Why The Silhouette Girl by Faux-V.C. Andrews is One of the Worst Books I've Ever Reviewed

9:52 PM

One short review of this hellfire of a novel. 


ABOUT THE BOOK

Pru Dunning has everything she ever wanted: a successful boyfriend, a thriving nursing career, and a truly comfortable life. But then the strange voicemails start.

Scarletta, the woman calls herself. She seems to know Pru, although Pru certainly doesn't know that name, nor does she recognize the glamorous voice leaving her poisonous messages.

Is this the work of jealous revenge from someone at work? An old enemy she has forgotten about? Pru begins to investigate, but carefully—if anyone found out about these lewd, threatening messages, filled with details that no stranger could possibly know, they might suspect that she is something other than an innocent victim. But when she suddenly becomes a person of interest in a murder case, it feels like Scarletta’s toxic voice, lashing out from the shadows, will silence all beauty in Pru’s perfect life, once and for all.

 

Rating: ★☆☆☆☆

Um. I think this book is a new low for Faux-V.C. Andrews. Not only that, it is one of the worst books I’ve ever read. And I've read Fifty Shades of Grey so that's saying something. Let's get one thing out of the way about The Silhouette Girl. It is another nod to the truth that we've known for decades: Andrew Neiderman should not be writing under the V.C. Andrews name any longer.

I'm kind of at a loss for words because that's how awful The Silhouette Girl is. Plainly put, it is one of the worst books to have been published of all time. Not in the campy, so-bad-it's-good way that the original V.C. Andrews novels were, but in the, "Oh my God, how did this manage to get published." kind of ways. In-fact, I have a list of about a dozen other things that I'd rather to do than write this review or look over my notes about it.

The work attributed to V.C. Andrews' name in these modern times are disturbing in a way that is, somehow, worse under the command of Neiderman, as opposed to the feeling we got reading the actual Virginia Andrews titles. I almost want to applaud him for this but would rather not give him any sort of credit.

If you're reading the synopsis of this novel thinking, you know what, this might not be a bad read? Turn. Away. Now. This is a waste of time. Unless you want to hear such charming narrative gems, such as, " I inspected myself like a pre-Civil Wat Slave owner looking at prospects. " then by all mans this h*llfire of a novel is all yours.

Overall, I'd give The Silhouette Girl a negative five star review if I could.

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