Not all stars are created equal, and I’ve got opinions—strong ones—about what each one means. Some books take your soul and hand it back to you in pieces, while others make you question your life choices (and not in the good way). Here’s how I rate the highs, the lows, and the unforgettable in-betweens:
★☆☆☆☆ – Hate is a strong word, but my loathing for this book runs deep.
This isn’t just a bad book—it’s the kind of bad that makes me angry. If I finished it, it’s only because I was fueled by sheer spite.
★★☆☆☆ – This is a book. That’s it.
It exists. It wasn’t painful to read, but it also wasn’t good. In a few weeks, I’ll forget it ever happened, like a movie you watch on a plane and then promptly erase from your memory.
★★★☆☆ – Decent, solid, enjoyable.
This book was good—not groundbreaking, but good. I’d recommend it to a friend without hesitation, and it gave me just enough to walk away satisfied.
★★★★☆ – Incredible.
I loved this one so much I might collect multiple editions just for the joy of owning them. It’s a standout that I’ll recommend to anyone who’ll listen.
★★★★★ – I will die on this hill.
This book wrecked me in the best way. It made me feel things I didn’t know I was capable of feeling. Is it flawless? Maybe not. But it’s perfect to me, and I will defend its honor until my dying breath.
So there you have it: my dramatic, heartfelt, and completely unscientific rating system. Let’s get to the review!
Here’s the thing about Anacortes Haunting: it’s book eleven in a series. ELEVEN. I didn’t know that when I borrowed it from the library, so I walked in blind, thinking I was getting a standalone spooky tale. What I got instead was... complicated. Let’s just say this was less haunting thriller and more check your receipts and start at book one.
The premise is solid, though: during a home showing, a woman jumps to her death, and her husband vanishes. Enter an aging physician (whose name I’ll remember as soon as I stop being annoyed about the book) who’s desperate to sell his house to cover the costs of his assisted living center. Fair enough—retirement isn’t cheap. But here’s the kicker: the house has a reputation. Murder? Suicide? Creepy history? Check, check, and check. To sweeten the deal, the good doctor offers Adele—our adrenaline-junkie main character—a cool $20,000 to stay in the house for a week. Alone.
Now, I love the “haunted house for cash” trope as much as the next person, but $20,000? That wouldn’t even cover my therapy bills after staying in a house that might try to make me jump out a window. But Adele? She’s in. Why? Because danger is apparently her love language.
At this point, I was excited to dive in, but the execution? Yikes. Remember in elementary school when your teacher said, “Show, don’t tell”? D.W. Ulsterman apparently skipped that lesson. The writing reads like a to-do list: this happened, then this, then that. I didn’t feel immersed in the story so much as dragged through it, one bullet point at a time. There were a few fleeting moments where the atmosphere came alive, but they were gone as quickly as they arrived.
And Adele? She’s supposed to be our fearless, thrill-seeking heroine, but honestly, she’s kind of boring. You know when you can just tell a female character was written by a man? Yeah, that. She feels more like a placeholder for “strong female lead” than a real person. To her credit, she’s determined, does her research, and seems genuinely invested in her community, but I just didn’t care enough to root for her. If I’d read the first ten books in the series, maybe I’d feel differently, but I didn’t—and now I probably never will.
The vibe was supposed to be spooky, but mostly I just wanted it to be over. I didn’t feel scared or even curious about the mystery of the house. Instead, I found myself racing to finish so I could return the book to the library before it was overdue (seven-day loan, no extensions).
I’m generously giving this book two stars. Why? Because I’m cutting it some slack for being part of a larger series. If I’d started from book one, maybe I’d understand Adele better, care more about the story, and appreciate the writing style. But as a standalone read, Anacortes Haunting didn’t haunt me—it just mildly annoyed me.