What did she see?
It’s been ten long months since Anna Fox last left her home. Ten months during which she has haunted the rooms of her old New York house like a ghost, lost in her memories, too terrified to step outside.
Anna’s lifeline to the real world is her window, where she sits day after day, watching her neighbours. When the Russells move in, Anna is instantly drawn to them. A picture-perfect family of three, they are an echo of the life that was once hers.
But one evening, a frenzied scream rips across the silence, and Anna witnesses something no one was supposed to see. Now she must do everything she can to uncover the truth about what really happened. But even if she does, will anyone believe her? And can she even trust herself?
Not my favorite thriller read. Just…didn’t really work for me. I knew by page 54 I was going to be the minority with this one and it looks as if I wasn’t wrong.
The first reason why I feel the way I do about The Woman in the Window is because there was WAY too much internal dialogue. Anna is constantly talking about things that only confuse you as a reader. It isn’t even important things, in my opinion. It is things that are useless, in one ear and completely out the other and very one consuming. If she wasn’t talking about classic movies she was talking about all of the pills and booze (Merlot could have seriously been a secondary character in this book) she was going to take. Anna is by far the sloppiest unreliable character that I have read to this day.
It took me way too long to read this book. End of story. Way too long. By day one I had only tackled 50 pages. Day two, 100. Day three, another 50, and finally by day 5 I had to PUSH myself through the rest. I had so much hope it would progress into a well told story.
Ultimately, this book could have been cut down to half the pages of what it really is. It’s really just a whole lot of Anna and her ramblings. And by the time I was done, it felt like a knock off of The Girl on the Train and we all know how I felt about that book.