I actually picked up The Passengers by John Marrs from a little book share while I was on holiday in Mexico, and it turned out to be one of those lucky finds you just can’t put down. You know when you grab a book on a whim and it completely pulls you in? That was this for me. A solid 5/5.
The whole idea of the book is honestly a bit terrifying because it doesn’t feel that far off reality. It’s set in a world where driverless cars have taken over, and everything is meant to be safer and controlled. But then eight people find themselves trapped inside hacked cars, with no way of escaping, and they’re all being driven towards a deadly crash. What really got me hooked is that it’s not just about what’s happening in the cars. The public is actually watching it unfold and has to vote on who should live and who should die. It sounds intense, and it really is. I found myself constantly changing my mind about who I was rooting for as more and more secrets came out. And that’s the clever bit — none of the characters are perfect. The more you learn about them, the more you question everything. Just when I thought I had someone figured out, another twist would come in and completely change my opinion. I also loved how easy it was to read. The chapters are quite short, which made it perfect for dipping in and out while I was lying by the pool… although in reality, I ended up reading way more than I planned because I kept saying “just one more chapter”. It’s one of those books that really makes you think as well. Not in a heavy way, but enough to make you wonder what you would actually do in that situation. Would you trust the system? Would you vote? Could you even make that kind of decision? For me, it had the perfect mix of thriller, drama, and just enough sci-fi to make it feel modern and believable. Definitely one I’ll be recommending, and I still can’t believe I just found it sitting on a random book shelf on holiday. If you like fast-paced, twisty reads that keep you guessing, this is 100% worth picking up. 5/5 from me. Have you read it, or would you trust a driverless car?
In Murder in the Family, Cara Hunter revisits a notorious unsolved murder through the lens of a modern true‑crime TV show. Back in 2003, Luke Ryder is found dead in the garden of his wealthy family’s London home. His older widow and three stepchildren all claim they saw and heard nothing, and despite a big police investigation, nobody is ever charged. The case becomes one of those cold, unsolved crimes that sits in the public consciousness.
Twenty years later, Luke’s former stepson Guy Howard—now a filmmaker—agrees to reopen the case as the new season of a true‑crime series called Infamous. A team of six experts (retired detectives, a lawyer, a psychologist, a pathologist and a journalist) are brought together to re‑examine the evidence on camera. Across the episodes, they revisit the crime scene, pull apart the original investigation, and challenge each other’s theories while Guy’s family are drawn back into the spotlight. The clever twist is in how the story is told: instead of traditional chapters, you get episode scripts, emails, texts, production notes, news articles and online reactions. You’re effectively reading the case file and the TV show at the same time, invited to play detective and decide who you believe as secrets, identity issues and buried resentments start to surface.
My rating and overall reaction Rating: 3 out of 5 I was really looking forward to this one and absolutely loved the idea behind it. The whole “cold case solved through a Netflix‑style docuseries” premise is brilliant, and the mixed‑media format feels very current. On paper, it’s exactly the kind of crime story and storytelling experiment I should adore. But in practice, it didn’t fully land for me.
What worked for me I genuinely enjoyed the structure and the way the plot is delivered. The episode‑by‑episode investigation gives the book a bingeable feel, and the use of scripts, emails and clippings makes it feel like you’re watching a documentary and reading the evidence at the same time. The set‑up—with Guy inviting experts into his family’s past and into the house where the murder happened—is strong, and the show framework provides natural cliff‑hangers and twists. As a concept, this is smart, timely and very much in tune with true‑crime culture and social media. If you love the idea of piecing together a case from documents and footage rather than following a single narrator, the format is a big plus.
What didn’t It’s a 3 out of 5 for me. I really liked the format of the book and was really looking forward to it. Don’t read on a Kindle as some things don’t show up, and that absolutely impacts how you experience the plot. When the whole point is that you’re reading transcripts, visuals and different document types, missing or poorly displayed elements on an e‑reader make it confusing and pull you out of the story. Beyond the technical side, I struggled with the characters. Despite all the drama around the family and the experts, I didn’t engage with any of them or feel much empathy. The mix of a large cast, the script‑style presentation and the constant shifts of perspective left it all feeling a bit unbelievable and muddled. The ending left me flat and a little unbelievable to be honest . Just a jumble I’ve read her books before and enjoyed them, but this standalone was a miss from me emotionally, even though I respected what it was trying to do structurally
. Who I’d recommend it to • Readers who love true‑crime TV, podcasts and the idea of solving a cold case alongside a panel of experts. • Anyone curious about experimental crime formats and mixed‑media storytelling. • People who mostly read in print or on devices that handle complex layouts well.
The Woman Who Lied by Claire Douglas is a tense, atmospheric psychological thriller that keeps you hooked from the start. Douglas delivers a compelling story that explores the intersection of art and reality, and the dangerous consequences of keeping secrets.
The Plot
The story follows Emilia Ward, a bestselling crime author living in suburban London. As she begins writing the tenth installment of her popular detective series—intended to be the final book where she kills off her protagonist—her life takes a disturbing turn. Events from her manuscript begin to manifest in real life. What starts as an unsettling coincidence quickly escalates into a nightmare as someone seems to be using her unpublished plot to harass her and endanger her family. As the line between her fiction and reality blurs, Emilia is forced to question everyone around her, including her closest friends and family, while trying to uncover who is stalking her and why.
While the premise is brilliant and the tension builds effectively, I found the ending to be a little jumbled and rushed. The complexity of the layers in the final act felt slightly disjointed, which took away from the impact of the earlier, more methodical suspense.
The Verdict
Despite the frantic conclusion, the book remains a highly enjoyable read for fans of the genre. Douglas excels at creating claustrophobic environments and high-stakes social dynamics. If you enjoy domestic noir that isn’t afraid to twist the knife, this is a great addition to your reading list.
Strengths: Gripping atmosphere, a clever “book-within-a-book” premise, and constant suspicion.
Weaknesses: An uneven final act that loses some of the narrative clarity established in the earlier chapters.
Final Thoughts
While it didn’t stick the landing perfectly, The Woman Who Lied provides plenty of entertainment and enough mystery to satisfy anyone looking for a solid psychological thriller.
How to Kill Your Family is a razor‑sharp, darkly comic revenge novel that follows Grace Bernard, a woman systematically eliminating her estranged billionaire family while narrating her story from a prison cell. It’s brilliantly written, deeply cynical, very funny in a vicious way, and capped with a twist that lingers long after you close the book.
Overview and Rating I’m giving How to Kill Your Family a 4.75 out of 5 because it delivers exactly what it promises: a viciously entertaining, morally queasy, and stylishly written story that keeps you hooked from the opening line to the final twist.
Plot Summary (Spoiler‑Aware) Grace Bernard opens the book from her cell in an all‑women’s prison, calmly explaining that she is serving time for a murder she didn’t commit—despite the fact she has successfully killed six people. With cool detachment and biting humour, she decides to use her prison time to write down exactly how she did it, and why. Grace is the illegitimate daughter of Simon Artemis, a phenomenally wealthy, image‑obsessed businessman who refused to acknowledge her and left her and her mother in poverty. After her mother dies young, worn down by illness and financial strain, Grace learns the truth about her father’s identity and channels her grief into a meticulous plan: she will annihilate the entire Artemis clan, one family member at a time, and only then will she come for Simon himself. The novel moves back and forth between Grace’s present in prison and her past as she hunts down her targets: privileged siblings, smug relatives, and hangers‑on who orbit the Artemis money. Each murder is tailored to its victim—sometimes staged as an accident, sometimes as a crime of passion, always executed with unnerving precision and a deadpan running commentary on modern life, wealth, and hypocrisy. While Grace is cool and methodical, the narrative is laced with caustic observations about influencer culture, performative charity, “good” rich people branding, and the absurdities of modern London society. The tension comes not just from whether Grace will succeed in her revenge, but from the irony that she ends up imprisoned for the one killing she didn’t commit, even as her real crimes go undetected.
The final act delivers a twist that reframes Grace’s swaggering control and forces you to reconsider just how secure she ever really was. The ending feels deliberately unsettling, underscoring the book’s interest in moral ambiguity, unfair systems, and the gap between who tells the story and who actually wins.
Tone, Style, and Dark Humour
This is very much a character‑driven, voice‑led novel; if you enjoy a strong, sardonic narrator, Grace is going to hook you from the start. She’s not “likeable” in a conventional sense—she’s judgmental, ruthless, and often cruel—but her commentary on class, privilege, and performative morality is so sharp that you may find yourself unwillingly on her side. The humour is jet‑black: you’re laughing at funeral mishaps, social media absurdities, and the ridiculousness of the wealthy, often in the same paragraph as a cold‑blooded killing. Mackie balances this with a slow‑burn pacing that focuses less on constant thriller beats and more on the psychology of resentment, entitlement, and what years of quiet fury can do to a person. Characters and Themes Grace herself is the main event: an anti‑heroine who sees murder as logical, even tidy, justice for the neglect and cruelty she and her mother endured. Her voice is full of contradictions—self‑aware yet blinkered, funny yet chilling, morally lucid about everyone else while blind to her own monstrosity—which makes her compelling even when she’s appalling.
The Artemis family function as a gallery of modern, media‑friendly aristocrats and new‑money caricatures: influencers, philanthropists, social climbers, and corporate saints whose public ethics mask deep selfishness and vanity. Through them, the book skewers class inequality, inherited wealth, PR‑polished compassion, and the idea that a good public image can erase harm. Running beneath the satire is a very human story about loss, abandonment, and what happens when grief calcifies into rage instead of healing. Grace’s trajectory asks where the line sits between personal responsibility and structural injustice: is she a monster shaped by systems, or someone who actively chooses monstrosity and dresses it up as justice?
The Twist and Ending (No Detailed Spoilers)
Without spelling out the final reveal, the twist undercuts the fantasy of total control that Grace has been selling you all along. It highlights how fragile her carefully constructed narrative always was and reinforces the book’s interest in power, luck, and who ultimately gets to walk away clean. Some readers will find the ending abrupt or even infuriating, especially if they’re expecting conventional thriller closure. For me, it felt like a gutsy choice that keeps the story lodged in an uncomfortable, morally murky space rather than tying things up with a bow—fitting for a book this dark and sardonic. Who This Book Is For You’ll likely love How to Kill Your Family if you enjoy: • Darkly comic crime or psychological fiction with a morally grey narrator • Social satire that skewers the super‑rich, influencer culture, and performative “goodness” • Slow‑burn narratives focused on character voice rather than wall‑to‑wall action It may not be for you if you need a traditionally satisfying, neatly resolved ending, or if you prefer crime novels where you root for the detective instead of the murderer.
Lisa Jewell’s I Found You is a masterclass in suspense, delivering the kind of twisty, character-driven storytelling that keeps you hooked from the very first page to the final reveal.
Set across dual timelines, the novel introduces us to Alice, a single mother who discovers a mysterious man on the beach outside her home. He has no memory of who he is or how he got there. At the same time, in London, newlywed Lily is thrown into panic when her husband Carl disappears without a trace—just days after their wedding. What follows is a cleverly woven narrative that slowly draws these two seemingly separate stories together. Jewell excels at building tension through small, unsettling details rather than dramatic shocks. The pacing is steady but gripping, allowing the suspense to simmer as each piece of the puzzle falls into place. Just when you think you’ve figured it out, another twist pulls you in a different direction. The strength of I Found You lies in its characters. They feel real, flawed, and deeply human, which makes the mystery all the more compelling. Alice, in particular, is a standout—warm, intuitive, and determined to help a stranger, even when it puts her at risk. As with all of Lisa Jewell’s novels, the real magic is in how everything connects. The ending is both satisfying and surprising, tying together the threads in a way that makes you want to go back and spot the clues you missed. If you enjoy psychological thrillers that keep you guessing until the very end, I Found You is a must-read. It’s a perfect choice for anyone who loves layered storytelling, emotional depth, and a plot full of unexpected turns. Rating: 4.5/5 – A gripping, cleverly plotted thriller that keeps you guessing.
Matt Haig’s The Midnight Library is an uplifting, thought‑provoking novel that I’d rate 4/5 for its emotional impact and accessible exploration of one big question: how different might your life be if you’d taken other paths? Between Life and Death: A Library of Regrets At the heart of The Midnight Library is Nora Seed, a woman who believes she has wasted her life. She’s burdened by regrets: the band she left, the relationship she ended, the career she didn’t pursue, the friendships she let fade.
In a moment of deep despair, Nora finds herself not in oblivion, but in an extraordinary place—the Midnight Library. This library exists in the thin space between life and death. Every book on its seemingly endless shelves contains a different version of Nora’s life, created by choices she could have made but didn’t. One book shows the life where she stayed in the band. Another reveals what might have happened if she became a competitive swimmer, a glaciologist, a wife, a mother. The premise is simple yet powerful: if you could step into your “what if” lives, would they truly be better than the one you have now?
An Uplifting Story About Dark Feelings
Although the book opens in a very dark place—with depression, loneliness, and suicidal thoughts—it doesn’t stay there. Instead, the Midnight Library becomes a vehicle for hope. As Nora tries on different versions of herself, she discovers that every path, no matter how glamorous or successful it looks from the outside, carries new problems, compromises, and losses. The lives she imagined as “perfect” are far messier up close. Fame comes with pressure and isolation. Scientific achievement comes with sacrifice and distance from loved ones. Seemingly ideal relationships are complicated by their own secrets and disappointments. Gradually, the narrative nudges us toward an important realization: there is no version of life untouched by pain. The goal isn’t to find a flawless path, but to make peace with imperfection and find meaning in the life you actually inhabit. This is why, despite its heavy themes, the novel feels uplifting. It doesn’t pretend that suffering can be erased with positive thinking. Instead, it suggests that shifting our perspective on regret—seeing it as part of being human rather than evidence of failure—can open the door to compassion for ourselves. The Big “What If” Question One of the most engaging aspects of The Midnight Library is how directly it speaks to a universal experience: wondering “What if?” about our own lives. • What if you had stayed in that relationship instead of leaving? • What if you’d moved abroad instead of staying in your hometown? • What if you’d pursued your creative passion rather than choosing a safer job? The book invites you to imagine your own Midnight Library—shelves filled with lives where you made different choices. It then gently challenges the fantasy that those other lives are automatically better. In each “what if” life Nora explores, there are still conflicts, heartbreaks, and compromises. Sometimes she discovers a version of herself with achievements she envies, but she also sees what those achievements cost: missed moments with family, constant stress, a loss of authenticity. By the time you close the book, you’re likely to look at your own regrets differently. Instead of seeing them as proof that you’re on the “wrong” path, you may begin to understand that every path involves trade‑offs. The story suggests that happiness isn’t found by chasing the perfect alternative life, but by engaging more fully with the imperfect one you already have. Why It Earns a 4/5 A 4/5 rating feels right for The Midnight Library. It’s not flawless, but its strengths far outweigh its weaknesses. On the positive side, it’s: • Emotionally accessible: The writing is clear and conversational, making complex feelings easy to follow. • Conceptually simple yet rich: The idea of a library of alternate lives is both imaginative and instantly understandable. • Genuinely reflective: It encourages readers to question their own narratives about failure, success, and self-worth. Some readers may find the message a little too neat or the ending somewhat predictable. The philosophical lessons—about accepting your life, forgiving yourself, and living in the present—are delivered in a way that can feel like familiar self‑help wisdom. If you’re looking for a very nuanced, ambiguous portrait of mental illness, you might feel that the book simplifies certain aspects. However, the emotional honesty and the gentle tone make it a comforting read for anyone who has ever felt overwhelmed by regret, disappointed in themselves, or stuck in the feeling that everyone else has a “better” life. It’s the kind of book you want to press into the hands of someone who’s having a hard time, not because it offers solutions, but because it offers company and a perspective shift. What You Take Away After Reading When you finish The Midnight Library, you’re left with a few resonant ideas: • Regret is a story we tell ourselves. Changing the story can change how we feel. • No life is free from pain, but every life has the potential for connection, meaning, and small joys. • You don’t need to become a radically different person or follow a completely different path to deserve your life; you already do. Ultimately, the book suggests that instead of standing in the present and staring longingly at the doors that closed behind you, you can turn toward the doors still open ahead. Its uplifting power lies in reminding us that the life we have—however imperfect—is still full of possibilities.
If you haven’t read The Family Upstairs, start there first. In my opinion this is not a standalone, whatever the cover might suggest — without that backstory you’ll be lost.
For those who did read the first book, this picks up with siblings Henry and Lucy Lamb, now adults, still living in the shadow of a deeply traumatic childhood. Their parents fell under the spell of a controlling con man who essentially turned their family home into a cult — and the fallout from that is still very much haunting everyone. Lucy’s daughter Libby, who was left behind as a baby in that house, is about to travel to Botswana to finally meet her biological father Phin — a boy who grew up alongside Henry and Lucy during those dark years. But Phin mysteriously disappears before they can reach him, and Henry, who has always been obsessively fixated on Phin, takes off alone to track him down in Chicago. What follows is a multi-strand story — Lucy chasing after Henry, a detective investigating bones pulled from the Thames that lead back to that same Chelsea mansion, and a new character called Rachel, whose story of escaping an abusive husband slowly weaves into everything else. It sounds gripping, and at times it is — but for me the multiple storylines and narrators made it feel a little scattered. It lacked the claustrophobic tension of the original. Rachel’s whole thread in particular felt like it dragged the pace down rather than adding to it. Still worth reading if you loved the first book — just go in knowing it won’t quite hit the same heights. Rating: 3.5/5
Give Me the Child” starts with a genuinely compelling premise — one that immediately draws you in and promises a tense, emotional read. The central idea has real potential, and at the beginning, it feels like you’re settling into something gripping and thought-provoking.
However, as the story unfolds, it doesn’t quite maintain that initial momentum. The pacing feels uneven, with some sections dragging while others rush through moments that could have been more deeply explored. This creates a slightly disjointed, patchy feel that makes it harder to stay fully immersed in the narrative. There were parts I did enjoy, particularly where the tension was allowed to build, but overall the execution didn’t quite match the strength of the concept. Some plot developments felt a little far-fetched, which took away from the realism and emotional impact the story seemed to be aiming for. It’s not a bad read by any means — just one that doesn’t fully deliver on its promise. Given how much hype surrounds it, I was left feeling slightly disappointed, as it had all the ingredients to be something much more powerful. Overall, I’d give it 3.5 out of 5 — worth a read if you like the genre, but don’t go in expecting it to completely blow you away.
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In the posh, leafy enclave of Melville Heights, the houses are large, the lawns are pristine, and the secrets are suffocating. Lisa Jewell’s Watching You is a masterclass in domestic noir that proves how easily an idyllic suburban veneer can crack.
A Tangled Web of Obsession
The story centers on Tom Fitzwilliam, a charismatic headmaster who is practically worshipped by the residents of Melville Heights. He is the “perfect” neighbor—kind, handsome, and endlessly helpful. However, the narrative is framed by a looming tragedy: someone in this neighborhood is determined to kill him.
The plot is masterfully layered, primarily through the eyes of:
Joey Mullins: A young woman who has just moved into the neighborhood with her husband. She becomes deeply, unhealthily obsessed with Tom, convinced there is a sinister side to his “too-perfect” persona.
Jenna Tripp: A teenage girl living in the shadow of a local tragedy. Her mother, Beth, was the victim of a brutal assault years prior, and Jenna is haunted by the past and the strange dynamics of the neighborhood.
The Neighborhood: Jewell masterfully weaves together the viewpoints of various neighbors, each of whom is watching one another. Whether it’s through windows, social media, or whispered gossip, the “watching” in this book is constant and invasive.
Why the Plot is So Compelling
What sets this thriller apart is the dual-timeline approach. We are not just dealing with the current threat against Tom Fitzwilliam; we are simultaneously investigating the long-buried secrets regarding the death of a local teenager named Viva Hart years earlier.
As the present-day plot intensifies—with Joey’s obsession spiraling and the neighborhood tensions reaching a breaking point—the two timelines begin to collide. Jewell forces the reader to act as a detective, connecting the dots between past trauma and current motives.
The Moral Ambiguity: Nothing in Melville Heights is black and white. Jewell purposefully blurs the line between the victim and the villain. Is Joey a worried citizen uncovering a predator, or is she a stalker herself? Is Tom the hero everyone believes him to be, or is he manipulating those around him?
The Slow Burn: The plot thrives on the slow revelation of small, unsettling details—a notebook, a stray lock of hair, a secret glance—that gradually build into a suffocating sense of dread.
The Final Twist: Without giving too much away, the epilogue is a gut-punch. It recontextualizes everything you’ve just read, shifting the blame for the town’s darkest historical tragedy in a way that is as terrifying as it is brilliant.
The Verdict
Watching You is a gripping, multi-layered puzzle. While some might find the middle chapters a deliberate slow burn, it is essential for the character development that makes the final reveal so effective. Jewell doesn’t just write a thriller; she writes a sharp, uncomfortable commentary on how obsession blinds us and how the most dangerous secrets are often hidden in plain sight.
Who should read this? If you crave psychological depth, complex character studies, and a twist that stays with you long after the final page, put this at the top of your reading list.
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If you’ve ever walked into a bookstore and picked up a novel based on a stunning, inviting cover, only to find the contents were not at all what you expected, you’ve probably experienced the same whiplash I did with Liane Moriarty’s Nine Perfect Strangers.
I recently finished the book, and while I have some strong feelings about where it went off the rails, it ultimately earned a solid 4 out of 5 stars from me. Here is my take on this wild, wellness-retreat-gone-wrong.
The Hook: A Strong Start
The premise is undeniably gripping. We follow nine individuals as they arrive at Tranquillum House, an ultra-exclusive, remote health resort in Australia. Each character is beautifully drawn, detailed, and incredibly engaging. Whether it’s a struggling romance novelist or a family grappling with deep, collective grief, Moriarty does a masterful job of setting the stage. For the first act, the book is a masterclass in character-driven drama. The tensions are subtle, the personalities are sharp, and I was completely hooked on the group dynamics.
The Turning Point: When It Goes Off the Rails
However, about midway through, the story hits a major speed bump. The retreat is run by Masha, an enigmatic director with a vision for “transformation” that is, to put it mildly, radical.
The story began to go downhill for me the moment the guests started being dosed with psychedelics.
While I understand the author was aiming for a high-stakes psychological shift, it felt like the narrative lost its drift here. The grounded, relatable human drama was suddenly replaced by chaotic, forced scenarios. The pacing slowed to a crawl, and the plot became increasingly confusing as Masha’s own grip on reality slipped. What started as a fascinating study of human vulnerability turned into something much more erratic and, at times, difficult to follow.
A Deceptive Cover
It’s also worth mentioning the presentation. I couldn’t help but feel that the book’s cover art slightly misrepresents the tone of the story inside. The aesthetic promises one kind of experience, but once the story veers into that psychedelic, chaotic middle section, it’s a total shift that might catch new readers off guard.
The Redemption
Despite the “strange” middle section and the pacing issues that followed, I’m glad I stuck with it. Moriarty managed to pull everything back together for a very strong, satisfying finish. The ending redeems the slower stretches, providing the resolution the reader is craving and bringing the characters’ arcs to a meaningful close.
Final Verdict
Nine Perfect Strangers is a bit of a rollercoaster. It’s a book of two halves: a brilliant, character-focused setup and a confusing, erratic middle that eventually finds its way home. If you can push through the chaos of the retreat’s “experimental” phase, the payoff is well worth the effort.
Rating: ★★★★☆
Have you read Nine Perfect Strangers? Did you enjoy the shift in tone, or did you find the second half as confusing as I did? Let me know in the comments!
This post may contain affiliate links, which means I may earn a small commission if you purchase through them — at no extra cost to you. As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases
LCChaosandhome 