Anna Fox lives alone, a recluse in her New York City home, unable to venture outside. She spends her day drinking wine (maybe too much), watching old movies, recalling happier times . . . and spying on her neighbors.
Then the Russells move into the house across the way: a father, a mother and their teenage son. The perfect family. But when Anna, gazing out her window one night, sees something she shouldn’t, her world begins to crumble and its shocking secrets are laid bare.
What is real? What is imagined? Who is in danger? Who is in control? In this diabolically gripping thriller, no one—and nothing—is what it seems.
I really don’t understand people who said this was an exceptional book. It’s like three hundred pages way too long, and the story is a rip-off of Hitchcock’s Rear Window. Utterly predictable and unoriginal. And way too repetitive, as if the reader may be too stupid as to read in between the lines. Yeah, we get it, the narrator is unreliable and she is drunk all the time. I understood that the first time it was mentioned, and I got it the hundredth time it was mentioned again.
Overall boring, predictable, and way overrated. An insufferable waste of time and money. If I could unread it, I would.
Anyhow, for all of that, I give this book… 1 TEA CUP!