Ghosting by David Poyer is kinda fucking me up.
It’s not a really well written book and it goes in too many directions all at once. If he had just told the story of the perfectly rich fambly sailing their new yacht from Connecticut to Bermuda and getting caught in a huge storm it could’a would’a been maybe cool.
Or, if he’d decided the story would be about the rich newbie sailing fambly getting hitchhiked on the open sea by smugglers that are all a whole lot more like Al Pacino as Scarface than Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow, it could’a been amazing.
But instead, he decided to roll the dice with a story that included every horrendously terrible thing that can possibly happen on a sailboat at sea.
Trust me, you will NEVER go offshore if you read this book.
It’s a story of endless grimness and rape and murder. The reviews I’d read leading me gently to reading Ghosting talked about the love the family felt for one another- the love that held them together in their tough times.
Hmmmm, er, I didn’t see it- but, ya know, I’m not too smart.
Read it. It’s not terrible, but I’m thinkin’ I’m gonna pick my next book waaay carefully so’s I can rinse my mental palate.