I have some exciting reading news to pass along soon, but in the meantime, I blew through two new-ish thrillers that had fast-paced, intricate plots, but were ultimately a bit boring.
Who is Maud Dixon by Alexandra Andrews featured an unlikable protagonist who is ultimately and for me, unsatisfyingly, redeemed. I wanted Florence to stay bitchy and one breathless step ahead of the Moroccan law. Instead, she just seems insufficiently evil to make a career out of it. Boo.
Same for Laura Dave's, The Last Thing He Told Me. I truly enjoyed it until the last couple of chapters, when I realized how things were going to end. A dramatic moment of selflessness. With a breath of hope. Nah.
If 2021 has taught me anything, it's that the world truly is a cruel mistress and it's best not to entertain thoughtless delusions. Proceed with deliberation and all due clarity.
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