⭐️⭐️
I don’t say this lightly: I loathed this book. Macallister’s writing is fine—it’s her subject that’s the problem.
Aimee Crocker is about as appealing as a hangover. A real-life Gilded Age heiress, she indulges in everything: sex (threesome included), booze, drugs, the occult, and all things paranormal. There’s no emotional arc, no humility, and not a shred of remorse. Just page after page of debauchery wrapped in arrogance.
I kept waiting for some glimmer of depth or self-awareness, but it came too late. Even the supporting cast felt like a lineup of deplorables.
Yes, themes of female autonomy and rebellion peek through, but they’re buried under so much indulgence they hardly register. If the goal was to shock, mission accomplished. But when I finally turned the last page, I felt like I needed a shower.
Clearly, I read a different book than the reviewers raving about it. Or maybe I’m just more conservative. Two stars—and that’s me being kind.
** I received a complimentary copy of this novel from Edelweiss+ and Sourcebooks Landmark. The opinions expressed are my own.