I have been reading a
few pages of this book for a week here and there, but yesterday afternoon at
around page 30 it grabbed me and didn’t let go until I finished it around 3:00
a.m. this morning.
It was absolutely
phenomenal. I’ve seen comparisons to Stephen King’s Misery, Jack Ketchum’s The Girl
Next Door, and Ruth Ware’s In A Dark,
Dark Wood and to those comparisons, I say “baloney.”
The Cabin at the End of the World stands alone as one of
the most gripping, suspenseful, and emotionally-charged novels I’ve read in
quite a while. Characterizations were all spot-on, the plot twists and
surprises were startling, the tone was steady without being contrived, and the
story, told from different characters’ points of view, was as unique as it was
terrifying.
It’s not a spoiler to
tell you that yes, it’s a home invasion tale. It’s
also a thriller. It’s also a thought-provoking theological mystery. And to add to all of that, it’s also a story of family.
I’m no stranger to Paul
Tremblay’s work and with no reservations, The Cabin at the End of the World is his
finest to date. The dude just keeps getting better.
The lone problem I had
with this book was the forced inclusion of every politically-correct stereotype
you can possibly imagine with the exception of a Brazilian transvestite named Shorty
who was a used-car salesman next to a Korean nail salon above a bakery owned by
two lesbians who refused to bake wedding cakes for white asexual homophobes
with platted hair.
But please don’t let
that little bit of humor throw you off the book—yeah, it does its level best to
be all-inclusive, but it’s still a scary ride.