Sister by poppy Adams. A vain effort to hammer out a dark, psychological thriller, or a murder mystery. The author has in vain tried to be a mix of D H Lawrence, Stephen King, Arthur Hailey and many more. Reference to moths is way too protracted. And in the end it serves as no prop. Neither does it help build up the climax. However, all that litany helps in painting the charchter of the narrator, the elder of the two sisters, who is recluse, passive, frigid, and unemotional. She is a savant idiot who centers all her life on the study of moths.
Every scene in the book is a prop to sketch the darker side of the narrator. In certain aspects, the author takes a proverbial U-turn and scripts just the tip of the iceberg, leave things to reader's imagination.
The book is a failure on all fronts. It neither evokes sympathy nor stokes the imagination. At the best, it could be a monograph on the moths.
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