues or her feelings surrounding what she went through. She is convinced that she does what is best for the greater good and that her actions are justified.

Having been left for a younger woman, she moves to England. Beginning an affair with her new neighbour across the road, Jonas, she is now the “other woman,” in a relationship with a married man. A man who is nasty, taunting her with the nursery rhyme “Mary, Mary, quite contrary” and already a clearly unfaithful man, he goes on to betray her too. Watching out of her windows, she sees that Jonas has other regular female visitors and is cheating on her, so she sets out for revenge in this dark, psychological thriller.

The history of Mary Tudor is woven through the book and the author explores abuse throughout; some of the acts are taken from real life events in an attempt to generate awareness.

There are so many twists and turns, this book is a wild ride and will grip you from start to finish as you witness Mary’s crusade for revenge and how she deals with her “three blind mice.” Despite becoming a murderess, you can feel empathy for Mary and all she has endured and the series of events that led to her doing the things she did.

My only criticism is that some of the police procedural didn’t ring true, but it didn’t hinder my enjoyment at all as this book is not focused around a police investigation.

Filled with twists and turns, The Judas Tree will have you hooked from start to finish.

Mary Webster’s reaction to her lover’s betrayal is off the chart…Mary seems like an ordinary 46-year-old divorcee, beginning a new life in rural England, but she has depths of pent-up pain, the result of 20 years of marital infidelities and abuse. All she needs is a trigger to unleash savage emotions.


When she becomes entangled with Jonas, a married man, Mary suddenly finds herself in the opposite role of the ‘other woman’. Jonas has a nasty streak, however, and taunts with the nursery rhyme ‘Mary, Mary quite contrary…’.


But when Mary uncovers Jonas’s web of seductive lies, betraying not only herself but his wife and several young village women, she plots her revenge and acts out the real meaning of the nursery rhyme…
As things go from bad to worse, Mary is driven over the edge of normality. Because Mary is not normal … she is damaged. Her only redeeming quality is her belief that she is acting for the greater good …

Susan Bacoyanis’s intriguing psychological thriller The Judas Tree is a chilling tale of multiple acts of betrayal and the consequences of greed. It has deep echoes of Penelope Mortimer’s angry woman classic of the Sixties, The Pumpkin Eater.

Bookish · Uncategorized

Too Close by Natalie Daniels (Excerpt)

Today, I am sharing an excerpt as part of the Random Things Blog Tour for Too Close by Natalie Daniels, out now in both Kindle and Paperback formats and also available as an audiobook. Be sure to check out the other tour spots to find out more!

Excerpt

It’s odd because everyone always calls her beautiful. Her beauty has become a fact; it has been said enough times for any doubt to have been forgotten. But the first time I saw her in the park all those years ago, I have to say she didn’t strike me that way; her beauty took a while to floor me. She was small with wispy blonde hair and pale blue veins that ran down her temples. She had dark bags under her dark eyes – which I know is just called parenting – and from a certain angle her freckled nose looked like someone had given her a good punch. She had a peculiar way of looking at you from the corners of those big dark brown eyes. And she blinked too much. All in all, she struck me as an anxious sort of person. No, I wouldn’t have called her beautiful at all. Not then.

I’d been late picking Annie up from nursery and had found my daughter sitting alone on the bench underneath the empty coat hooks, holding a wooden lollipop stick with a scrunched- up piece of red tissue bodged on to the end.
‘Darling, sorry I’m late,’ I said sitting down next to her, glad to get my breath back. ‘What have you made?’ I asked, looking at the lolly stick in her hand. Karl was better at this sort of thing than me; every shite offering they brought home from school he marvelled at as if the kids were little Leonardos. Left to his own devices, the house would look like one of those hoarder’s places you see on TV, full of clay rubbish and splodges of paint on crinkledpaper.
‘It’s a poppy.’

Of course it was. Remembrance Day was coming up and Annie’s nursery never missed a chance to get creative.

‘That’s lovely! Do you know why you’ve made it? Who is it for?’ I might be late, forget carol concerts and barbecue days, but my God, I do a bit of educating when I can.

She looked up at me and passed me the lolly stick. ‘For you?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘I mean, why have you made it? Who is it for ?’

‘It’s for remembering,’ she said.
‘That’s right.’ She was a genius, my child. ‘Remembering who?’

She had no idea. She shook her head, her cherubic curls bouncing this way and that. Not for the first time I marvelled that such a sweet being came from me.
‘It’s for all the soldiers who died in the war,’ I said, sounding incongruously cheerful about it. She looked up at me, eyes wide with wonder, lips opening in surprise as the mini cogs in her brain whirred. She frowned and turned slowly to examine the wall behind her, reaching out her little fingers to gingerly touch the bumps of roughly applied plaster beneath the clothes pegs.

‘In this wall?’ she asked.
Sometimes she was so adorable I could eat her. ‘Let’s get some sweeties and go to the park!’ I said.

So Annie had scooted ahead, cheeks full of Smarties. She was a kamikaze kind of child. By the time I caught up she was at the top of the slide, bottom lip out, face brimming with misery, staring down at the brightly coloured trail of Smarties bouncing off the ladder and on to the spongy tarmac. Another little girl was standing at the bottom of the ladder picking up the Smarties and popping them into her mouth as fast as she could.

‘No! No! No!’ Annie cried, furious at the nasty little opportunist below her. The mother was oblivious to the scene; she was busy making something on the bench with an older girl. I started picking up the Smarties and was shortly joined by the mother, who was looking down at her fat-cheeked child and making the right remonstrating noises.

‘Naughty, Polly. They are not yours.’
I’ll tell you something peculiar: I remember there was something about her voice that put me on alert; it wasn’t her tone, which was low and calm, or what she said, which was nothing unusual. It was a more intangible feeling: there was something about it that I found deeply comforting yet deeply disturbing at the same time. Church bells do that for me too. I’m not making any sense, am I?

For many years, I would remember that day as a fine example of how we must not trust our first impressions, how foxing they are. Because the truth was, just at the very beginning of it all, I felt an inexplicable and powerful aversion to her, like a tug from the wings, as if I were receiving a warning signal from the great puppet master.
We made polite child-soothing conversation for a while and were then forced to sit together on the bench as the three girls struck up an immediate kinship and went off to look for snails, dropping their grievances with that enviable childhood ease.

‘Do you live nearby?’ I asked.
‘Just beyond the swimming pool,’ she said, nodding vaguely in the direction. ‘We’ve just moved in.’

‘Oh! Which street?’
‘Buxton Road.’
‘Really? Which end?’
And so we discovered that we were neighbours. Shelived just around the corner from us – only four doors away. In fact, I could see her house from the back windows of my own. Our conversation shifted then, as it became evident our lives would be impacting on each other’s – screaming children, rows in the garden, perhaps noisy once- in- a- blue-moon lovemaking on a hot summer night. Why do we women feel impelled to forge intimacies? Two men probably wouldn’t have struck up a conversation at all.
I’d opened Annie’s snack box by now and was picking at some soggy strawberries as our talk moved smoothly from our surroundings and our progeny to ourselves.

‘What do you do?’ she asked me.
‘I write,’ I said.
And without a pause or a further question she said, ‘I write too!’ Something about the way she said it, so rapid a response, seemed rather competitive – I got that tug again.
‘What do you write?’ I asked, offering her a sweating strawberry which she declined.
‘Poetry.’ I looked at her afresh. That was interesting; no one admits to writing poetry. ‘When inspiration strikes,’ she added.

Well, excuse me for being a snob but that is not a writer. That is a dabbler. A writer doesn’t have the luxury of waiting for inspiration; a writer plods on regardless, a writer takes the gamble, lives in penury, gives every- thing up to be a slave to her art. I didn’t let my feelings show, but I suppose in my own way I went straight for the jugular.
‘Do you make a living from it?’
‘No, no.’
Precisely my point: she was not a writer. (We writers have to do any writing we can to fund the writing we want – I ghost-write, I interview, I copy-edit, in order to
afford the time to write books that no one wants to publish.)
‘I’m—Or rather, I used to run galleries. You’ve got some . . .’ She gestured that I had some strawberry juice on my chin. I wiped it. She shook her head and gestured again so I wiped it again.

And then – perhaps you’ll disagree, perhaps you’ll think this is what any mother does – she did something that seemed strangely intimate to me: she licked her finger and gently started to rub my chin with it. And as she did so – it was a stubborn stain – I couldn’t help but take her in: the freckles, the contrast of the blonde hair with those dark eyes. I was just going to ask her about this gallery business when she said, ‘You smell really good. What perfume are you wearing?’

Again, oddly intimate, no? But I’m a sucker for a compliment and I must have visibly brightened.

‘Thank you! It’s Jo Malone: Lime Basil and Mandarin.’
She smiled. She had good teeth, neat and white, like an advert mouth. ‘It’s gorgeous.’
I thought so too but it was very nice to have it pointed out. Looking back, it was probably the compliments that blinkered me to those palpable warning signs. How
pathetic is that?
‘What does your partner do?’ she asked me.
‘He’s a consultant in communications,’ I said, which never fails to shut people up.
‘What about your husband?’ I asked, after the pause.
‘Wife, actually. She works in TV.’
Well, that shut me up. She was a lesbian. How refreshing. This neighbourhood needed a bit of diversity wherever itcould find it; the school had got whiter and blonder with each passing year, the parents more homogeneous – a growing number of men in salmon cords with hearty laughs and women with salon-shiny hair being walked by dogs that didn’t moult. I immediately wanted to ask her about the girls: who was the biological mother? Who was the father? What do they call you? All those obvious questions that no one likes to ask but everyone wants to know. Then all the unobvious questions I wanted to ask, like how she knew she was gay. I was intrigued. I’d always been straight as a die. The idea of making love to a woman had never held any allure for me. I loved men. I loved their bodies, I loved their differences, I loved their masculinity. But I didn’t ask her anything, of course; I tried to give the impression of being cool.
‘I like your hair . . . your fringe,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to tell me where a good hairdresser’s is around here . . . I don’t know the area at all.’ She was patting her wispy locks, looking at me in that sideways way. I have to say, I’d only just had my hair cut and was feeling rather self- conscious about it. Potentially I looked a bit 1974 – and not in a good way. The hairdresser had been somewhat gung- ho and on leaving the salon, I’d caught a glimpse of myself from the side with what looked like a well-groomed guinea pig perching on my forehead.

‘Sure! There’s a good place up by the library,’ I said, leaning over to get a better view of Annie, who was roaming about in a way that made me suspicious – she
had been known to squat down for a crap in the bushes. She’s too feral, that child of mine.
‘I’m Ness, by the way!’ she said, holding out her hand.
‘I’m Connie,’ I replied, shaking hers.

And so the bond was made.
This all seems a very long time ago now. Six long years ago; like a different lifetime, back in the days when I would pass homeless people in the street curled up in urine-drenched corners and carelessly think how on earth did your life go so wrong? Well, now I know. The answer is:
quite easily, as it turns out. You’d think it might be a slow process of deterioration but the truth is it can turn in a moment, maybe even on a stranger’s whim – with a neighbour accepting an offer on a house in Buxton Road, for example.

Blurb

How close is too close?
Connie and Ness met in the park while their children played. As they talked, they realised they were neighbours. Perhaps it was only natural that they and their families would become entirely inseparable.

But when Ness’s marriage ends in a bitter divorce, she is suddenly at Connie’s house all the time. Connie doesn’t have a moment to herself, no time alone with her husband, not a second to chat to her kids.

It’s all too much. Something has to give.

Connie has woken up in a psychiatric hospital. They say she committed a terrible crime but she says she can’t remember a thing.

Author Info

Natalie Daniels is the pseudonym for screenwriter, author and actress Clara
Salaman who you may recognise as DS Claire Stanton from The Bill.

She lives in London and in Northern Spain.

Twitter: @natdaniels2018

book reviews · Bookish · Uncategorized

Think Yourself Lucky by Ramsey Campbell (Review)

Today, I’m on the Random Things blog tour for Think Yourself Lucky by Ramsey Campbell and I’ve got a review for you! The books is available in Paperback, Hardback and Kindle edition.

Think Yourself Lucky Blog Tour poster

Categorised as a horror novel, I wasn’t sure how this book would go. I’m not majorly familiar with horror as a genre and the works I am familiar with are more “classic”, so I was pleasantly surprised that Think Yourself Lucky was something totally different, and a new experience for me. Instead of a traditional horror, this book is very psychological and sardonic; it’s not what I was expecting at all.

At first, the book opens up with someone else – we later find out his name is Lucky. He’s aggressive and clearly hates people. We are almost instantly presented with his own monologue about his neighbours and how irritating he finds them. I thought, ha! Yeah, we all think like this sometimes when people are irritating, but then things took a dark turn. I wasn’t sure if these instances were meant to be humorous or just aggressive and shocking. I didn’t find them funny, it felt a little tedious and hard to read, but this dude clearly isn’t a good guy, so I just put this down to the character himself. In this sort of book, I figured there would be characters I wouldn’t like. I found myself feeling rather uncomfortable and weirded out through the book, which I guess is good considering it’s genre!

The main character, David, is bored with his life, working at a travel agency. The point is made – repeatedly – that he absolutely is not a writer. Accosted in the street, he ended up going to a writers meeting where he mentioned a “title” for a book. He then finds out that somebody “took the name” and created a blog with it – a rather grim, sardonic blog at that. Though he doesn’t care the name was taken, because he isn’t a writer.

The events in the blog seem to somehow coincide with his life, weirding David out and clearly affecting his mind. How did it line up with him like that? Did he have some sort of influence on things? Did he have a stalker? We do find out, but it’s not made explicitly clear what happened. I felt because of this, the book didn’t really conclude very well. I found myself reaching the last pages and wondering where the ending was going to be.

The book didn’t flow well for me. Some parts were really engaging and had me going, other bits I just couldn’t wait to get past for the next thing to happen. It was quite a strange read but I definitely enjoyed the experience as it was totally new to me. The premise itself I found pretty interesting and I’m sure people who are fans of the genre would enjoy it more than I did; but personally, this one wasn’t for me.

Think Yourself Lucky Cover

BLURB: David Botham just wants a quiet ordinary life―his job at the travel agency, his
relationship with his girlfriend Stephanie. The online blog that uses a title he once thought up has nothing to do with him. He has no idea who is writing it or where they get their information about a series of violent deaths in Liverpool. If they’re murders, how can the killer go unseen even by security cameras? Perhaps David won’t know until they come too close to him―until he can’t ignore the figure from his past that is catching up with him…

Ramsey CampbellABOUT THE AUTHOR: Ramsey Campbell is a British writer considered by a number of
critics to be one of the great masters of horror fiction. T. E. D. Klein has written that “Campbell reigns supreme in the field today,” while S. T. Joshi has said that “future generations will regard him as the leading horror writer of our generation, every bit the equal of Lovecraft or Blackwood.”

book reviews · Bookish · Uncategorized

Picking up the Pieces by Jo Worgan ( Review)

Today, I am on the blog tour for Picking up the Pieces by Jo Worgan, bringing you a book review. The book comes out on the 8th of November in both Kindle and Paperback editions, and will be available on Kindle Unlimited. Below, you can find the tour poster if you want to find out more and visit the other fantastic stops on this tour!

picking-up-pieces

Where do I start with this book that tugged at my heart? Oh, that rhymed! Picking up the Pieces is an unforgettable read about Kate, her autistic son Sam and the new guy next door, Matt. Kate moved to Muddletown, years ago, to escape her abusive ex-boyfriend, Matt just moved in next door, to escape his now-ex wife, to be greeted with a young boy on a sun lounger in his new garden. This boy is Sam and he has autism.

Now, the author herself actually has a child with Autism and is well qualified to talk on the topic; in fact, she has the full support of the National Autistic Society. I thought this was fantastic. I’m not a parent, and so my knowledge of Autism is limited, but I felt when I was reading Sam’s character, that it was an accurate portrayal of a child with Autism (of course, experiences can vary and not all children are the same, autistic or not), based on my limited knowledge – this was before I knew about the authors experience – I tend to try to wait until I’ve started a book before I read about the author and such, because not everyone who reads a book looks the author up and I feel like it can provide an insight to a book that fellow readers may not end up with, and I didn’t want to taint my experience with extra knowledge – if that makes sense.

Sam is a lovely little boy and I found him charming and sweet. He had some meltdowns, sure, but he felt very real. I thought Kate was strong as heck, but I felt so bad for her and her struggle to seek help – she thought she would worry people and be a burden and that made me so sad. Even out of the abusive situation, that damage remained. Matt is the knight in shining armor, destined to bring that family a happy ending, but not without his own baggage and emotional burden. I found the characters very well written and very human. I was rooting for the main protagonists throughout!

Matt was kind and patient when encountering Sam. When they first met, I held my breath for Matt’s reaction. Then I laughed because I feel like that’s how I would have reacted too. It may have happened off the page, so to speak, but I don’t recall Kate strictly telling Matt that Sam had autism. It seemed more that he basically figured it out based on the signs in the home and his own general knowledge. His compassion was lovely to read and warmed my heart, but then Kate’s ex, Jake made an appearance which brought a big dark cloud ready to rain on my fuzzy feels parade.

I was worried for Kate and worried for Sam. I couldn’t put the book down. I had to find out how this would pan out for them, then Jake even got Matt involved. Determined to swan in and control Kate’s life entirely – or so it appears, under the guise of wanting to know his son.

I was aghast at how things went down later on in the book. I was shocked even though I thought I shouldn’t really be surprised, but I also realised that this, too, was probably pretty realistic and it really tugged at my heart and made me feel so sad for Sam and other autistic children in the world and their families who have had to endure that situation or similar, and they’re undoubtedly out there. It’s “just a book” but it really rang true in a lot of aspects and that really got me. It wasn’t pleasant but it was real and while we can stop reading a book, we can’t close our eyes and prevent things from happening in real life.

It’s food for thought and a reminder that there’s so much we don’t see or know and that we should always try to be compassionate, patient and understanding with others. This book is an excellent, un-put-downable read about a woman, her little boy and the new guy next door that will tug at your heart and make you feel things.

PICKING_UP_THE_PIECES_COVER_CHOSEN.indd

A compelling and emotive story about a mother’s unbreakable love for her autistic son.

Kate has a six-year-old autistic son, Sam. Having started a new life to escape her controlling and abusive boyfriend Jake, Kate believes the past is behind her and that she and Sam are safe.

But after spotting Jake through a misted-up cafe window, she knows that her previous life has found her.

Kate confides in her new neighbour Matt, a man running from his own secrets. He seems to offer a genuine chance at happiness for Kate and her son, but Jake is determined to get them back at all costs….

Picking Up The Pieces is an original, moving and gripping page-turner about a woman’s search for happiness as she fights to protect her autistic son’s future.

 

UYe53oN7_400x400 Jo Worgan is a freelance copywriter, columnist and book blogger. She has published 4 non-fiction works aimed at parenting children on the Autistic spectrum, based upon her experiences as a mother of an autistic son. Writing is what she truly loves, and Picking up the Pieces is her second novel following her first, An Unextraordinary Life.

Today Jo lives in Lancashire with her husband of 19 years and their two young
sons. When she is not busy writing, she likes to take her boys to the local museums, cafes, cinema, the Lake District and lots of playgrounds.

book reviews · Bookish · Uncategorized

Perfect Liars by Rebecca Reid – Review

perfectliars2

Today, I’m on bringing you a review as part of the tour for Perfect Liars by Rebecca Reid, out now in Paperback, on Kindle and as an Audio Book.

They have it all. And they’ll do anything to keep it that way.

For fans of The Girlfriend and Liane Moriarty’s Big Little Lies as well as TV hits Doctor Foster and The Replacement.

Sixteen years ago, at an elite boarding school secluded in the English countryside, best friends Nancy, Georgia and Lila did something unspeakable.

Their secret forged an unbreakable bond between them, a bond of silence. But now, in their thirties, one of them wants to talk.

One word and everything could be ruined: their lives, their careers, their relationships. It’s up to Georgia to call a crisis dinner. – she knows there’s nothing that can’t be resolved by three courses in her immaculate kitchen.

But the evening does not go as planned.

Three women walk in to the dinner, but only two will leave.

Murder isn’t so difficult the second time around…

Gripping and unputdownable, Perfect Liars tells the story of a group of friends bound by their dark pasts and their desperate need to keep their secrets hidden from the world around them. How far would you go to protect the life you’ve built?

Perfect Liars PB 1

If you liked the show Pretty Little Liars or Doctor Foster, you’ll like this book; unless you need to like the characters, then.. perhaps not… The story has three main characters who attended boarding school together. Out of the three, two of them are wealthy, one is on a scholarship but all three of them are well written, awful people. Teenagers are often pretty terrible people, but grow in to decent people. How about these three? As it turns out, no, they don’t. Instantly, I took a dislike to all of the main characters.

The story is relatively easy to guess and the blurb gives away a lot, but it also gives the impression that maybe one of the characters isn’t so bad after all, that maybe she’s likeable? Nope. Not in my view at least; however, I don’t need to like the characters to enjoy a book. There’s no “good-guy” in this story really – they’re all pretty awful people, even as adults.. The only character that doesn’t suck as a person is the only one who isn’t married to this heinous human beings. I loved to hate these characters. They were well written and very “human”. They were quite believable and I find with stories like these, it’s not always the case.

The book opens up with the end, and switches between present day and the girls’ time in boarding school and their individual perspective. The book focuses heavily on their guilt and how it effects them, even in their current lives. The book flows brilliantly, it’s well paced and well written, making up a little for its predictability. Despite knowing the way the story would go, I couldn’t put it down. The characters and the story itself I found all to be very believable which I found made it stand out compared to other books in the genre.

rebecca-reid-2 1
Rebecca is a freelance journalist. She is a columnist for the Telegraph Women’s section, works for Metro Online and has written for Marie Claire, the Guardian, the Saturday Telegraph, the Independent, Stylist, Glamour, the iPaper, the Guardian, Indy100, LOOK and the New Statesmen amongst others. Rebecca is a regular contributor to Sky News and ITV’s This Morning as well as appearing on Radio 4’s Woman’s Hour, LBC, BBC News 24 and the BBC World Service to discuss her work.

She graduated from Royal Holloway’s Creative Writing MA in 2015 and Perfect Liars is her debut novel.

Rebecca lives in North London with her husband.