The Boyfriend. By Freida McFadden. Audiobook

Emma Smith

Let's be honest. I stopped reading Dean Koontz years ago because of a persistent sense of déjà vu-each new book felt like a story I'd already read, no matter how fresh the ink. After powering through four Freida McFadden novels this year, I'm hit with that same, wearying feeling. It's the literary version of the emperor's new clothes, and I'm the kid in the crowd, blinking at the spectacle, wondering why everyone else is applauding the invisible finery.

McFadden's latest, The Boyfriend, arrived with its usual fanfare, even sporting a Book of the Month Club badge. The premise-hooked, I decided to give her one final shot before calling it quits for good.

We meet Sydney Shaw, an accountant whose quest for love is a masterclass in poor judgment. A disastrous date with an aggressive catfish is interrupted by a handsome stranger who plays the hero, then vanishes into the night. Cue the wistful sigh.

Meanwhile, in flashback, we get Tom. A young man obsessively in love with Daisy, he's the kind of guy who finds poetry in a biology-class fetal pig dissection and has dreams about her that curl your toes. When a local girl disappears and is found dead, Daisy's sheriff father starts asking questions. Tom, it seems, might have a few secrets.

Back in the present, the heroic stranger is, unsurprisingly, Tom. This revelation is the first in a relentless parade of red herrings. I lost count of the narrative feints and fake-outs. By the halfway mark, my curiosity shifted from "what's the twist?" to a bemused, "what kind of malarkey is she trying to pull now?"

The story isn't helped by its protagonist. Sydney's entire character arc is defined by her fruitless search for "Mr. Right" and a stunning series of questionable decisions. McFadden also leans on plot devices that crumble under the slightest scrutiny-in this case, a pivotal black scrunchie, as if they're some rare archaeological artifact.

Here's my verdict: Freida McFadden is the potato chip of the thriller world. Consumable in the moment, offering a salty crunch, but leaving you with zero nutritional value. The Boyfriend is no exception. It recycles her favorite blueprint: a past accidental death (often of a terrible parent), a decades-long cover-up, and a present-day reckoning. Tom's story follows this pattern, though with extra-convoluted knots that feel less like clever plotting and more like an author straining for one shock too many.

So, I think I'm out. McFadden's brand of suspense just isn't for me, and I've made peace with that. I'm genuinely glad a vocal fanbase devours each new release. But after several tries, the formula has lost its flavor. And you know what? That's perfectly okay.