Book Review: The Woman in the Window by A.J. Finn
I’ll be honest: my excitement to dive into The Woman in the Window was palpable. With all the buzz and those five-star reviews lighting up my reading feeds, I felt like I was about to unveil the next great thriller. A.J. Finn’s debut had the makings of a gripping psychological drama, and who doesn’t love a story where you get to peek into someone else’s life, especially through the lens of an unreliable narrator? Alas, my journey unfolded rather differently than expected — a mix of addiction and disappointment that left me with a solid three-star review.
The premise revolves around Anna Fox, a recluse who spends her days spying on her neighbors out of sheer ennui and after suffering a traumatic event that leaves her too afraid to step outside. As a classic Gladys Kravitz-type, Anna’s perspective is both intriguing and suspect, her mind clouded by depression and a cocktail of pills and wine. The voyeuristic thrill of watching her neighbors intertwines with the suspense of a chilling crime — a missing person. I relished the initial premise, and it pulled me in like popcorn at a movie marathon. The addictiveness is undeniable; I found myself unable to put it down even amidst its flaws.
However, the writing style quickly became a sticking point for me. Finn employs a tendency for verbose prose that veers into overwrought territory. For example, a passage describing Anna feeling cold felt like a drawn-out metaphor for an experience that could have been captured in fewer words. “Frigid air seizes my body, so raw that my heart feels faint; storms my clothes, sets them trembling around me.” Yes, I got it — she’s cold! Yet, passages like this made me long for brisker pacing.
Moreover, while Anna’s plight is engaging, her narration isn’t as captivating as I hoped, largely due to the audiobook version. The actress portraying her brought a chirpy, confident tone that clashed with Anna’s troubled persona. It was a disconnect that felt jarring, making me retreat back to my Kindle, where the world of the story felt more cohesive and true to its intended darkness.
Finn’s references to classic films added an interesting layer, initially providing context and depth. Yet, as the story unfolded, it felt heavy-handed. It was almost as if the author was waving a flag, insisting he wasn’t borrowing plotlines; instead, he was merely inserting them for effect. The twist, while fun to see unfold, ended up being predictable. At least my hunches were confirmed!
So, who might enjoy The Woman in the Window? If you love an immersive tale with a slow burn, enjoy the camaraderie of an unreliable narrator, and don’t mind a heavy reliance on borrowed tropes and styles, this might find a place on your shelf. Sure, I was left feeling slightly underwhelmed, but there’s an allure in engaging with Anna Fox’s world — a reflection of our own curiosities and voyeuristic tendencies.
In the end, while my expectations may have soared, this thriller left me with a more tempered appreciation. I walked away with a reminder that not every hyped book meets the lofty standards set by its reputation. Yet, isn’t it these very experiences that spark engaging conversations among book lovers? Happy reading!