The premise of The Whisper Man is soo good. A serial killer whispers to kids to gain their trust, then abducts them in the dead of the night. The police thought they had caught The Whisper Man, but 20 years later, signs indicate someone using his modus operandi is back. And father and son duo Tom and Jack could be the next target.
The thing my brain can't wrap itself around is this: how can a thriller be so slow? Plodding doesn't even begin to describe the majority of it. The book crawls along, so sluggishly that I resorted to fidgeting and pinching myself just to break up the boredom while reading it. The investigation doesn't even get going until well into the second half of this book, where it takes up only a small part of it.
Instead, this book feels like a thin plot stuffed with a majority of filler. There was so many passages of self-defeating characters mentally beating themselves up, or thinking about how they can't get along with people while doing/saying stupid things to them. My mind wandered constantly. I wanted to give up so many times, and I would have if not for the excellent reviews.
Even the most exciting parts are written so that the climatic scenes happen off-page. I ask: why am I even reading this if I have to imagine all the best parts? The actual investigation is interesting enough, but there are no surprises there. It's written so that you can see everything coming from a mile away.
What I wanted is a thrilling mystery with some creepy vibes and great twists. But what I got instead is an indulgent treatise on how to wallow in self-pity and feel guilty over everything, while not getting along with your parent/child by being purposefully difficult. Nope, that isn't the same at all.
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