3.9
-
27,533 ratings
REESE'S BOOK CLUB PICK | An instant New York Times bestseller!
A page-turning thriller from the author of The Retreat.
“An eerie, atmospheric novel that had me completely on the edge of my seat.” —Reese Witherspoon
“This spine-tingling, atmospheric thriller has it all… and twists you’ll never see coming.” —Richard Osman, New York Times bestselling author of The Thursday Murder Club
You won't want to leave. . . until you can't.
Half-hidden by forest and overshadowed by threatening peaks, Le Sommet has always been a sinister place. Long plagued by troubling rumors, the former abandoned sanatorium has since been renovated into a five-star minimalist hotel.
An imposing, isolated getaway spot high up in the Swiss Alps is the last place Elin Warner wants to be. But Elin's taken time off from her job as a detective, so when her estranged brother, Isaac, and his fiancée, Laure, invite her to celebrate their engagement at the hotel, Elin really has no reason not to accept.
Arriving in the midst of a threatening storm, Elin immediately feels on edge--there's something about the hotel that makes her nervous. And when they wake the following morning to discover Laure is missing, Elin must trust her instincts if they hope to find her. With the storm closing off all access to the hotel, the longer Laure stays missing, the more the remaining guests start to panic.
Elin is under pressure to find Laure, but no one has realized yet that another woman has gone missing. And she's the only one who could have warned them just how much danger they are all in. . .
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ISBN-10
0593296699
ISBN-13
978-0593296691
Print length
416 pages
Language
English
Publisher
Penguin Books
Publication date
January 10, 2022
Dimensions
5.43 x 0.92 x 8.35 inches
Item weight
12 ounces
This place, like Isaac, is all about façades. Covering up what really lies beneath.
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How do you go about unpicking someone from your life when they’re the thread tying every part of you together?
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For her, even easy, everyday things became something to be agonized over until they swelled out of all proportion.
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ASIN :
B08D8K4Y1N
File size :
6023 KB
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Praise for The Sanatorium:
“CHILLING! The Sanatorium by Sarah Pearse is an eerie, atmospheric novel that had me completely on the edge of my seat. Let’s set the mood. . . . You’re in a remote location—at a hotel—and there’s a snowstorm. The winds are howling, the snow is pelting in every direction, there’s a missing person, and a dead body shows up!” —Reese Witherspoon
“When guests at a five-star resort in the Alps disappear mid-blizzard, vacation’s over for detective Elin Warner. It’s The Shining but with a full house.” —People
“I devoured this in one sitting.” —Parade
“Creepy, deeply claustrophobic, mind-numbing, teasing, twists and turns galore, this book is a towering example of a masterful hand at work. If only Hitchcock were still around to film it.” —David Baldacci
“I absolutely loved The Sanatorium—it gave me all the wintry thrills and chills. It was just wonderful.” —Lucy Foley, New York Times bestselling author of The Paris Apartment
“Pearse’s The Sanatorium will keep you checking over your shoulder. This spine-tingling, atmospheric thriller has it all: an eerie Alpine setting, sharp prose, and twists you’ll never see coming. A must-read.” —Richard Osman, international bestselling author of The Thursday Murder Club
“Sarah Pearse’s The Sanatorium is a knockout. Mesmerizing, lyrical prose contrasts starkly with the dark story events in this debut thriller set at a remote luxury hotel in the Swiss Alps. Tense, claustrophobic, with a horrific connection between past and present that is utterly unpredictable—I loved this book!” —Karen Dionne, #1 international bestselling author of The Wicked Sister
“Pearse’s engrossing debut boasts a highly atmospheric setting. . . . Readers will applaud as Elin, for all her anxieties, emerges as a competent sleuth. This dark tale of family dynamics is sure to please suspense fans.” —Publishers Weekly
“Pearse not only creates believably fallible characters, she also vividly portrays the frigid landscape of Le Sommet buffeted by blizzards, and a chilling epilogue cries out for a sequel. Crime-fiction readers will want to keep an eye on Pearse.” —Booklist (starred review)
“The Sanatorium is an absolutely splendid Gothic thriller—gracious in its nods to the classic locked-room mystery, yet bold enough to burst out of that room through the window. Pearse writes prose fresh and crisp as Swiss Alp powder, and her characters fascinate even as their numbers dwindle.” —A. J. Finn, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Woman in the Window
“It’s hard to believe this is a debut novel, given how masterfully Sarah Pearse writes. The setting is starkly chilling, the characters are smart and vulnerable, and as you turn the pages, the slow creep of claustrophobia sets in. . . . Highly recommended.” —Sarah Pekkanen, #1 New York Times bestselling coauthor of The Wife Between Us
“Sarah Pearse’s chilling debut is making waves. . . . The Sanatorium certainly has an eerie, cinematic appeal. . . . Sinister scene well and truly set, unexplained disappearances commence, and dark family dynamics emerge, with quick chapters that keep pages turning. With whispers of The Shining in setting and The Girl on the Train in pace, it . . . will please fans of suspense. Either way, it’s crying out for a screen adaptation and provides a welcome, if unsettling, distraction from current events.” —Vanity Fair (UK)
“Slowly the dark secrets hidden in the sinister building emerge from the shadows. There are echoes of Hitchcock and du Maurier, but Pearse has her own distinctive, emotional voice—one to be admired.” —Daily Mail (London)
“The perfect claustrophobic setting packed with mystery and edge-of-your-seat tension.” —Natasha Preston, New York Times bestselling author of The Cellar
“Dark, suspenseful, and downright chilling, Pearse’s debut, The Sanatorium, is a triumph. Vividly set against the backdrop of the Swiss Alps, it had me on the edge of my seat from the first page. Pearse’s writing is sublime. Pearse has a big future ahead of her.” —Sally Hepworth, bestselling author of The Mother-in-Law
“The Sanatorium is definitely a debut novel to watch out for. What a chilling read! One of the creepiest thrillers I’ve ever read. So atmospheric, clever, and compulsive. LOVED it!” —Claire Douglas, bestselling author of Last Seen Alive
“A superb debut offering an astonishingly creepy and isolated backdrop, great characters, tension, and twists. Hugely atmospheric with enough menace to keep you looking over your shoulder!” —Sam Carrington, bestselling author of I Dare You
“A spine-tingling setting, an unnerving cast of characters, and so many incredibly creepy moments . . . This is not one to read before bed!” —Elizabeth Kay, author of Seven Lies
“An incredible debut . . . Clever, creepy, and utterly compelling.” —Samantha King, author of The Perfect Family
“A superbly atmospheric crime debut. Deliciously creepy and clever, it’s everything you could want in a thriller. Very highly recommended!” —Simon Lelic, author of The Search Party
“An atmospheric thriller with the perfect claustrophobic setting. This is equal parts creepy, suspenseful, and gruesome—everything you could want in a novel for this genre. This is a surefire hit guaranteed to keep you seeing shadows in the snow on those freezing winter nights. I loved it.” —C. J. Skuse, author of Sweetpea
“I loved it—such a wonderful sense of location, and the tension is knife edge–sharp. I was up at 5:30 in the mornings to read it.” —Michelle Adams, author of If You Knew My Sister
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1
January 2020
Day One
The funicular from the valley town of Sierre to Crans-Montana scores a near-perfect vertical line up the mountainside.
Slicing through snow-covered vineyards and the small towns of Venthone, Chermignon, Mollens, Randogne, and Bluche, the route, almost three miles long, takes passengers up the mountain in just twelve minutes.
In off-peak season, the funicular is usually half empty. Most people drive up the mountain or take the bus. But today, with the roads almost stationary thanks to heavy traffic, it’s full.
Elin Warner stands on the left in the packed carriage, absorbing it all: the fat flakes of snow collecting on the windows, the slush-covered floor piled high with bags, the lanky teenagers shoving through the doors.
Her shoulders tense. She’s forgotten how kids that age can be: selfish, unaware of anyone but themselves.
A sodden sleeve brushes her cheek. She smells damp, cigarettes, fried food, the musky-citrus tang of cheap aftershave. Then comes a throaty cough. Laughter.
A group of men are jostling through the doorway, talking loudly, bulging North Face sports bags on their backs. They are squeezing the family next to her farther into the carriage. Into her. An arm rubs hers, beer breath hot against her neck.
Panic pushes through her. Her heart is racing.
Will it ever stop?
It’s been a year since the Hayler case and she’s still thinking about it, dreaming about it. Waking up in the night, sheets damp with sweat, the dream vivid in her head: the hand around her throat, damp walls contracting, closing in on her.
Then salt water; frothing, sloshing over her mouth, her nose . . .
Control it, she tells herself, forcing herself to read the graffiti on the wall of the funicular.
Don’t let it control you.
Her eyes dance over the scrawled letters weaving up the metal:
Michel 2010
BISOUS XXX
Ines & RIC 2016
Following the words up to the window, she startles. Her reflection . . . it pains her to look at it. She’s thin. Too thin.
It’s as if someone’s hollowed her out, carved the very core of her away. Her cheekbones are knife sharp, her slanted blue-gray eyes wider, more pronounced. Even the choppy mess of pale blond hair, the blur of the scar on her upper lip, doesn’t soften her appearance.
She’s been training nonstop since her mother’s death. Ten-K runs. Pilates. Weights. Cycling on the coast road between Torquay and Exeter in the blistering wind and rain.
It’s too much, but she doesn’t know how to stop, even if she should. It’s all she’s got; the only tactic to chase away what’s inside her head.
Elin turns away. Sweat pricks the back of her neck. Looking at Will, she tries to concentrate on his face, the familiar shadow of stubble grazing his chin, the untamable dark blond tufts of his hair. “Will, I’m burning up.”
His features contract. She can see the blueprint of future wrinkles in his anxious face; a starburst of lines around his eyes, light creases running across his forehead.
“You okay?”
Elin shakes her head, tears stinging her eyes. “I don’t feel right.”
Will lowers his voice. “About this, or . . .”
She knows what he’s trying to say: Isaac. It’s both; him, the panic, they’re intertwined, connected.
“I don’t know.” Her throat feels tight. “I keep going over it, you know, the invitation, out of the blue. Maybe coming was the wrong decision. I should have thought about it more, or at least spoken to him properly before we let him book.”
“It’s not too late. We can always go back. Say I had problems with work.” Smiling, Will nudges his glasses up his nose with his forefinger. “This might count as the shortest-ever holiday on record, but who cares.”
Elin forces herself to return his smile, a quiet sting of devastation at the contrast between then and now. How easily he’s accepted this: the new normal.
It’s the opposite of when they’d first met. Back then, she was peaking; that’s how she thinks of it now. At the pinnacle of her twentysomething life.
She’d just bought her first apartment near the beach, the top floor of an old Victorian villa. Bijou, but high ceilings, views of a tiny square of sea.
Work was going well—she’d been promoted to detective sergeant, landed a big case, an important one, her mother was responding well to the first round of chemo. She thought she was on top of her grief for Sam, dealing with it, but now . . .
Her life has contracted. Closed down to become something that would have been unrecognizable to her a few years ago.
The doors are closing now, thick glass panels sliding together.
With a jolt, the funicular lurches upward, away from the station, accelerating.
Elin closes her eyes, but that only makes it worse. Every sound, every judder, is magnified behind her eyelids.
She opens her eyes to see the landscape flashing by: blurry streaks of snow-covered vineyards, chalets, shops.
Her head swims. “I want to get out.”
“What?” Will turns. He tries to mask it, but she can hear the frustration in his voice.
“I need to get out.”
The funicular pulls into a tunnel. They plunge into darkness, and a woman whoops.
Elin breathes in, slowly, carefully, but she can feel it coming—that sense of impending doom. All at once, her blood feels sticky moving through her, yet also like it’s rushing everywhere at once.
More breaths. Slower, as she’d taught herself. In for four, hold, then out for seven.
It’s not enough. Her throat contracts. Her breath is coming shallow now, fast. Her lungs are fighting, desperately trying to drag in oxygen.
“Your inhaler,” Will urges. “Where is it?”
Scrabbling in her pocket, she pulls it out, pushes down: good. She presses again, feels the rush of gas hit the back of her throat, reach her windpipe.
Within minutes, her breathing regulates.
But when her head clears, they’re there, in her mind’s eye.
Her brothers. Isaac. Sam.
Images, on loop.
She sees soft child faces, cheeks smattered with freckles. The same wide-set blue eyes, but while Isaac’s are cold, unnerving in their intensity, Sam’s fizz with energy, a spark that draws people in.
Elin blinks, unable to stop herself thinking about the last time she saw those eyes—vacant, lifeless, that spark . . . snuffed out.
She turns to the window, but can’t unsee the images from her past: Isaac, smiling at her; that familiar smirk. He holds up his hands, but the five splayed fingers are covered in blood.
Elin extends her hand, but she can’t reach him. She never can.
2
The hotel minibus is waiting in the small car park at the top of the funicular. It’s a sleek dark gray, the smoky tint of its windows smeared with snow.
Discreet silver lettering is etched on the bottom left of the door: le sommet. The letters are lowercase, understated, a fine, blocky font.
Elin allows herself to feel the first twinge of excitement. Up until this point, she’s been carelessly dismissive of the hotel in conversations with friends:
Pretentious.
Style over substance.
In truth, she’d carefully peeled off Isaac’s Post-it, taking pleasure in the pristine brochure beneath, running her fingers over the thick matte cardboard of the cover, savoring the novelty of each minimalist, photographed page.
She’d felt something strange, an unfamiliar mix of excitement and envy, a sense of having missed out on something indefinable, something she wasn’t even aware that she wanted.
In contrast, Will had been openly effusive, raving about the architecture, the design. He’d scoured the pages, then gone straight online to read more.
Over lamb Madras that night, he’d quoted details at her about the interior design: Influenced by Joseph Dirand . . . A new kind of minimalism, echoing the building’s history . . . Creating a narrative.
She’s always been amazed by Will’s capacity for absorbing this kind of intricate detail and fact. It makes her feel safe, somehow, secure that he has all the answers.
“Miss Warner? Mr. Riley?”
Elin turns. A tall, wiry man is striding toward them. He’s wearing a gray fleece embossed with the same silver lettering.
Le Sommet.
“That’s us.” Will smiles. There’s an awkward fumble as the man reaches for Elin’s suitcase at the same time as Will, before Will extracts himself.
“Trip okay?” the driver asks. “Where have you come from?” Scooping up the cases, the man hoists them into the back of the minibus.
Elin looks to Will to fill the gaps. She finds small talk like this an effort.
“South Devon. Flight was on time . . . never happens. I said to Elin that it’s Swiss timekeeping keeping EasyJet on point.” Will smiles—dark eyes rueful, eyebrows raised. “Shit, that sounded clichéd, right?”
The man laughs. This is Will’s modus operandi with strangers—neutralize them with a mix of sheer enthusiasm and self-deprecation. People are invariably disarmed, then charmed. Will makes moments like this easy. But then, she thinks, hovering behind him, that’s what first attracted her to him—it’s his thing, isn’t it?
Effortless.
To him, nothing’s insurmountable. There’s no bravado in it, it’s just how his mind works—rapidly breaking an issue down into logical, manageable chunks. A list, some research, a phone call or two—answers found, problem solved. For her, even easy, everyday things became something to be agonized over until they swelled out of all proportion.
Take this trip: she’d stressed over the flight—the close proximity to other people at the airport and on the plane, the possible turbulence, delays.
Even the packing bothered her. It wasn’t just the fact that she’d needed to buy new stuff, but the questions over what she should buy—what weather eventualities should be covered, the most suitable brands.
As a result, everything of hers is brand-new, and feels like it. Pushing her finger down her trousers, she tucks in the itchy label she meant to lop off at home.
Will had simply thrown things in his bag. It had taken less than fifteen minutes, but he still somehow manages to look the part: battered hiking boots, black Patagonia puffer jacket, North Face trousers just the right side of worn-in.
Somehow, though, their differences complement each other. Will accepts her and her foibles, and Elin is acutely aware that not everyone would. She’s grateful.
With an expansive, easy gesture, the driver slides open the door. Elin clambers inside, casting a sidelong glance at the back.
One of the families from the funicular is already there: a pair of glossy-haired teenage girls, heads down, watching a tablet. The mother is holding a magazine. The father, thumb to screen, is scrolling through his phone.
Elin and Will settle into the middle two seats. “Better?” Will says softly.
She nods. It is: clean leather seats; no loud, abrupt voices. And best of all, a marked absence of damp bodies packed tight against hers.
The bus crawls forward. Turning right, it bumps over the uneven ground and out of the car park.
When they reach the end of the road, they come to a fork. The driver takes the right turn, windscreen wipers moving rapidly to dislodge the falling snow.
All’s fine until they meet the first bend. With one quick movement, the bus swings around to face the opposite direction.
As the bus straightens with a jerk, Elin stiffens.
The road is no longer flanked with snow or trees, not even a strip of grassy verge. Instead, it’s clinging to the very edge of the mountain, with only a thin metal barrier between her and the vertiginous drop to the valley floor below.
Beside her, she feels Will tense, knowing what he’ll do next: he tries to cloak his unease with laughter, a low whistle between his teeth. “Bloody hell, wouldn’t fancy my chances driving this at night.”
The driver shakes his head. “No choice. It’s the only way to get to the hotel.” He glances at them in the rearview mirror. “It puts some people off from coming.”
“Really?” Will puts a hand on her knee, presses too hard, and gives another forced laugh.
The driver nods. “There are forums about it online. Kids have put videos up on YouTube, filmed themselves going around the bends, screaming. The camera angles make it look worse than it is. They stick their phone out of the window, point it over the edge, down the drop . . .” His words fall away as he looks intently at the road ahead. “This is the worst part. Once we’re through this . . .”
Looking up, Elin’s stomach plummets. The road has narrowed further, barely wide enough to take the minibus. The tarmac is a murky white-gray, shiny with ice in places. She forces herself to look toward the ragged horizon of snowcapped peaks ahead.
It’s over in a matter of minutes. As the road opens, Will’s grip on her leg eases. Fiddling with his phone, he starts taking photographs through the window, forehead creased in concentration.
Elin smiles, touched by the care he’s taking. He’s been waiting for this moment—the views of the landscape, the first glimpse of the hotel. She knows these images will be toyed with on his laptop later. Critiqued. Tweaked some more. Shared with his arty friends.
“How long have you been working for the hotel?” Will says, turning back.
“Just over a year.”
“You like it?”
The driver nods. “There’s something about the building, the history, it gets inside your head.”
“I looked it up online,” Elin murmurs. “I couldn’t believe how many patients actually—”
“I wouldn’t think too much about that.” The driver cuts her off. “Digging up the past, especially with this place, you’ll send yourself mad. If you go into the details about what went on . . .” He shrugs, trailing off.
Elin picks up her water bottle. His words echo in her mind: It gets inside your head.
It already has, she thinks, picturing the brochure, the photographs online.
Le Sommet.
They’re only a few miles away.
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Sarah Pearse
Sarah Pearse lives by the sea in South Devon with her husband and two daughters. After moving to Switzerland in her twenties, she spent every spare moment exploring the mountains in the Swiss Alpine town of Crans Montana, the dramatic setting that inspired her debut novel, THE SANATORIUM, which was a REESE WITHERSPOON BOOK CLUB PICK and became an instant NEW YORK TIMES Bestseller and a No.1 SUNDAY TIMES Bestseller and also won CRIME BOOK OF THE YEAR AT THE 2022 FINGERPRINT AWARDS & was the COLD AS ICE AWARD WINNER AT 2022 DEAD GOOD READERS AWARDS. The Retreat was her second novel and was also a New York Times Bestseller and a Top Ten Sunday Times Bestseller. Over 1 MILLION copies of her books have been sold in over 30 countries. She is now working on THE WILDS, her third book, which will be out in 2024. You can find Sarah on Twitter @SarahVPearse and Instagram / TikTok @sarahpearseauthor
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Customer reviews
3.9 out of 5
27,533 global ratings
TapTheLine
5
An extraordinary debut by Sarah Pearce.
Reviewed in the United States on February 10, 2021
Verified Purchase
This is one of the most exhilarating debut novels that I've read in the last few years, an explosive thriller which unravels in a dark, sinister setting in the Swiss Alps, a place familiar to the author, Sarah Pearce, who explored the mountains and the small Alpine town of Crans Montana when she moved to Switzerland after completing her studies in the English language and creative writing at the University of Warwick. The reader gets instantly sucked in the densely plotted story and the ominous setting which is reminiscent of the best works by masters of the thriller/horror genre. In fact, "Le Sommet", the luxurious hotel that used to be a sanatorium hosting tuberculosis patients, is the major protagonist in this astonishing book and the number one reason to read this exemplary mystery. The building's imposing structure and minimalist decoration aiming to "create a narrative", a kind of bond that connects the modern, extravagant winter resort to its grim history, provide the perfect backdrop to the story which unfolds through the perspective of multiple characters, thus strengthening and accelerating the narrative tempo.
The Sanatorium features a multitude of plausible, three-dimensional main characters and the gradual revelation of their shared history throughout the novel explains their strained relationships and tenseful interactions that dominate the first part of the book. Each one of the protagonists is filled with secrets, deeply buried in the past that threaten to resurface and disrupt the normality of their everyday lives. Pearce's prose is captivating as she knows how to create a chilling, eerie atmosphere and weave the plot of her story in a masterful, unforced way which proves that it is not necessary for an author to have a significant writing experience in order to design an enthralling fictional universe. The descriptive parts of the novel are fascinating and the reader feels like inhabiting the space where the story is taking place, while the dialogue is equally credible and convincing making the interactions between the main characters feel natural.
The story begins with the murder of Daniel Lemaitre, the architect who designed "Le Sommet", by an unknown assailant wearing a gas mask. Next, we read as Elin and Will, a young English couple, visit Switzerland and the secluded resort in order to attend Elin's brother, Isaac's, engagement party. Elin hasn't seen Isaac for several years and their reunion is not a happy one as there are many things left unsaid between them. Furthermore, Elin used to be best friends with Laure, Isaac's fiance, and the relationship between them is also a complicated one. When Laure mysteriously vanishes the night of Elin and Will's arrival, Isaac will ask for her help as his sister is a detective, even though she is currently on an extended break from work, and she accepts the challenge. When the body of Daniel Lemaitre is discovered near the hotel's premises the morning after Laure's disappearance, Elin's instinct will tell her that this can't be a coincidence and that the two cases have to be connected in some way.
Elin is one of the most compelling female protagonists in the recent crime fiction history as she is insecure, asthmatic, slightly depressive, prone to panic attacks and carrying many traumas from her past. She's recently lost her mother from cancer, while her brother, Sam, died in an unexplained tragic accident when Elin was only a kid. Sam's death made Elin to become a cop as for all her life she struggled to find answers regarding her brother's untimely demise. Elin's vulnerability makes her extremely sensitive to her surroundings and she instantly feels that something isn't right with the hotel which elicits a visceral response from her right from the beginning. The vast, empty spaces of "Le Sommet", the room which is filled with old artefacts and medical equipment from when the place was a sanatorium, and the glass walls that make her feel exposed at all times do nothing to comfort her. She will have to remember her days on the force in order to get to the bottom of this disturbing case that becomes weirder and more disturbing as the story progresses.
The book is full of twists and surprises and the reader keeps turning the pages to find out what happens next in this seducing thriller that feels like reading a Jo-Nesbø-meets-Stephen-King novel. Fans of Scandinavian crime fiction will definitely love The Sanatorium and especially those who enjoy the thrillers by Lars Kepler, Yrsa Sigurðardóttir, and Johan Theorin. I've rarely encountered such a well-rounded debut novel and I truly hope and expect that soon the readers will have the chance to read more of Sarah Pearce's work soon. I am thrilled to read many raving reviews about the book in the various relevant social platforms as I firmly believe that this is a novel that deserves wide appraisal and recognition. It should also be noted that the book was Reese’s Book Club February pick, something that further boosted the hype surrounding it. Thank you Sarah!
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36 people found this helpful
J. Elliott
5
Overrated
Reviewed in the United States on March 18, 2024
Verified Purchase
This was our February choice for book club. I found this book a struggle to keep my interest. The main character, Elin's character was making a lot of dumb choices in her investigation. Thank goodness some chapters were only 3 pages long as that was about all I could handle at one sitting. Our whole group agreed that it was more of an eye roller than a page turner. It ends with a lead-in for the next book. I won't be bothered.
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Kathryn Lane
5
quick and engaging’
Reviewed in the United States on June 3, 2024
Verified Purchase
Great read! Ending could have been a bit better but still a worthwhile story! Looking forward to the next book!
Amy
4
Good book!
Reviewed in the United States on August 12, 2024
Verified Purchase
This was an easy weekend read. I like that it actually wrapped itself up in the end. I also read “The Retreat” which was also very good.
BobJac
4
Stormy
Reviewed in the United States on May 12, 2024
Verified Purchase
A rather intriguing tale where there were lots of lies, misdirections, strange murders, a huge storm and isolation. Elin Warner is detective from the UK who is on extended leave from her job. She and boyfriend, Will are having a short vacation at a Swiss ski resort called Le Sommet which is in an isolated location in the Swiss Alps. The purpose of her trip was to attend the engagement party of her estranged brother Isaac and his fiancé to be, Laure. Le Sommet is a renovated building which had a past life as a sanatorium for tuberculosis patients. The site has a somewhat sinister past and there was a lot of opposition to the resort being built before it was finally completed. Access to the resort is via a funicular to nearby Crans-Montana, then bus or vehicular transport to the resort. Things began to unravel when a huge storm caused the evacuation of the resort however Elin and Will, Isaac and Laure, a few other guests and a number of staff including Lucas Caron, the designer and owner of the resort and his sister Cecile, the resort manager, are stranded. The heavy storm caused an avalanche and there is now now way off the mountain. As people start to disappear and turn up dead, and with no hope of Swiss police being able to come to the resort, Elin’s detective instinct kicks in and she reluctantly takes charge. The author throws in various twists as Elin tries to solve the murders. A stormy story in more ways than one.
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