I waited for months for this book to be released and anxiously looked forward to reading and enjoying it. A few pages into it, I asked, "Really? This is just trying way too hard." Michaelides is trying so hard to be deep, profound and intriguing that, as a reader, I'm thinking you're trying too hard to be deep, profound and intriguing. I slogged through lines like (just pick any page, any paragraph) "Once you kill another human being, there's no going back.... What emerges from the ashes is not a phoenix, but an uglier creature: deformed, incapable of flight, a predator using its claws to cut and up. I feel in control now.... I am in calm and sane." Deep.
I slogged through to page 102. By that depressing time, I had figured out who the killer was and the twist so I flipped to the ending and yes, of course, it was whom I thought it would be. Please, this is a book written in the depths of the famous sophomore slump. Trying desperately to incorporate Greek mythology, psychology, Cambridge lore and a detective story into one mess, it was simply unreadable.
After reading to page 102 and knowing how it would end, I saved myself the agony of reading the entire book and skipped to the end. Even that was so dramatically unbelievable - how and why did the saviour appear at the denouement- that I immediately put the book in my Goodwill pile. What were you thinking Mr. Michaelides? What was your publisher and editor thinking?