I have had this book on my TBR for about 3 years, and picked it at random for my car audiobook when I had a gap. (I mean, I technically do already have another audio going, but I'm listening to that one with my hubby, so I needed one for when he's not with me. My reading habits are complex, OK?)
Anyway, so I picked this one, and right away I questioned my decision. I had a TON of issues with this book, and almost abandoned it several times throughout. But in the end, I just upped the playback speed and got through it, because I wanted to see why people seem to like it so much. As it is, this has a nearly 4 star average on Goodreads, and I don't think it deserves anything close to that.
Firstly, and this isn't the book's fault, to be fair, but the reader irritated the shit out of me with how she read male characters. I could practically hear her chin tucked down to her breastbone, her lips puckered out, her throat aching with the artificial baritone she put on. I hated it. I was actually glad when that character died, so I would never have to listen to her do his voice again.
Secondly, I got mightily fucking sick of the fat shaming of the narrative, and the disgust and fat shaming from the characters as well. Was the man a pleasant person? He was not. But be disgusted by his behavior, or his attitude, and leave the cruel commentary about his body out. This, more than anything else, made me nearly quit this book the most times. This is a book that is gross. There's a lot of things to find disgusting in it, not least of which was the fact that someone was killing and mummifying women in the building, and then when they started to decay, essentially liquifying them and flushing them down the toilet. That's gross, especially when it starts to back up in the plumbing all over the building. Really lovely imagery there. I'm fine with that. That doesn't bother me, but the author's attitudes toward fat people very much did. I have little patience for fat shamers, so it's really unlikely that I'll ever read another of Alex Marwood's books. And just to be clear, this was not a fictional character in the book being disgusted by this fat man, or a fictional character being a fat shamer in general... this is graphic depictions of the man, alone, in the privacy of his own home, being described in vivid ways via the narrative to ensure that he's as disgusting as possible to the reader, because of his fat. Yeah, fuck all the way off with that.
But let's move on. For all that this book is called "The Killer Next Door", the killer was almost unimportant to the story, except as a catalyst to allow a bunch of other unbelievable and illogical and stupid shit to happen. I pegged the killer early, though it attempted to toss out a ton of red herrings. But it didn't matter, because it's not like the killer even mattered to the story at all. It's all about the OTHER tenants of the building. None of which I liked. And for shit's sake, if Collette didn't stop whining, I was tempted to call the guy who wanted to find her and kill her myself.
Also, there was instalove. AND casual racism. Fucking annoying.
I don't know that there was actually anything I liked about this. So. Yeah. That's that. Moving on.