Book Review: Keep it in the Family by John Marrs

This isn’t going to be a very long book review. I don’t have very many good things to say about this book at all.

Before I continue, here’s a quick summary of the book from Goodreads:

In this chilling novel from bestselling author John Marrs, a young couple’s house hides terrible secrets—and not all of them are confined to the past.

Mia and Finn are busy turning a derelict house into their dream home when Mia unexpectedly falls pregnant. But just when they think the house is ready, Mia discovers a chilling message scored into a skirting board: I WILL SAVE THEM FROM THE ATTIC. Following the clue up into the eaves, the couple make a gruesome discovery: their dream home was once a house of horrors.

In the wake of their traumatic discovery, the baby arrives and Mia can’t shake her fixation with the monstrous crimes that happened right above them. Haunted by the terrible things she saw and desperate to find answers, her obsession pulls her ever further from her husband.

Secrecy shrouds the mystery of the attic, but when shards of a dark truth start to emerge, Mia realises the danger is terrifyingly present. She is prepared to do anything to protect her family—but is it already too late?

Whenever I think about writing a book review, I always wonder – Should I? After all, who am I to critique a book written by someone who has obviously put in a lot of effort into it? I struggle to finish even one tiny blog post on a non-existent blog subscribed to by a handful of people. What do I know of investing hours, days, months on an entire book to be read by millions of people around the world? Do I really dare trash a writer’s hard work? Do I dare take a huge, stinking dump on their creativity?

I don’t know if I dare, but I think I am going to, because this book has made me very, very angry. And I need to vent. I need to get this rage off my chest.

This book is not the first to make me feel this way; I doubt if it’s going to be the last. When you read as many books as I do, you’re bound to come away with a variety of emotions. Some you will cherish for life. Some you will enjoy in the moment but forget about once you’re done reading. Some books you want to burn out of your memory. And some you want to throw into the depths of hell!

This book was a strong combination of the last two!

I’m sure there’s a special place in hell for books that accumulate every single hackneyed trope imaginable for a thriller. The first one you come across, you acknowledge with a polite nod. The second one gets a cursory glance. The third tests your patience, the fourth one pisses you off, and by the time you come across the fifth, sixth, and seventh one, you are boiling with rage.

To give credit where it’s due, the book starts off promisingly enough. The thrills are thrilling and the crimes are chilling. The house is suitably ramshackle, Mia & Finn are nauseatingly happy (at least to begin with), and the attic is appallingly packed with suitcases containing dead bodies of children (See what I did there? Packed, suitcases. He he he!). The base is set for a goose-bumping, nail-biting read.

Except, this base is wonky as hell!

The plot spins out of control faster than the storyline of a daytime drama. The book’s narrative spans multiple generations, timelines, and POVs, and it progresses as well as a rollercoaster ride that’s come to life with the sole purpose of ending yours!

What really brought down the book for me was that each and every character in this book was thoroughly useless, unlikable, and irredeemable. There wasn’t one person I could relate to, much less empathise with. If I ever met any of these characters in my life, I wouldn’t give them the time of the day. Heck, I wouldn’t give them the banana peel and egg shells I was throwing into my dustbin!

I don’t want to go into reviewing details like book’s plot development, character arcs, first act, second act, third act, the complexities of story building, or the use of an unreliable narrator and confusing timelines to keep the readers from guessing where the hell they were. I don’t want to stick my nose into things that aren’t my specialty or my business. I am no reviewer of books. Just a reader with a blog who has something to say about a disappointing book she read.

Long (winded) story short, here’s what I learned by the time I finished the book: Almost every living soul in the storyline seems to be bursting with murderous intent! The father, the mother, the son, the daughter, the grandfather, the grandmother, the mother-in-law, the father-in-law, the gardener, the neighbours, the postman, the delivery guy, the plumber, the mechanic, EVERYONE’S A MURDERER! Heck, even the baby in the pram with a pacifier in his mouth has a little knife hidden under his wee bottom. Get too close and he’s going to go Chucky-killer-doll on you!

But why stop at people? This book is stuffed to the seams with murderers and aiders and abetters and potential serial killers. So why don’t we throw in a few more for good measure? It’ll make for one hell of a better story, I guarantee.

The cat basking in the sun? Murderer!
The pigeon strutting around on the sidewalk? Murderer!
The dog out for a stroll? A good boy, but a murderer!
That old ramshackle house? Murderous right down to its timbers!
The big old banyan tree by the house? Comes to life, takes a bough, murders everyone, uses the bones for decoration.
The post box down the lane? Gulps down its victims clean and sends them to the land of lost letters to be tortured by paper cuts forever and ever.

As for me? In reading this book, I’ve torn my hair out in exasperation, gnashed my teeth in frustration, and gouged my eyes out in desperation. I am looking rather like a demented murderer, so I might as well rise to the occasion and do justice to my origin story. Where the hell are all the people who gave this book four and five-star ratings on Goodreads? I am coming for you all!