When I was a kid, we took trips each year with our grandparents. In the fall we would go to the mountains to watch the leaves change color. I loved these trips because my grandmother would pack a lunch for the drive with homemade biscuits, fried chicken, fatback (it was the 70s!) and more. I would sit in the front seat without a belt between my grandparents while my grandfather took all the curves at a decent speed. In the spring or summer we would visit Myrtle Beach. As a kid, the beach is a great playground. You can make friends with a stranger in about 5 minutes and stay out for the entire day. And, there is nothing like falling asleep exhausted after a day at the beach.
Why am I telling you about these memories? Because they are more interesting than this book. Yep, that’s right.
Faceless Killers isn’t a bad book (3-stars) but it’s kind of boring. The synopsis talks about a bloodbath at an isolated farmhouse, an alcoholic investigator whose life is falling apart, a battle against racial hatred. It should have been great and it just wasn’t. I never felt for any of the characters. It wasn’t edge of your seat or even very thought-provoking.
I’d almost rather hate a book than feel meh and that’s what I’m left with here. French, Nesbo and even Penny do it better. Sorry.