Book Review: The Woman in the Window

A story of a traumatised, agoraphobic woman on a self-destructive binge of booze and pills... where have I encountered something similar before? Right, in The Girl on the Train. If anything, the best thing that can be said of The Woman in the Window is that I've finally caught up with it, even if it's two years late. But hey, better late than never. As it turns out, the psychological thriller is nothing to write home about, what with novels featuring unreliable protagonists coming out dime a dozen these days in the wake of Gone Girl. The Woman in the Window is no exception. A. J. Finn (a pseudonym for Daniel Mallory, who became the subject of a 'twisty' New Yorker profile last year) generously borrows plot points from a pack of established set pieces and gives them a bit of a shake, hoping it would translate into something effective and gripping. But alas, if only the florid writing could hide its hollow repetitive core. Yes, it's addictive and sufficiently engrossing to keep you turning the pages. But is it great and worth the hype? No. The Woman in the Window ultimately ends up chasing the ghosts of other books that came before it.