#36: In the Woods by Tana French
Okay, I loved this book, but I do not understand why hugely talented, amazingly imaginative writers create marvelously spooky mysteries, the kind you can sink your teeth into, the kind that stick with you in those horrible hours when you can’t, for whatever reason, read the book, and then insist on leaving you without all the answers at the end (I’m looking at you, Donna Tartt)—I guess I should just be glad she didn’t pull a Murder of Roger Ackroyd, because as clever as that is, I loved Detective Ryan way too much and would have been devastated; was devastated, actually, because the whole time I really thought that’s where she was going, am devastated because I’m so sad for Detective Ryan and Cassie, but I know it’s important to tell the truth, not just what people want to hear, so fair play to you, Tana French—this is still just one sentence, BTW, but I’m done now.
