One of the reasons I am quick to be the parent to drive to volleyball relates to the two or more hours I then get to sit in an overstuffed leather chair sipping coffee, munching Big Sky granola and reading. This past Sunday, that was me, and The Woman in the Window was my book. There is something to be said for reading psychological thrillers in public places.
The narrator of this novel is the “woman,” Anna Fox. Anna is a psychologist who lives in a Brooklyn brownstone. She is agoraphobic and has managed to have everything she needs delivered to her house. Even her therapist and physical therapist visit her at home. Anna, a psychologist herself, spends her days dispensing online advice, playing online chess, watching black and white movies (which her life seems to mirror), and drinking Merlot by the case. She frequently keeps tabs on her neighbors with the help of a telephoto camera lens. One day, she thinks she sees her new neighbor stab his wife. In an attempt to help her, Anna calls the police and then goes outside. She gets to the park and then passes out from a panic attack. When she wakes up, no one believes there was a murder-not the doctors at the hospital, not the police, not her neighbors. They introduce Anna to the person she thinks was stabbed but who is in fact, very much alive. The catch: it is a different person from the wife Anna met.
If you enjoy a good psychological thriller, give The Woman in the Window a look. There are great twists and unexpected turns. I flew through it over the weekend, finishing it in the volleyball waiting room with three children (someone else’s) jumping and running around me. I didn’t even know they were there until I closed the book, my jaw on my lap.