The Girl on the Train: Gathering Steam

Self quite likes this novel.

She takes back what she posted yesterday: that there is no Ruth Rendell like Ruth Rendell.

Paula Hawkins reminds self a lot of Ruth Rendell. A lot.

That psychological tension.

The setting is a satellite community of London. The protagonist is jobless. To stave off depression, or maybe as a consequence of depression, she keeps up her weekday routine of riding the commuter train into London and back.

P. 80:

I’d been in the library on Theobalds Road. I’d just emailed my mother (I didn’t tell her anything of significance, it was a sort of test-the-waters email, to gauge how maternal she’s feeling towards me at the moment) via my Yahoo account. On Yahoo’s front page there are news stories, tailored to your postcode or whatever — God only knows how they know my postcode, but they do. And there was a picture of her, Jess, my Jess, the perfect blonde, next to a headline which read CONCERN FOR MISSING WITNEY WOMAN.

And as for the awful bombing of the Orlando nightclub, and the wife of the perp being questioned by authorities, a friend remarked:

  • As long as she keeps talking, they won’t charge her. They need every bit of information she can give them. When there’s nothing more she can tell them, that’s when they’ll charge her.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.


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