I would like to formally request that Vincent Ralph never write another Young Adult mystery again.
Thank you.
If you don’t know how to write a good mystery, don’t write one.
If you don’t know how to write good prose, practice before publishing.
14 WAYS TO DIE is lazy. It’s bad. It is so painful to read.
And while reading this, the only thing that kept spinning on my mind was, ‘publishing chose to publish this—some of the worst prose I have ever read in published fiction—over so many wonderful books written by BIPOC and disabled authors. Over books written by marginalised authors, like those who are LGBTQ+. They chose to publish this?’
I’m appalled.
I am. Appalled.
Call me harsh or whatever. I can’t quite say I care.
Vincent Ralph is my mortal enemy. He and I will be on opposing sides of life for eternity. I wish him legos beneath his feet every morning before work. (To be clear, this is sarcasm. Frankly, I don’t care about Vincent Ralph. I just think he’s a shit writer.)
I have an obscene amount of thoughts regarding this book—and none of them are good.
So, strap in, get your popcorn ready, because I can’t promise this is going to be a tame ride.
Firstly, I want to specify that I’m not an expert on writing books. I’m a writer myself. I’m going to be starting a degree next year for creative writing. And this year I’m doing a humanities course. So, I somewhat know what I’m talking about. Even if my experience culminates in five years of writing, nine books written, a stint on Wattpad and a degree I have yet to start. But I don’t know everything.
Let’s flip to page one. Chapter One. We’re presented with the facts. Jessica Simmons’ mom was murdered by the MagPie Man. Jessica is seventeen. Her mom died when she was seven. And she wants to catch the murderer.
This is all fairly ordinary.
But the writing style stole the emotion from the words. I couldn’t make myself care because there was nothing to grab onto when reading. I was unable to be sympathetic for Jessica, because the writing was so bland.
The chapters in this book are tiny. One to two pages on average. Therefore, the book ended up having a whopping one-hundred-and-forty-four chapters. This was a bad decision. If a chapter is short, it doesn’t allow for much development to happen. You’ve got to get straight to the point, or the chapter is going to end up longer than intended. This meant the book suffered. Badly. There were no descriptions. No development. The writing is too simple, and I found I was missing so much information. The only thing Jessica talked about was the MagPie man. I didn’t know who she was as a person, separated from the murder of her mom. I didn’t know what shows she liked to watch, what her hobbies were, what her favourite school subjects were. Nothing. Her only purpose was to simply catch the MagPie Man. Nothing more. I didn’t know what she looked like, what colour her hair was, what clothes she liked to wear. She had no development whatsoever. And it showed.
I also have questions about how Jessica has gone ten years of her life mourning her mother like she died yesterday. That's not healthy. Jessica’s mom died when she was seven, she should have had help processing it, working through it, instead of having a lazy, forgetful father who fell so deep into his grief he seemed to have forgot he had a young child to raise. Grieving is normal, but there is something sinister about her dad just giving up on life and Jessica living every single day like her mom was murdered the night before.
I’ll admit the plot had promise, but since there was also little development to the social media side of things, I had doubts. I must admit, this reminded me of an early 2010s attempt at something vaguely similar called The Saks channels. This was a collection of YouTube channels ran by the same company, where there were seven girls per YouTube channel who all had a day to upload a themed video. It wasn’t live, and they couldn’t choose what the video was about, so it differs from the plot in this way, but The Saks channels ended badly, and I couldn’t stop thinking that there needed to be more in the plot to ensure Jessica couldn’t be taken advantage of and that—ahem *name of character I won’t say because of spoilers*—couldn’t direct the narrative to suit their needs. The lack of any real contract or assurance made me hesitant. It just felt like a bad idea from the very beginning. I won’t say how the Saks channels ended—that’s not my story to tell—but there are various videos on YouTube that explain it and I’m sure there are a few articles to be found on Google as well.
The characters had no depth to them. I couldn’t tell you one thing about Hannah or Emily. Not one. They were plot fillers. Something to urge Jessica along but provide no meaningful insight or development to the plot. I’m not quite sure what their purposes were other than this. I’m not sure they had any other purpose. I don’t even know what they look like. And don’t get me started on Jamie. What was that pathetic attempt at a love interest? Seriously. And Jessica’s crush on Danny—A Grown Man at least ten years her senior. A crush that seemingly disappeared and was every bit as embarrassing and annoying as it sounds like. The emotions in this book were so fake. Jessica had none. So when she was ‘sad’ or ‘angry’ I couldn’t really feel it with her, because it just appeared out of nowhere and had no real pedestal to stand on. Having it just appear out of nowhere, instead of letting it build over time, and showing it build over time is plain lazy writing. It’s telling the reader the author doesn’t care enough about the character to make them seem real or likable. It’s telling the reader the author just wants to be done with the character and the book. It's not a good look.
This book read like one written by a man that hadn’t had a meaningful conversation with a modern-day teenager since the eighties. I’m not kidding. It was pathetic. The characters were pathetic. Jessica was pathetic. They were all pathetic. And, oh no, I’m being harsh again, but it’s the truth. Jessica had issues. Issues that should have been resolved—or at least managed—instead of lying dormant for ten years until the perfect opportunity came along for her to exact revenge.
It was pitiful because it was clear that Ralph has no ideas how teenagers are. I’m not saying all teenagers are the same—absolutely not—but I am saying that they have more of a personality, more agency than Ralph portrayed in this book. They exist and they’re real, they have feelings and emotions, and they have their issues that they have to work to fix. But the characters in this book? There was none of that. Of course, they’re not real people, but as characters in a book, they should at least attempt to mimic real teenagers, otherwise what’s the point? There’s no story if the character leading it is as bland as an expired and stale rich tea biscuit.
The most interesting part of this book was the fucking setting and not because I enjoyed it but because I was constantly trying to guess whether they were in the United States or England. Truly could not tell, because every time I felt like I knew, they’d make reference to London being an hour or so away, then in the next part it would talk about what ‘grade’ they’re in and use American terminology, not to mention the spelling of certain words like ‘colour’ that made this guessing game a particular tricky one.
I still don’t know where it’s set. Is it like a sub-country of America and England merged? Is that it?
Also, I don’t get why everyone in this book is still holding onto the fact that her mom is dead? Like, it’s been ten years? No one remembers stuff like that, unless they’re constantly being reminded. For example, a friend of mine’s dad was murdered by a reckless teenager, and I kid you not, everyone had forgotten about it not even six months later. Teenagers don’t hold onto this stuff, because they don’t care. We spend enough time caring about homework, exams, our futures, universities, jobs, etc. Does Ralph really think the average teenager cares enough about an event that happened a decade ago that didn’t involve them? They don’t. Trust me, they don’t.
There was virtually no suspense in this book. It was supposed to be a mystery thriller, but I couldn’t really find myself caring for the mystery. It just felt like a bore.
And please, don’t get me started on the actual murderer. What a shitshow.
When writing a mystery, there are two main paths you can go down: foreshadowing or shock. Foreshadowing is supposed to, at the very least, aid in the shock factor so that the reader can look back on the book and think to themselves ‘how did I miss this? It was so obvious’. I don’t personally believe shock should be used without some semblance of foreshadowing—and by that, I genuinely mean the tiniest detail, it doesn’t have to be large—but it can. This book attempted both shock and foreshadowing, and it failed. In my opinion. The reader—and by extension Jessica—doesn’t have enough of a connection to the murderer for it to be believable. I’m trying my hardest to word this without spoiling the book. The apparent connection Jessica—and her mom—had to the murderer was revealed after the murderer, which stole away the believability because why didn’t we know this beforehand? Why was it all just revealed? Why wasn’t it built into the story so that when the murderer was revealed, it made more sense. The first person—the one who was wrongly accused—was a much better option for the murderer, because he at least didn’t appear out of nowhere and seemed somewhat believable.
Also. The murderer just gives Jessica the knife. He just. Hands it to her. Are you kidding me? In what world is that ever a smart idea?
And then of course it wraps up nicely with a pretty pink bow and Jessica vows to actually try to live her life. I call bullshit on that one, but I can’t quite bring myself to care.
Anyway, this was my very long-winded review of 14 WAYS TO DIE. I’m probably missing bits. It’s midnight on the 24th of September and I’ve been writing versions of this review since I was only about thirty percent in the book. That should tell you how much I despised it.
I don’t think I’ll read another of Ralph’s books. I already tortured myself through Lock The Doors a few months back and I had virtually the same criticisms as I had of this book, so I won’t bore myself hoping his writing will improve the next time around. It won’t, I already know it won’t.
I hope in the future publishing won’t be so single minded and publish authors who actually have a shred of talent in their bodies instead of focusing on trash like this. It’s not worth it.
I’m being harsh again. I’m sorry. I’ll stop.
Bye.