The Fall Out

I’ll admit, I rolled my eyes at first. *Another* thriller about suburban women keeping secrets? But *The Fall Out* disarmed me within chapters—Frankland’s writing is lean, almost clinical, yet it pulses with a rage that feels earned. The protagonist’s voice (brilliantly rendered by Myers, whose performance oscillates between exhausted whisper and sudden, sharp outbursts) hooks you not because she’s likable, but because she’s *compellingly* flawed. She’s the kind of narrator who’ll admit something horrifying in the same tone she’d use to complain about the HOA, and that disconnect is where the book’s power lies. The pacing is where things get interesting. The first act simmers—maybe *too* slow for some—but the payoff is a second half that unfolds like a car crash in reverse, each revelation peeling back layers of denial. My one critique? The male characters often feel like thin sketches, existing mostly to be obstacles or foils, which undercuts the book’s otherwise razor-sharp social commentary. And while Myers’ narration is largely stellar, her voice for the teenage daughter occasionally veers into caricature, pulling me out of the moment. Still, the audiobook’s production is otherwise impeccable—no jarring edits, no distracting background noise, just a creeping dread that lingers like the scent of a neighbor’s bonfire on a windless night. If you’re tired of thrillers that telegraph their twists, this one’s for you. Just don’t expect to trust your next-door neighbor afterward.