Review: The Stranger in Our Home

The Stranger in Our Home by Sophie Draper
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

The Stranger in our Home was another psychological suspense novel that just failed to resonate and instead left me with more questions than answers. The author also seemed genre-confused and consistently flirted with the inclusion of supernatural elements, but without any follow through. In the end, it wasn’t ghosts or fairies or witches responsible for the chaos, but rather human depravity and immorality.

When the story opens, an anonymous narrator is lying in a hospital bed unable to communicate. Time is then rolled back, and the story actually begins. The reader learns that main characters, estranged sisters Caroline and Steph, have inherited the estate left by their (step) mother—the home where they grew up. After a lifetime of discord, Caroline discovers that Steph seems to have matured beyond whatever pettiness kept them apart, and though wary, Caroline embraces their new closeness. When Steph announces that she wants no part of the inheritance, Caroline puts aside her feelings of unease and moves into the house alone, with her sister’s blessing. Caroline is an accomplished artist, and her goal is to complete a commission to paint fairy tale illustrations while living in her childhood home. The past is never far behind the two sisters, however, and Caroline struggles to find the truth about her own history as well as the truth about long buried family secrets.

The writing here isn’t bad. The characters are believable; the dialogue, realistic. I did take issue with the commission Caroline was hired to complete. The title of the volume of fairy tales was The Pear Drum and Other Dark Tales From the Nursery. The reader learns that a pear drum was an object that played an important role in Caroline’s childhood. As I’ve never heard of a pear drum, I found this coincidence beyond believable. Perhaps somewhere there is a community of pear drum fans who see these every day and play them with regularity. For those readers, the coincidence may very well be one that rings true, but for those of us more pear drum naive, it was too much to believe—and I wanted it to be too much for Caroline as well. Her refusal to even discuss or consider the fact that a pear drum played such a negative role in her growing up and then it suddenly surfaces in a series of tales that seem to strangely reflect her own experiences is worthy of a face palm. Another thing that fell apart for me was the conclusion. Without spoilers, suffice it to say that I wanted more answers about the characters’ motivations and intent, as I felt unable to discern the final truth amidst the misdirections and lies. The shallow approach to drawing this story to a close was cheap and rushed. I invested the time in the reading and wanted to feel like there was some sort of payoff for my investment. Instead, it was hollow and unresolved.

There is one thing I’ve discovered following a marathon read of thrillers—my family isn’t nearly as dysfunctional as I previously thought. And that, my friends, is called a stretch to find the positive.

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