To start with the good: I was completely hooked for most of this book. It’s a dark comedy-meets-mystery with a truly unique main character, Felix Pink, a retired man involved in assisted dying (or at least, he thinks that’s what he’s doing). The tone walks a fine line between quirky and grim, and for the most part, it works beautifully. I laughed, I gasped, I looked forward to every chapter. The narrator of the audiobook did a fantastic job bringing the characters to life—I’d honestly recommend listening if you can.
But then came a moment that really took the wind out of my sails.
Without giving too much away, there's a twist late in the book that relies on the old and deeply frustrating “fake disability” trope. If you’re not familiar with it, it’s when a character pretends to have a disability as part of some deception or hidden agenda. It’s something I’ve seen show up in mystery fiction and on TV more often than I’d like, and every time, it lands badly—especially for readers or viewers who live with disabilities in real life.
As a feline living with a disability myself, I find this trope especially harmful. It contributes to a culture of doubt, where people already question whether disabled folks are “really” disabled. Using disability as a disguise or red herring doesn’t just feel lazy—it actively reinforces mistrust and stigma. And even though this book didn’t linger on it or spell it out in detail, it soured what had been, until then, a smart and engaging read.
So now I feel really torn. I loved so much of this book. The writing, the pacing, the character work—it all clicked for me. But this one narrative choice pulled me out of the story and left me feeling disappointed and uneasy. I’ve been sitting with that discomfort, wondering if I’m being too hard on the book or too easy on myself for having enjoyed it so much. But I keep coming back to this: you can admire a book’s craft and still name the ways it let you down.
I wish this trope would go away. It’s tired, it’s damaging, and it adds nothing that a writer couldn’t achieve through better, more respectful storytelling.
So, would I recommend Exit? Honestly… I don’t know. I wish I could, because so much of it is smart, funny, and humane. But I also don’t want to overlook the way it uses disability as a plot device. I guess my honest answer is: read it if you want—but read it with eyes open.
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