It’s Not Her by Mary Kubica
My rating: 3 of 5 stars
This book is hard to rate. I enjoyed it even though I thought it was a piece of schlock tripe. It could be a 1 star or 5 star. Two related families are at a summer camp. Two people get killed and their teen daughter is missing. The author tells the story from two time frames – post-murder is told by Courtney, the sister of one of the murder victims, and pre-murder by Reese, the daughter of the victims and Courtney’s niece. Reese is a hormone-deranged teenager: surly, spiteful, rude, that is, until she sees the hot pool boy Daniel and Daniel takes an interest in her. Then it’s the best vacation ever. Courtney is a suspicious, paranoid airhead. She suspects everybody including her own husband, her nephew Wyatt, and of course Daniel. Then there’s the camp owner lady Mrs. Dahl who seems oddly detached from this horrible double murder. To top off the character list, there’s Mae and Cass, 10-year-old cousins, the youngest of the two families, and Detective Evans who seems competent and empathetic. The book kept me guessing and relatively entertained for several days, more so than the nonfiction book I left on the shelf.
So why do I complain that it’s schlock tripe? The author employs transparent cheap tricks to create a false sense of suspense and mystery. A woman hears a scream. The chapter ends and the scene switches. We have to wait for find out what the scream is for and it turns out to be something harmless and meaningless in the plot. Blood is found unexpectedly. The chapter ends so we have to wait for the explanation. Reese sneaks out at night to see Daniel and before she gets to the meeting spot she sees a form in the forest following her. The chapter ends and we have to wait. Courtney and Reese “feel” something is wrong, something ominous is looming but it’s nothing. You get the idea. I’ve never had to roll my eyes so much in my life. It’s impossible to figure out who the murderer is until the end because the motivation and unlikely mechanism that set the murder in motion isn’t revealed until then. The writing isn’t elegant or insightful; it’s a pure beach read aimed at the semi-literate. I feel guilty for reading to the end. Maybe that says more about me than the book.


