Meet Curtis Rook, a 27-year-old son of divorced parents. He lives in Lochville, a cold, gray city beset by a seemingly unstoppable serial killer who cuts a thumb off the hand of each victim. Curtis, haunted by a series of mysterious hallucinations, senses that nothing can save him from a doom that is coming for him. His life changes, however, when he meets a girl named Carmen who is on the hunt for an evil car prowling the streets. Together, they embark on a series of adventures that will lead them somewhere truly extraordinary, a place where they must face their ultimate fears.
Rook is a darkly comic novel with offbeat characters feeling the effects of America's epidemic of loneliness. It's a story about isolation, guilt, redemption and, in its own way, love.
The prose is as uncomfortable as what it describes. And what it describes is people (one person, in particular) uncomfortable in life, uncomfortable about doing anything to improve that discomfort. Sometimes it leads to awkward interactions, sometimes to petty crime.
Despite being identified as 27 years old, there is an immaturity about main character Curtis that makes the book feel like a young adult novel at times. His estimations of ‘evil’, ‘neutral’, ‘moral good’, etc are simplistic or, in some cases, twisted in on themselves.
More bothersome, though, is that the awkwardness of the prose makes it difficult to empathize with either Rook or those with whom he interacts. All seem vaguely broken, but only one (Carmen) for any reason that’s communicated clearly.
Even the internal dialogue or letter/journal passages, which would typically be provided by an author to build sympathy for a character, fail to do anything but make Curtis seem less comprehensible.
One of the blurbs describes this book as surreal. Instead it feels undercooked, in need of editorial input, with ‘surreal’ acting as a shield.
"Rook", a novel by Ryan Borchers, starts as a quiet, slightly strange character study, but once the pieces begin to click together, you realize it’s surprisingly heartfelt beneath all the strangeness. The foggy, offbeat tone — not quite horror, not quite thriller — creates that unsettling sense that something is off, and you can’t look away. The author builds a bleak little city that feels both surreal and familiar. The plot blends dark humor, eerie tension, and an emotional haze that matches the setting perfectly.
He then drops you into the life of Curtis Rook — a man drifting through his days with a mix of anxiety, guilt, and the constant sense that bad things are always waiting just over the horizon. He’s awkward, self‑aware, and often overwhelmed, which makes him oddly endearing and painfully human.
The twist is that his paranoia isn’t entirely wrong. There’s a killer moving through the same spaces he does, and Curtis’s instinct that something is closing in becomes the thing that finally pushes him into action.
Well, that and Carmen. Who's a sharp, stubborn woman that's far more fearless than she realizes. She’s the reason the story becomes a hunt. For her, it’s personal. She’s been chasing rumors about a mysterious car that keeps appearing around town, and her determination pulls Curtis into a strange partnership he never expected. The killer becomes the shadow that binds them, pushing both characters to confront the parts of themselves they’ve been avoiding.
The sightings of the car, the strange encounters, the feeling of being watched — all of it is the killer’s orbit brushing against theirs. And the closer they get to the truth, the closer they get to each other.
When the truth finally surfaces, it reveals how close the killer has been the entire time, and how many of the strange moments were warnings rather than hallucinations. It hits with that “oh, of course” feeling — the realization that the danger was always right there.
Carmen and Curtis don’t walk away as heroes. They walk away changed — more honest, more connected, and more aware of their own strength. The killer’s capture (or confrontation, depending on how you interpret the ending) is almost secondary to the real story, which is how the experience reshapes them emotionally.
The book doesn’t rely on a big twist. It’s not a fast‑paced thriller. It’s a strange, atmospheric, character‑driven story that lingers long after you close the book. I really enjoyed the originality and the tone, even when the story wandered into odd territory — that’s part of its charm.
If you like character‑driven fiction with a slightly surreal edge, a touch of mystery, and real human emotion, I’d recommend giving "Rook" a read.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
It's like Holden Caulfield got dropped in Dante's Inferno (not one of the lower levels, but a top circle where everything is gray and no one can remember how they got there).
That sounds artsy and sad, but it was actually a really accessible read that has a hopeful thread running through it. I'll be thinking about this one for a while.