I am probably the last person on this site to review this book, but I doubt I’m the only one who spent the whole time envisioning Liane Moriarty ranting about millennials spending all their money on avocado toast as she penned this “whodunnit” full of young people whining about social media and body issues as a pleasantly plump writer gets trashed by reviewers. And ohmigod the Russian villain. Hold on, I’m changing my 3 star rating to a 2.
“I don’t get the obsession with strangers, her first husband, Sol, once said to her, and Frances had struggled to explain that strangers were by definition interesting. It was their strangeness. The not-knowing. Once you knew everything there was to know about someone, you were generally ready to divorce them.”
Nine Perfect Strangers focuses on 9 people at a secluded health resort + the 2 (um…. insane) people running the place. It kind of starts out with us learning a little about each of the people, and honestly, I liked that part. I liked the characters. Frances Welty, whom I could not help but to see as a stand-in for Moriarty, is as close as we get to a main character and I thought she was a hoot. She’s a well-known romance writer whose latest book is a flop, and she’s at the resort to relax, not lose weight like everyone else (in my head, she looks like Imelda Staunton and I will not entertain other opinions). We kind of watch everyone else through her eyes — a couple with a teenage girl who have recently suffered a loss, a washed up rugby player, a young recently rich couple on the verge of divorce, etc. I really thought this would be a book about relationships and people and let’s all learn a lesson and I was good with that
INSTEAD (spoilers!) it turns out that the wackadoo running the place (our Russian villain) has been slowly dosing everyone with LSD and traps them all in a yoga studio and torments them. Moriarty, ya lost me there. Better luck on the next one.