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Our House Hardcover – August 7, 2018

by Louise Candlish (Author)

4.0 17,266 ratings

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"The perfect book for thriller readers and true-crime podcast addicts...a stunning literary thriller that artfully twists and turns until the very end."--Bustle One of The Washington Post's 10 Best Thrillers and Mysteries of the Year One of Publishers Weekly's Best Books of the Year One of Real Simple's Best Books of the Year On a bright morning in the suburbs, a family moves into the house they've just bought on Trinity Avenue. Nothing strange about that. Except it's your house. And you didn't sell it. When Fiona Lawson arrives home to find strangers moving into her house, she is plunged into terror and confusion. She and her husband, Bram, have owned their home on Trinity Avenue for years; how can another family possibly think the house is theirs? And why has Bram disappeared--along with their two young children--when she needs him most? As the nightmare takes hold, Fiona begins to untangle the lies that led to a devastating crime--and a betrayal so shocking it will teach her to keep her own secrets behind locked doors....

Editorial Reviews

Review

Praise for Our House

“Nail-biting from the first line to the very end, Our House plunges the reader into one family's terrifyingly plausible nightmare, and twists the knife right up to the very final page.”—Ruth Ware, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Turn of the Key

“[A] superb thriller...the ending Candlish has devised is devastating.”—The Washington Post

“An artfully plotted, affecting page-turner…a truly killer climax.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review)

“Candlish is skilled at portraying families in critical situations and ramping up the suspense...An absorbing plot with surprising twists until the final page.”—Library Journal (starred review)

“[A] twisty domestic thriller that features everything readers enjoy about the genre: dark secrets, unreliable narrators, a fast-moving plot, and a terrifyingly plausible premise. This could be summer’s breakout hit.”—Booklist (starred review)

“I loved the wonderful hook of Our House, which plays with our modern obsession with property—and the vulnerability that exposes. Louise Candlish is a great writer; she inhaled me into her nightmarish world where everything we think we know is ripped from under our feet.”—Fiona Barton, New York Times bestselling author of The Widow

“[A] masterfully plotted, compulsive page-turner.”—The Guardian

“The last line will make you literally shout with shock.”—Good Housekeeping

“A delightful disturbing story about marriage and secrets.”—BookRiot

“[An] addictive portrayal of how lives can unravel.... A compulsive story with a final flourish in the form of a delicious sting in the tale--one of this year's must-reads.”—Sunday Mirror

“Candlish is an expert on the psychological flaws of these types of couples, and she doesn’t shrink from posing uncomfortable questions about modern marriage. This very original storyline is a winner.”—The Daily Mail

“If 2018 brings a better book than Our House I will eat my hat. Addictive, twisty, and oh so terrifyingly possible.”—Clare Mackintosh, New York Times bestselling author of I Let You Go

"A high-stakes domestic thriller that is utterly absorbing. Twists and turns abound, and Our House will have you locking your doors and checking your windows.”—Heather Gudenkauf, New York Times bestselling author of Not a Sound

“Absolutely brilliant. It has bestseller written all over it.”—Kate Furnivall, New York Times bestselling author of The Betrayal

“Dark, timely and full of surprises, Our House is a truly captivating novel of domestic suspense....A true binge-read. I couldn't turn the pages fast enough.”—Alison Gaylin, USA Today bestselling author of If I Die Tonight

“Twisty, warped, credible. Brilliantly plotted and compelling.”—Sarah Vaughan, author of Anatomy of a Scandal

“Yesterday I missed my stop on the train because I was so absorbed in Our House. I am in awe of the twisty, clever plot and gasped out loud at the last paragraph.”—Erin Kelly, author of He Said, She Said

“This book was impossible to put down and I LOVED it. Believable, brilliant and beautifully written.”—Alice Feeney, author of Sometimes I Lie

About the Author

Louise Candlish attended University College London and worked as an editor in art publishing and as a copywriter before becoming a novelist. She lives with her husband and daughter.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

1

Friday, January 13, 2017

London, 12:30 p.m.

She must be mistaken, but it looks exactly as if someone is moving into her house.

The van is parked halfway down Trinity Avenue, its square mouth agape, a large piece of furniture sliding down the ribbed metal tongue. Fi watches, squinting into the buttery sunlight-rare for the time of year, a gift-as the object is borne shoulder high by two men through the gate and down the path.

My gate. My path.

No, that's illogical; of course it can't be her house. It must be the Reeces', two down from hers; they put their place on the market in the autumn and no one is quite sure whether a sale has gone through. The houses on this side of Trinity Avenue are all built the same-redbrick double-fronted Edwardians in pairs, their owners united in a preference for front doors painted black-and everyone agrees it's easy to miscount.

Once, when Bram came stumbling home from one of his "quick" drinks at the Two Brewers, he went to the wrong door and she heard through the open bedroom window the scrambling and huffing as her inebriated husband failed to fit his key into the lock of number 87, Merle and Adrian's place. His persistence was staggering, his dogged belief that if he only kept on trying, the key would work.

"But they all look the same," he'd protested in the morning.

"The houses, yes, but even a drunk couldn't miss the magnolia," Fi had told him, laughing. (This was back when she was still amused by his inebriety and not filled with sadness-or disdain, depending on her mood.)

Her step falters: the magnolia. It's a landmark, their tree, a celebrated sight when in blossom and beautiful even when bare, as it is now, the outer twigs etched into the sky with an artist's flair. And it is definitely in the front garden of the house with the van outside.

Think. It must be a delivery, something for Bram that he hasn't mentioned to her. Not every detail gets communicated; they both accept that their new system isn't flawless. Hurrying again, using her fingers as a sun visor, she's near enough to be able to read the lettering on the side of the vehicle: prestige home removals. It is a house move, then. Friends of Bram must be dropping something off en route to somewhere. If she were able to choose, it would be an old piano for the boys (please, Lord, not a drum kit).

But wait-the deliverymen have reappeared and now more items are being transported from van to house: a dining chair; a large, round metallic tray; a box labeled fragile; a small, slim wardrobe the size of a coffin. Whose things are these? A rush of anger fires her blood as she reaches the only possible conclusion: Bram has invited someone to stay. Some dispossessed drinking pal, no doubt, with nowhere else to go. ("Stay as long as you like, mate-we've got tons of room.") When the hell was he going to tell her? Well, there's no way a stranger is sharing their home, however temporarily, however charitable Bram's intentions. The kids come first: Isn't that the point?

Lately, she worries they've forgotten the point.

She's almost there. As she passes number 87, she's aware of Merle at the first-floor window, face cast in a frown, arm raised for her attention. Fi makes only the briefest of acknowledgments as she strides through her own gate and onto the tiled path.

"Excuse me. What's going on here?" But in the clamor no one seems to hear. Louder now, sharper: "What are you doing with all this stuff? Where's Bram?"

A woman she doesn't know comes out of the house and stands on the doorstep, smiling. "Hello, can I help?"

She gasps as if at an apparition. This is Bram's friend in need? Familiar by type rather than feature, she is one of Fi's own-though younger, in her thirties-blond and brisk and cheerful, the sort to roll up her sleeves and take charge. The sort, as history testifies, to constrain a free spirit like Bram. "I hope so, yes. I'm Fi, Bram's wife. What's going on here? Are you . . . are you a friend of his?"

The woman steps closer, purposeful, polite. "Sorry. Whose wife?"

"Bram's. I mean ex-wife, really." The correction earns a curious look, followed by the suggestion that the two of them move off the path and out of the way of "the guys." As a huge Bubble Wrapped canvas glides by, Fi allows herself to be steered under the ribs of the magnolia. "What on earth has he agreed to here?" she demands. "Whatever it is, I know nothing about it."

"I'm not sure what you mean." There is a faint puckering of the woman's forehead as she studies Fi. Her eyes are golden brown and honest. "Are you a neighbor?"

"No, of course not." Fi is becoming impatient. "I live here."

The puckering deepens. "I don't think so. We're just moving in. My husband will be here soon with the second van. We're the Vaughans?" She says it as though Fi might have heard of them, even offers her hand for a formal shake. "I'm Lucy."

Gaping, Fi struggles to trust her ears, the false messages they are transmitting to her brain. "Look, I'm the owner of this house, and I think I would know if I'd arranged to rent it out."

The rose-pink of confusion creeps over Lucy Vaughan's face. She lowers her hand. "We're not renting it. We've bought it."

"Don't be ridiculous!"

"I'm not!" The other woman glances at her watch. "Officially, we became the new owners at twelve o'clock, but the agent let us pick up the keys just before that."

"What are you talking about? What agent? No agent has keys to my house!" Fi's face spasms with conflicting emotions: fear; frustration; anger; even a dark, grudging amusement, because this must be a joke, albeit on an epic scale. What else can it be? "Is this some sort of prank?" She searches over the woman's shoulder for cameras, for a phone recording her bewilderment in the name of entertainment, but finds none-only a series of large boxes sailing past. "Because I'm not finding it very funny. You need to get these people to stop."

"I have no intention of getting them to stop," Lucy Vaughan says, crisp and decisive, just like Fi usually is when she hasn't been blindsided by something like this. Lucy's mouth turns in vexation before opening in sudden wonder. "Wait a minute. Fi, did you say? Is that Fiona?"

"Yes. Fiona Lawson."

"Then you must be-" Lucy pauses, notices the querying glances from the movers, lowers her voice. "I think you'd better come inside."

And Fi finds herself being ushered through her own door, into her own house, like a guest. She steps into the broad, high-ceilinged hallway and stops short, dumbstruck. This isn't her hall. The dimensions are correct, yes; the silver-blue paint scheme remains the same and the staircase has not moved; but the space has been stripped, plundered of every last item that belongs in it: the console table and antique monks bench, the heap of shoes and bags, the pictures on the walls. And her beloved rosewood mirror, inherited from her grandmother, gone! She reaches to touch the wall where it should be, as if expecting to find it sunk into the plaster.

"What have you done with all our things?" she demands of Lucy. Panic makes her strident and a passing mover casts her a correcting sort of look, as if she is the threatening one.

"I haven't done anything," Lucy says. "You moved your stuff out. Yesterday, I'm assuming."

"I did nothing of the sort. I need to look upstairs," Fi says, shouldering past her.

"Well . . ." Lucy begins, but it isn't a request. Fi isn't seeking permission to inspect her own home.

Having climbed the stairs two at a time, she pauses on the upstairs landing, hand still gripping the mahogany curve of the banister rail as if she expects the building to pitch and roll beneath her. She needs to prove to herself that she is in the right house, that she hasn't lost her mind. Good, all doors appear to lead to where they should: two bathrooms at the middle front and rear, two bedrooms on the left and two on the right. Even as she lets go of the banister and enters each room in turn, she still expects to see her family's possessions where they should be, where they've always been.

But there is nothing. Everything they own has vanished, not a stick of furniture left, only indentations in the carpet where twenty-four hours ago the legs of beds and bookcases and wardrobes stood. A bright green stain on the carpet in one of the boys' rooms from a ball of slime that broke open during a fight one birthday. In the corner of the kids' shower stands a tube of gel, the one with tea-tree oil-she remembers buying it at Sainsbury's. Behind the bath taps her fingers find the recently cracked tile (cause of breakage never established) and she presses until it hurts, checking she is still flesh and bone, nerve endings intact.

Everywhere, there is the sharp lemon smell of cleaning fluids.

Returning downstairs, she doesn't know whether the ache has its source inside her or in the walls of her stripped house.

At her approach, Lucy disbands a conference with two of the movers and Fi senses she has rejected their offer of help-to deal with her, the intruder. "Mrs. Lawson? Fiona?"

"This is unbelievable," Fi says, repeating the word, the only one that will do. Disbelief is all that's stopping her from hyperventilating, tipping into hysteria. "I don't understand this. Please, can you explain what the hell is going on here?"

"That's what I've been trying to do. Maybe if you see the evidence," Lucy suggests. "Come into the kitchen-we're blocking the way here."

The kitchen too is bare but for a table and chairs Fi has never seen before, and an open box of tea things on the worktop. Lucy is thoughtful enough to push the door to so as not to offend her visitor's eyes with the sight of the continuing invasion beyond.

Visitor.

"Look at these e-mails," Lucy says, offering Fi her phone. "They're from our solicitor, Emma Gilchrist at Bennett, Stafford and Co."

Fi takes the phone and orders her eyes to focus. The first e-mail is from seven days ago and appears to confirm the exchange of contracts on 91 Trinity Avenue, Alder Rise, between David and Lucy Vaughan and Abraham and Fiona Lawson. The second is from this morning and announces the completion of the sale.

"You called him Bram, didn't you?" Lucy says. "That's why it took me a minute to realize. Bram's short for Abraham, of course." She has a real letter at hand too, an opening statement of account from British Gas, addressed to the Vaughans at Trinity Avenue. "We set up all the utility bills to be paperless, but for some reason they sent this by post."

Fi returns the phone to her. "All of this means nothing. They could be fakes. Phishing or something."

"Phishing?"

"Yes, we had a whole talk about neighborhood crime a few months ago at Merle's house and the officer told us all about it. Fake e-mails and invoices look very convincing now. Even the experts can be taken in."

Lucy gives an exasperated half smile.

"They're real, I promise you. It's all real. The funds will have been transferred to your account by now."

"What funds?"

"The money we paid for this house! I'm sorry, but I can't go on repeating this, Mrs. Lawson."

"I'm not asking you to," Fi snaps. "I'm telling you-you must have made a mistake. I'm telling you it's not possible for you to have bought a house that was never for sale."

"But it was for sale-of course it was. Otherwise, we could never have bought it."

Fi stares at Lucy, utterly disoriented. What she is saying, what she is doing, is complete lunacy and yet she doesn't look like a madwoman. No, Lucy looks like a woman convinced that the person she is talking to is the deranged one.

"Maybe you ought to phone your husband," Lucy says finally.

Geneva, 1:30 p.m.

He lies on the bed in his hotel room, arms and legs twitching. The mattress is a good one, designed to absorb sleeplessness, passion, deepest nightmare, but it fails to ease agitation like his. Not even the two antidepressants he's taken have subdued him.

Perhaps it's the planes making him crazy, the pitiless way they grind in and out, one after another, groaning under their own weight. More likely it's the terror of what he's done, the dawning understanding of all that he's sacrificed.

Because it's real now. The Swiss clock has struck. One thirty here, twelve thirty in London. He is now in body what he has been in his mind for weeks: a fugitive, a man cast adrift by his own hand. He realizes that he's been hoping there'll be, in some bleak way, relief, but now the time has come there is something bleaker: none. Only the same sickening brew of emotions he's felt since leaving the house early this morning, somehow both grimly fatalistic and wired for survival.

Oh, God. Oh, Fi. Does she know yet? Someone will have seen, surely? Someone will have phoned her with the news. She might even be on her way to the house already.

He shuffles upright, his back against the headboard, and tries to find a focus in the room. The armchair is red leatherette, the desk black veneer. A return to a 1980s aesthetic, more unsettling than it has any right to be. He swings his legs over the side of the bed. The flooring is warm on bare feet-vinyl or something else man-made. Fi would know what the material is; she has a passion for interiors.

The thought causes a spasm of pain, a new breathlessness. He rises, seeking air-the room, on the fifth floor, is ablaze with central heating-but behind the complicated curtain arrangement the windows are sealed. Cars, white and black and silver, streak along the carriageways between hotel and airport, and, beyond, the mountains divide and shelter, their white peaks tinged peppermint blue. Trapped, he turns once more to face the room, thinking, unexpectedly, of his father. His fingers reach for the red leatherette chair, grip the seat back. He does not remember the name of this hotel, which he chose for its nearness to the airport, but knows that it is as soulless a place as he deserves.

Because he's sold his soul, that's what he's done. He's sold his soul.

But not so long ago that he's forgotten how it feels to have one.

Product details

Publisher ‏ : ‎ Berkley; First Edition, First Printing (August 7, 2018)
Language ‏ : ‎ English
Hardcover ‏ : ‎ 416 pages
ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 045148911X
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-0451489111
Item Weight ‏ : ‎ 1.48 pounds
Dimensions ‏ : ‎ 6.26 x 1.33 x 9.26 inches

Best Sellers Rank: #1,484,169 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #17,139 in Women's Domestic Life Fiction
- #19,856 in Psychological Thrillers (Books)
- #57,498 in Suspense Thrillers

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4.0 17,266 ratings

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Louise Candlish

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Hello and welcome! I am the bestselling author of 16 novels and my books are published all over the world - in fact, you join me in my 20th year as an author, my first book having come out in May 2004. Which is, quite frankly, nuts.

My brand-new thriller OUR HOLIDAY is now available to pre-order and will be on the shelves just in time for your summer holidays... It features my favourite ever love-to-hate characters (wait till you meet Perry!), second home owners in an idyllic coastal resort who think they're in town for another summer of sun, sea and rosé... but instead, they're in for a bit of a reckoning...

THE ONLY SUSPECT is my latest paperback. Set in London in 1995 and the present day, it concerns a terrible crime that comes back to bite at exactly the wrong time, and is described by the Daily Mail as 'a perfect blend of nostalgia and menace'. It has been shortlisted for the 2024 Capital Crime Fingerprint Award for Best Thriller.

OUR HOUSE is the one you may know me for as it's on our screens as a major four-part ITV drama starring Martin Compston, Tuppence Middleton and Rupert Penry-Jones (watch the full series free on ITVX). This is the novel that turned my career around - right when I was about to give up. It won the 2019 British Book Awards Book of the Year - Crime & Thriller and was shortlisted for the Goldsboro Books Glass Bell Award, the Capital Crime Amazon Publishing Best Crime Novel of the Year Award, and the Audible Sounds of Crime Award. It was also longlisted for the Theakston Old Peculier Crime Novel of the Year Award and the Specsavers National Book Awards.

It recently received a Nielsen Bestseller Silver Award for 250,000 copies sold and I feel so proud that readers are continuing to discover it and recommend it far and wide.

OUR HOLIDAY, THE ONLY SUSPECT, THE HEIGHTS, THE OTHER PASSENGER, THE SWIMMING POOL and THE DAY YOU SAVED MY LIFE have all been optioned for the screen - I'll share development news as soon as I can.

A bit about me: I live in a South London neighbourhood not unlike the one in my books, with my husband, daughter (when she's not at uni), and a fox-red Labrador called Bertie who is the apple of my eye. Books, TV and long walks are my passions - and drinking wine in the sun with family and friends. My favourite authors include Tom Wolfe, Patricia Highsmith, Barbara Vine and Agatha Christie.

Be the first to hear about new releases and price drops by clicking on the 'Follow' button under my pic. You can find my social media links, including my newsletter sign-up, at my website: louisecandlish dot com

Author photos: ©Neil Spence; ©Johnny Ring; ©Joe Lord/Archant

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Bookpreneur

Nail-biting from the very beginning

Reviewed in the United States on September 18, 2019

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I bought the hardback format of this book for my collection and I’m very happy I did. Nail-biting from the very beginning, this writer knows how to turn everyday situations into truly disturbing nightmares. A well-executed plot that had me gasping from the outset. I noticed a few reviews said this was a slow burn, but for me it was totally the opposite. Each chapter and sections of dialogue drove the story forward at an alarming rate. and I couldn’t put the book down.

Although the premise may seem a little far-fetched, as I read on it became terrifyingly believable. On Friday 13th, Fi returns home to discover something has happened to her house. The front façade is the same, but the occupants and furniture aren’t. Fi’s husband’s phone is out of service and her children aren’t at school that day. Two inconsistencies sure to send any mother into a tail spin. This is one of those stories that spring from an ordinary day at work, a simple ride home and BAM! The stuff great psychological thrillers are made of.

Written mainly in two points of view, Fi’s and Bram’s with his Word document that parallels Fi’s podcast — stories that lead up to the present day. With infidelity and divorce in the background, and latterly a ‘bird’s nest’ plan — keeping the children in the same home with alternating parental custody — things should have been working well. But they’re not when you consider the secret Bram is hiding. With Fi being the innocent party up until now, you watch two otherwise intelligent, responsible people slide slowly into a complete nightmare. A car crash, a few more affairs and a conspiracy that made my toes curl.

Fi’s neighbour, Merle, offers to help her throughout her ordeal, although I had a hard time understanding how Fi managed to deal with it. But desperate and out of sorts, what choice did she have? I found her thoughtful and compassionate, everything you’d expect. Bram is a little too treacherous for his own good, and perhaps a little weak. I kept wanting to shake him out of his stubbornness as he kept trying to cover up his mistakes, which deteriorated with each chapter. There was no way out for him and digging deeper into his dark world only cemented his failure. Secrets, both harrowing and tragic, a moral message and a few well planned twists along the way made the book a success for me. The last chapter was something I’d toyed with but thought wouldn’t happen. I think the author did a splendid job of tying up all loose ends, even if one question may have been left hanging. For me, this enhances the read because, let’s face it, who doesn’t love being confronted by a potentially shocking revelation.

This is the first Louise Candlish book I’ve read and definitely won’t be the last. Masterfully plotted, her writing is top-notch and sure to score with avid domestic thriller lovers. If you’re looking for a superior read, one with grit and depth, this is it. Our House will definitely be listed in my top ten reads for 2019.

8 people found this helpful

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Zuri

Very hard to put this book down!

Reviewed in the United States on June 24, 2018

Verified Purchase

I was engrossed in this book, and that should be 4 1/2 stars. (Amazon, how about letting us give half stars??) This story has twists and turns that kept me reading -- it genuinely is a book you do not easily put down. To be betrayed like Fi is, the good-hearted wife and mother, is simply painful to read. But is her husband really a villain, or simply a victim of circumstances? To my taste (please know this is a subjective comment) the author might have written a less chopped-up story if she had used the third person throughout and not inserted those blog (?) confessions by Fi. She also switches, towards the end, between first and third person story-telling, which I found less than ideal for the flow of the story. But apart from these minor niggles, I heartily recommend this quite long and involved story ... even if there are a few little holes near the end (I could not work out how the various deceptions could have been carried out without the neighbours latching on to it). But wow -- the ending comes as a shock! As they say -- and you will have to read to the end to understand this -- "the way to hell is paved with good intentions".

32 people found this helpful

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noteman

A rather unpleasant read...but compelling

Reviewed in the United States on December 4, 2022

Verified Purchase

As this story unfolds, it is so grim you want to put it down Kept reading though; there are numerous surprises that keep up interest but the abrupt end was too clever by half; infuriating. Left a couple of possible endings up in the air.

4 people found this helpful

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Sharon Litwin

twisty turns……great book

Reviewed in the United States on March 3, 2024

Verified Purchase

What an ending! I didn’t see that coming! Excellent story!
Avid reader and I’ve never read Louise candlish! Good thing, now I have all of her books in front of me!

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Deborah J Savage

Interesting and different

Reviewed in the United States on April 2, 2023

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Very interesting to read a story set in England. Also interesting twists and revelations throughout. Also interesting that a wife could be so strong in the face of so many terrible chaos.

2 people found this helpful

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Eun

What about Fi - is she alright?

Reviewed in the United States on April 12, 2019

Verified Purchase

Just finished reading this long book. I’m not complaining and if you’ve read any of the other reviews more often than not comments were made that the book could’ve lost 50 to 100 pages. I’m not so sure. The author gives us quite a bit of background material, especially about Bram.

Do you all know the premise of the book : A woman returns home after a weekend away and finds someone moving into her house. All her possessions are gone and the people have told her they just purchased the house. She separated from her husband and they share the house with their two sons. The real nitty-gritty of the story begins when the husband is involved in a traffic accident. Banned from driving, he’s an habitual speeder, he’s being blackmailed bye and ugly couple. The book goes on and on and on about the blackmail scheme. My blood pressure rose when reading about his encounters with those blackmailers. OK, enough of that.

I really enjoyed the book and wish the following had taken place:
Bram had confessed all to his wife; gone to the police. And, Fi had pressed Bram for answers. They both made mistakes - his infidelities being cause oh the split.

The end of the book had a twists, turns and a surprising conversation between Fi and her friend Merle. In addition, Bram send a full accounting and confession to the authorities - which left me aching for more information regarding Fi.

I know this sounds confusing and I apologize I am just trying to verbalize the confusion in my mind. I’d love to sit down with someone and discuss this book at length. It’s a long read but an engrossing one.

10 people found this helpful

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Stu Cummins

Terrifyingly plausible domestic thriller that continues to pack a memorable punch!

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on March 1, 2022

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I think it takes a really special book to be just as exciting and engaging on a subsequent read as it was during the first. Our House is one of those books, as I literally couldn’t put it down again! I flew through it in a couple of days (which is fast for me!) and was just as eager to turn the page as I was on my initial venture into Trinity Avenue.

One of the main reasons Our House continues to be a gripping and unputdownable read for a second time, is the plausibility of the plot. Bram’s descent into the increasingly desperate and damaging actions he takes are so believable. It’s easy to understand how his situation spirals further and further out of control. It’s like passing a huge car crash: you want to look away, but you somehow can’t turn your head. This really ramps up the tension in the novel and the gradual decline of Bram’s circumstances and his mental health are truly tragic. Whilst he makes some incredibly dubious decisions and his personality reeks of white, middle class privilege (I mean, who but the most arrogant in society would continue to drive in his circumstances!?), I still have a certain sympathy for him. He’s a product of his circumstances (both past and present), but he’s not evil or villainous. This is something Candlish does so well, she writes characters so painfully human you can’t help but relate to them even in the most extreme of circumstances.

There are lots of other aspects to the novel that really stand out for me and have given me even more food for thought whilst reading for a second time. Some themes that were highlighted for me are: the trappings of middle class consumerism (both Bram and Fi place so much of their identity on 91 Trinity Avenue and the symbol of status it provides); the duplicitous nature of relationships (there’s multiple layers to a number of relationships, which again adds to the plausibility of the plot); and the danger that a digital/technologically advanced life can bring (this aids and abets the devastating fraud at the heart of the plot). These all make for a memorable and exhilarating narrative, which is blended with a cast of complex characters and presented in a fresh and unique format (I love how the narrative shifts between Fi’s podcast recording, Bram’s document and the third person chapters).

And let’s not forget #THATLastLine 😱 - it’s still just as chilling as reading it the first time. I defy anybody claiming it doesn’t give them goosebumps! Our House is just as fresh, relevant and impactful as it was when it was first released. A must read thriller for fans of the genre!

8 people found this helpful

Ziegenglück

Unglaublich fesselnd

Reviewed in Germany on November 8, 2021

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Ich frage mich, wie man sich sowas ausdenken kann und es dann noch so niederschreibt, dass der Leser regelrecht in die Handlung hineingesaugt wird. Mir ging es jedenfalls so. Als wäre man selbst mit Teil der Geschichte.Emotional ist man total involviert. Habe mir nun das 3. Buch von der Autorin gekauft. Wahrscheinlich werde ich sie alle lesen.

One person found this helpful

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Rakel Yeregui Larrañaga

Perfecto

Reviewed in Spain on April 5, 2021

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Novela estupenda, intriga asegurada, tienes que leerla

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Yuri Moisés Taketomi Olimpio

Ok

Reviewed in Brazil on January 13, 2020

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Great

One person found this helpful

KJS

Terrific!

Reviewed in Canada on August 12, 2018

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Truly addictive, and the multiple viewpoints (spiced up with some social media commentary) work well. Candlish has a way of making the reader feel reluctantly sympathetic to some very unlikeable characters. I was lulled into a false sense of security, in that I saw most of the plot twists coming - but the ending ... OMG ... worthy of O'Henry.

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Our House Hardcover – August 7, 2018

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