Verity by Colleen Hoover
Okay, let’s start here: I know I’m late to the party on this book that’s caused a small hurricane of discussion across social media. I also like to think of myself as a positive reviewer, but… well… this one tested my limits.
It wasn’t even on my radar until a few weeks ago, when my friend Lauren casually dropped, “Did you hear they cast Anne Hathaway in the movie adaptation of Verity?” Excuse me, what movie adaptation? Cue me scrambling to get a copy and dive in immediately.
And now? My brain is melted. Or fried. Pick your culinary metaphor. Many Goodreads reviewers use a stronger word, but honestly, all I could think while reading was: WTF? 😳
Let me be clear: I did read the whole book. Couldn’t put it down, actually. But the entire time, I was equal parts horrified, intrigued, and questioning why I am continuing to read this book! It’s not that I don’t love a good, twisted mystery—I do. But this? This wasn’t just twisted; it was pretzel-knotted and dipped in “WHAT IS EVEN HAPPENING?”
So, is it a mystery? Sure. But it gets tangled in pages of gratuitous, crass sex scenes. Is it erotica? Definitely not for me.
Here’s a spoiler-free-ish synopsis:
We’ve got three main characters. Verity Crawford is a mystery author—maybe a psychopath, maybe just in a vegetative state (no big deal). Lowen Ashleigh is a struggling writer who doesn’t want recognition but somehow also craves it. She is asked to complete the series of books written by Verity. Then there’s Jeremy, the husband and the insane obsession of Verity, though his role in the chaos is debatable. Mix in desperation, tragedy, affairs, manipulative love, and a wildly detailed found autobiography… and, oh yeah, a letter at the end that flips everything on its head. I finished the book feeling like I’d been thrown down a flight of stairs and didn’t know where the pain was I was feeling… I think it was everywhere. And seriously, don’t get me started on how the book starts!
What did I just read?!
Am I going to see the movie? Honestly… probably. I mean, how are they going to interpret this madness?
Final thoughts: I still don’t know how I feel about this book. Did I like it? Not really. Did I hate it? No. Did I compulsively turn every page despite myself? Absolutely. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need something light and fluffy to cleanse my poor brain.
