Reading in the Mountains

Six writers. One island. Seventy-two hours. And a dead man still pulling the strings.

This book throws you straight into a locked-room pressure cooker where ambition rots into desperation and egos sharpen into weapons. And the twist? No detectives. Just writers—people who literally build murder for a living. When careers are on the line, morality becomes… flexible. And finishing the story might require crossing a line you can’t uncross.

Tell me this doesn’t sound like a Netflix series waiting to happen.

Now here’s the thing.

I don’t always love this kind of setup. Closed-circle, too many characters, everyone suspicious—it can get messy fast. But I went in hoping for something with Knives Out vibes, and for a while… I was cautiously intrigued. At first? Slow. A little too slow.

I like my thrillers with bite—fast, sharp, slightly unhinged. This one takes its time setting the stage, introducing characters, building tension… maybe a bit too politely. And the crowd of characters? Yeah, it diluted the tension instead of sharpening it.

But then—

Something shifts.

The story clicks. The tension tightens. The deaths start stacking in a way that finally delivers on the promise. And suddenly I’m in. Fully in. The atmosphere? Dark, controlled chaos. The kind where you feel like something is watching from behind the pages. For a moment, I thought: okay… now we’re talking.

Did it go as far as I wanted? No.

Did it get as twisted or disturbing as it could have? Also no.

And the ending? Didn’t hit. It just… landed. No punch, no lingering chill, no “holy sh*t” moment.

But overall?

It redeemed itself just enough to be a solid, messy, intriguing ride.

Final verdict: 3⭐ — flawed, slow-burn chaos that almost goes feral… but stops just short.