Let me start this whole she-bang by saying I almost DNFed this book in excess of 10 times. I’ll repeat that statement slower for maximum impact. I. ALMOST. DNFed. THIS. BOOK. TEN. BLOODY. TIMES. For those unfamiliar with my reading habits this is a HUGE deal. Like scream-it-from-the-rooftops level HUGE. I’m a compulsive book finisher. I NEVER DNF. But this book--this book was my everest.
After having enjoyed Shari LaPena’s debut novel, The Couple Next Door, I eagerly awaited her next work. But my god. Just…..my. god. There are no words. Nothing to sufficiently articulate the absolute CRAP that is A Stranger in the House. And what I don’t understand is how a writer could seemingly lose all ability to….WRITE. Because it’s not just messy characterization and plot, it’s basic mechanics that are problematic. Fundamental writing rules broken. Repeatedly. Actually not broken, more like blown up, run over, THEN backed over, only to be run over a third time. For good measure. In simpler terms, as a smarter man once said: God may have made the world in 6 days, but while he was chilling on the 7th, satan popped up & produced this.
The premise is actually decent: Tom Krupp returns to his picture-perfect, suburban home to find his wife Karen’s mysteriously vanished. Weirder still, their front door is unlocked and Karen’s purse and cell phone left behind. Puzzling….. Shortly thereafter, police officers arrive to inform him that Karen’s been in an accident while driving erratically through “THE. HOOD.” GASP. Tom rushes to the hospital to find Karen alive, but with no memory of the crash or the immediate events prior. How convenient [insert heavy eyeroll]. THEN, a dead body and Karen’s dishwashing gloves (pink, natch) are discovered near the accident site. Evidence accumulates. Surprises are revealed. Marriages ripped apart. Lives torn asunder. Yada, yada, yada.
Aside from painfully bad writing, A Stranger in the House features perhaps the single worst literary character: Tom Krupp. And this isn’t a “so-bad-they’re-good” thing. Oh, no. I actually, genuinely wish Tom were a real person just so I could kick him in the balls. What’s worse? Readers are meant to LIKE the man. But HOW I ask you? HOW? He comes home to find his wife missing and his reactions are all self-oriented: “He wanted rather fervently to see his wife…...He pulls his cell phone out of his pants pocket and checks to see if there’s any message from her that he might have missed. Nothing. Now he’s mildly annoyed. She might have told him.” He’s ANNOYED. Not worried. ANNOYED. His wife’s disappeared, left dinner cooking, the door’s unlocked, all her shit is there and his first reaction is annoyance????
Oh, but it gets worse. Tom has all the emotional range and maturity of a gnat. The instant his pristine Stepford life is disrupted, he devolves from loving husband to paranoid adulterer. His self-described (and described and described….FFS, WE GET IT) “perfect marriage” has the slightest bump….and recognize all these events are happening to KAREN, not him….he’s a two-step away from signing divorce papers. “Tom looks back at her, his heart tight. In all the time he’s known her (like 2 years. lbr, tommy-boy), and loved her, he’s never had even the slightest reason to doubt her, about anything. It all comes down to that night. What really happened? Doesn’t he owe her something for those years of complete trust?”YES, TOM. YOU DO. She’s your WIFE. And from all appearances, a damn good one, according to Tom Krupp’s 1950s scale of domestic bliss. Really, this shouldn’t be a question. And yet it continues, a paragraph later he says: “I don’t know Karen. He pauses. ‘I love you. But I’m scared.” DUDE. This is legit the FIRST sign of marital discord and already you’re considering bailing?? Tom continues to suck throughout the remainder of the book with such philosophical gems as: “he loves her, that hasn’t changed. He’s surprised that he can still love her, when he doesn’t trust her.” AWWW, TOM. YOU DESERVE A MEDAL. Gag.
But wanna know the most offensive part (shockingly, not Tom)? The two female leads spend the entirety of the book lusting after the man. After Tom. TOM. Like he’s some prize pig. This condescending, sanctimonious, disloyal, emotionally immature, cowardly nitwit. Ladies: love yourselves. PLEASE.
As for the rest of the book? UGH. Nothing interesting happens throughout the bulk of the middle section, character portrayals alternate between soap opera villains and Mary Sues, small, insignificant details were endlessly repeated, ‘show don’t tell’ broken on every. fucking. page, and holy moly: the most stilted dialogue I’ve ever had the displeasure of reading. Leave it to Beaver on STEROIDS. Oh, and every well-worn trope is brought out to play. Can we PLEASE put a kibosh to the amnesia-centric plots? Amnesia isn’t that common. Enough already. This wasn’t a book. It was a Lifetime movie set to page. And a bad one at that.
Thank you to netgalley and the publisher for giving me a complimentary, advanced copy of the book in exchange for an honest review.