Ryan McCrory

Greetings! My name is Ryan McCrory, and as you may have noticed, I have the same last name as the author of this book. Yes, she is in fact my beautiful wife. Now, you may be asking yourself: “How could I possibly trust a book review written by the author’s husband? Of course he will only have positive things to say about his lovely wife.” Let me clear this up for you right now. I am perfectly capable of being critical of my wife. Take her cooking—not great. Peanut butter and jelly does not a chef make. She also makes us late to almost every social engagement we have. Sure she’ll try and blame me, but we all know it’s her—making sure her shirt matches her shoes or checking to see if the cats are safe, asleep, and in their beds (like they always are) before we can finally leave. She is also tone deaf. Can’t find a good note even in the shower. So, as I have said, she may not be a good cook, or punctual, or a singer, but boy is she one hell of a writer. This book is a rollercoaster ride of a thriller that surprises you with emotional complexity butting up with spectacular gore. Grief gives way to humor in a very well-constructed story. It is great story telling. It grabbed me from page one, and I think this book is going to grab you too—with claws.