When Swiping Right Leads to Everything Wrong
I dove into this one craving the sharp thrill of suspense, but instead found myself wading through something closer to tedium. Sydney, our protagonist, navigates the treacherous waters of online dating only to encounter a catfish—some oddball who barely offers to cover his half of the check, then proceeds to haunt her steps like a bad dream that won't fade come morning. But fear not! Enter the mysterious savior, stage left, and Sydney is instantly smitten based purely on his face. Delusion, meet desperation.
Reading Sydney's chapters felt like watching someone walk deliberately into traffic while I stood helpless on the sidewalk. Every warning bell clanging, every alarm screaming—she missed them all. I kept wondering: was this intentional characterization, or did the obliviousness just happen organically?
The characters exist as hollow shells rather than breathing humans. One-dimensional cutouts with no substance beneath the surface. We're given mere crumbs when what we desperately need is the whole meal. How am I supposed to understand anyone's motivations when there's nothing there to grasp?
The pacing in the first half limps along uncomfortably. You sense the destination but the journey feels disjointed—chapters that seem to exist independently rather than building toward something cohesive. Does that resonate?
Tom's timeline unfolds separately, taking us back to his teenage years and his obsession with Daisy, the golden girl. He carries his own darkness, secrets tucked away in shadowy corners. Given Daisy's choices, their connection feels inevitable—predictable, even.
Once Sydney's initial encounter with Tom concludes, Daisy's unraveling romance finally gains momentum. By then, though, I'm swimming in confusion and frustration, clutching at fragments of half-formed personalities with nowhere solid to land (except perhaps watching Daisy's spectacular implosion).
And that ending. Lord, that ending. It mirrors the two previous McFadden novels I've experienced—so wildly implausible it defies belief. Flat. Deflating. Bizarre in ways that don't satisfy.
The technical writing ability exists, certainly. But something essential is absent from this narrative, especially in that peculiar conclusion.
I keep attempting to embrace contemporary mainstream fiction, but letdowns like this remind me why I retreat to vintage gothic romance. Those stories wear their silliness openly, their endings sometimes perfect in their impossibility. You know what you're getting, so disappointment rarely finds you.
My Rating: 3/5 stars