You hear it all the time...that "Book Title X" is "the next Girl On The Train!" Well...in this case, that description would be very fitting. And not in a good way. The characters and storyline were very similar...the major difference was that in this story we're on a boat.

Needless to say, this book was a miss for me. But I did semi-enjoy it. I thought the storyline sounded so suspenseful and interesting when I first heard about it...But unfortunately, it just fall flat for me. If I had to summarize this book using a line from the book, it would definitely have to be, "I groaned at my own stupidity.” Gah.

The story opens with a very hungover character named Lo, who wakes up into a scene straight from my nightmares-there is a man she doesn't know in her apartment, wearing latex gloves... He doesn't harm her (purposefully at least), but he does take her purse, and the encounter really shakes her up.

Soon we discover that Lo really has a problem with alcohol. And that she is far too nosey for her own good. She's also quick to snap at people and very self centered. Overall a very unlikable character. And unfortunately this set the tone for me for the rest of the story. When Lo was in danger, I just didn't care. I found her drive to "solve" what happened incredibly similar to the storyline in The Girl On The Train. Again, the line, "I groaned at my own stupidity," sums that up pretty well...

Another major issue I had with this book was how overly descriptive it was... I mean, this was from ONE page:
...drank it down in three long gulps like medicine.
...like a sloughed-off skin.
...a sleep so deep it felt like drowning.
...like a broken-backed bird.
I had to work very hard to not get annoyed by this and just press on and try to enjoy the storyline.

I would recommend this book to someone that really loves books like The Girl On The Train.
To someone that doesn't mind really unlikable main characters.
And someone that doesn't mind reading a story that has a lot of loose ends...

Favorite passages:
Apparently the majority of ball gowns were designed by five-year-old girls armed with glitter guns, but at least this one didn’t look entirely like an explosion in a Barbie factory.

I lay there, cudgeling my battered brain to try to work it out, it the more I tried to ram the bits of information together, the more it felt like a jigsaw with too many pieces to fit the frame.