“Seriously,” I told my friends at dinner last night, “you have to read this book.”
Not because it’s of enormous literary value.
But because it kept me guessing until the last twenty pages. It is a brilliant psychological thriller, reminding me of films I’d seen in my twenties like Fatal Attraction. Jagged Edge. Sleeping With The Enemy. One of those films where your life is a direct result of the choices you’ve made, and now you’re at the whim of someone you made them for.
Christine is unable to remember anything about her life every single morning that she wakes up. Through the advice of her doctor, she begins a journal in which she can record what has happened that day so that upon rereading it tomorrow she’ll be able to have a point of reference.
Imagine the distress in waking and not knowing if you were grown up or still a child. Married. Or, even a mother. She must totally rely on the things her husband, and her doctor, are telling her. And someone is lying. Because the stories and her feelings don’t match up; as her memories come back to her bit by bit, she comes closer and closer to discovering the truth.
A nail biting truth with a harrowing edge. One that makes me grateful for my choices, and my memory, upon turning the final page.