Certain novels seem to take hold in the popular imagination and sell in huge numbers, their success propelled as much by word of mouth as by reviews.  Think of Gone, Girl or The Girl on The Train.  It’s difficult to explain the appeal of such books.  Intricate, suspenseful plots?  Yes, but thousands of other novels have such plots and never get close to that kind of success.  Clever marketing?  Maybe.

The Wife Between Us is the latest bestseller in this category, the most recent succès du jour.  Having finished it recently, I’m as mystified by its success as I am by the plaudits printed on its cover.  Fiendishly smart.  No.  Deliciously clever. No.  Masterful.  No. In fact it’s overlong, over written, trite throughout, and filled with mostly loathsome characters. I’ve no doubt the film rights have been sold and the authors are fending off publishers offering multi-book deals.  Good luck to them.  There are far too many impecunious writers to resent those who succeed.  That changes nothing. The Wife Between Us is schlock.