Erica's Reviews > Broken Monsters

Ok.
So.
Here's how this played out for me.

I was listening along - there are four different narrators in this audiobook, by the way - and enjoying the story immensely. It was standard Homicide detective vs Mad serial killer fare only there were cool little twists like the serial killer wasn't even trying to stay one step ahead of the police, wasn't leaving bodies to be found in order to taunt authorities. He wasn't trying to not get caught, the cops weren't even on his radar. No, he was doing ART!



There were so many yucky men in the story - Clayton and his creepy delusions, Pedo-Phil, Jonno...all yucky for different reasons and it was so fun to be icked out by these guys. And there were good guys, too, so it wasn't all man-hatery, or anything.
Layla, though, she charmed me to bits with her fears and her bravery. She tried to do the right things but made stupid mistakes and then made everything worse each time she tried to fix it all herself. That's part of being fifteen, I guess, though, usually, you don't have to contend with serial killers. Usually.
There were chapter titles made of song lyrics (earworm central, people) and bits of pop culture dropped here and there in amusing yet appropriate ways. Such fun!

Like I said, I was enjoying Detective Gabriella trying to figure out the mismatched body creatures from a logical, crime-fighting perspective while Clayton was going about his artistic business, being all Kyle MacLaclan-Crazy in his drive to do as his obsession demanded. From the sidelines, Jonno and TK (love him, too) were barreling in and I knew they were all gonna meet up and POW!

Only, no. Not POW!



For no good reason that I could see, the story went from serial killer suspense novel to King-esque speculative horror. Why? WHY?
It's like biking along and you get to a hill and the sun is shining and there are no bugs in the air and you go down the hill and it's thrilling and you know you could get hurt but you maintain control and you open your arms wide as you balance perfectly on the bike beneath you and you tip your face to the sun, wind in you hair, sailing along in bliss and WHAM! a logging truck comes out of nowhere and smears you.
Oh. Wait. That was a movie, not this book. But it was the same type of unexpected but lame ending and I was not pleased at all.
Yes, yes, I know there were hints here and there of supernatural elements but I, in my "I pretend I'm smart" brain, thought, "Oh, this is going to be an amazing look at how obsession can create madness and how that madness can spread to those who don't share the obsession and that's how cults start" so on and so forth. I really thought it was a big psychological build-up and I was prepared to be wowed.

I was not wowed.

I was thrown into the old gods and "If you believe in fairies, then clap your hands" and I'm not a fan of speculative horror in the first place, so...it was exactly like going for that delicious glass of tea (or whiskey) and finding out it's cheap apple juice made from concentrate and misery.

Dammit to hell.