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A review by dorian_gray
The Lies They Tell by Gillian French
2.0
Horrifically dull. Almost like it was done on purpose.
Where do I even start with this one?
The book starts in the country club dining room, and the boring atmosphere sticks. The climax of the story, the big reveal, is written with the same evocative tone as when the MC waits on tables in Chapter 1.
There's nothing in here that could be rightfully called clever. Even the mystery is straightforward, from Point A to Point B, but don't worry, there's plenty of filler in between to really stretch the story out. There's a shitload of jogging, yachting and tennis.
Sure, there's a weak Chekhov's gun in there and one tiny detail embedded deep in the middle of it all that comes in handy during the rushed ending, but it wasn't worth enduring all the carry on.
What about the main character? I just had to click back onto the book's blurb to remember her name. Pearl. The book takes place entirely in her POV, and I didn't enjoy being in her head. Her motivation for solving the mystery is that her father has been unfairly blamed, since he was the security guard on patrol when the house burned down.
But she honestly didn't come across that desperate. She did put some effort into finding clues, but didn't really have much difficulty getting to them. A combination of coincidence, unbelievable hunches that turned out to be right, and sheer stupidity on her part put her in a position to figure it out.
Hell, the killer even helped her by making some super dumb and very convenient choices that later bit them in the ass. When you're trying to catch a killer, it sure is considerate of them to drop all the information right in your lap.
Pearl's also caught in some kind of Thing with her colleague, and there's Another Girl between them. I feel like the book wanted me to be invested in the outcome of it, and feel bad for Pearl but nope. There was no chemistry anywhere in that set. I didn't give a shit who ended up with who.
The three male leads? The Fuckboy Brigade. Girls get "passed around" at their parties and filmed, they treat everyone like garbage, and their idea of a romantic gesture is generally just another way to flex their wealth on those less fortunate. I can't stand people like them and an author would have to work very hard to make me care about them.
The killer? So fucking obvious. I never doubted. I even made an assumption about how it must have been done, and it was right. Know why? Because it was the shortest line of thought that connected the possibilities.
Between this and [b: We Were Liars|16143347|We Were Liars|E. Lockhart|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1402749479s/16143347.jpg|21975829], I am very done with reading mysteries about spoilt rich kids. The chief reason being (spoilers for both):
Where do I even start with this one?
The book starts in the country club dining room, and the boring atmosphere sticks. The climax of the story, the big reveal, is written with the same evocative tone as when the MC waits on tables in Chapter 1.
There's nothing in here that could be rightfully called clever. Even the mystery is straightforward, from Point A to Point B, but don't worry, there's plenty of filler in between to really stretch the story out. There's a shitload of jogging, yachting and tennis.
Sure, there's a weak Chekhov's gun in there and one tiny detail embedded deep in the middle of it all that comes in handy during the rushed ending, but it wasn't worth enduring all the carry on.
What about the main character? I just had to click back onto the book's blurb to remember her name. Pearl. The book takes place entirely in her POV, and I didn't enjoy being in her head. Her motivation for solving the mystery is that her father has been unfairly blamed, since he was the security guard on patrol when the house burned down.
But she honestly didn't come across that desperate. She did put some effort into finding clues, but didn't really have much difficulty getting to them. A combination of coincidence, unbelievable hunches that turned out to be right, and sheer stupidity on her part put her in a position to figure it out.
Hell, the killer even helped her by making some super dumb and very convenient choices that later bit them in the ass. When you're trying to catch a killer, it sure is considerate of them to drop all the information right in your lap.
Pearl's also caught in some kind of Thing with her colleague, and there's Another Girl between them. I feel like the book wanted me to be invested in the outcome of it, and feel bad for Pearl
Spoiler
when it turned out her kinda-crush was moving in with the other girlThe three male leads? The Fuckboy Brigade. Girls get "passed around" at their parties and filmed, they treat everyone like garbage, and their idea of a romantic gesture is generally just another way to flex their wealth on those less fortunate. I can't stand people like them and an author would have to work very hard to make me care about them.
The killer? So fucking obvious. I never doubted. I even made an assumption about how it must have been done, and it was right. Know why? Because it was the shortest line of thought that connected the possibilities.
Spoiler
The book never gave me reason to doubt the killer's identity. "Not in town that day" means nothing when you're filthy rich, probably through shady shit because you don't get that wealthy without stepping on a few throats. The fee for the hitman would've been pocket change to someone like that.Between this and [b: We Were Liars|16143347|We Were Liars|E. Lockhart|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1402749479s/16143347.jpg|21975829], I am very done with reading mysteries about spoilt rich kids. The chief reason being (spoilers for both):