Our public library had been closed for two years. So when it reopened this past spring I went on a book-borrowing spree. Which, to be honest, hasn’t stopped. I LOVE MY LIBRARY. Oops. Digression. This isn’t a blog about my love of libraries (to come, no doubt!) but about a book I borrowed, then sat to binge read over the course of a weekend.
To start with a warning: Read The Winter Girl by Matt Marinovich if you dare. Or if you are into stories about sick, twisted people. Some of us are, nothing wrong with that (just don’t *be* one yourself. Not ok). Read if you are intrigued by mystery and disfunction.
Don’t read this book if you are a person who cannot read very sad, disturbing stories. Or stories about abuse or horrible events. There are a few of these kinds of sensitive readers in my life who I would never recommend the book to. I don’t seek out such stories myself. My preference is a cozy mystery with a cat and a cup of tea. I read this book like I watch horror movies: against my better judgement, hands splayed across my eyes with just enough space between fingers to peep. I kept reading because I wanted to know why this stuff was happening.
There are a lot of books I don’t finish. The Winter Girl was read through to the end. That says something. Long after the book was returned to my library, the characters (none of whom, you should know, I liked) occupied space in my thoughts. To call this a creepy book with fascinating, disturbed characters seems accurate. Read at your own risk–you’ve been forewarned.