KitKat Reviews Everything I Never Told You by Celeste Ng

Hi friends. I just finished Everything I Never Told You by Celeste Ng, and I’m still sitting with it. It’s one of those books that lingers quietly after you close it.

I’ll be honest: I went in expecting a domestic thriller. A missing girl, a mysterious death? That setup usually means twists and secrets. And yes, there are secrets here. But this isn’t a thriller in the usual sense. It’s slower, deeper, and more emotional. It’s literary, but not in an intimidating way, just beautifully written and full of truth.

If I had to label it, I’d call it a literary family drama with elements of mystery. The story starts with Lydia, the middle child of the Lee family, found dead in a lake. The question isn’t just what happened, but why. And in trying to answer that, Celeste Ng pulls apart every thread of this family’s life.

The Lees live in 1970s Ohio, and that setting matters. It’s a time when a mixed-race family (Chinese-American father, white mother) stands out. The small, subtle (and not-so-subtle) ways they’re treated differently ripple through everything. It shapes how each person sees themselves and each other. You feel the isolation in every page.

What struck me most was how real the family dynamic felt. Everyone’s trying, in their own way, to love and be understood, and they're failing just enough to make it hurt. The parents want the best for their kids, but they’re weighed down by their own regrets. The children are desperate to be seen, but no one really knows how to talk about what they need. The title says it perfectly: Everything I Never Told You.

The writing is evocative and spare, the kind that lets emotions creep in quietly. You can almost smell the 1970s kitchens, hear the hum of a house full of silence. It’s beautiful, and sad, and sometimes painfully true.

If you want a story that captures the ache of family, identity, and everything we leave unsaid, this one’s unforgettable.

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KitKat Reviews Everyone on This Train Is a Suspect by Benjamin Stevenson

Hi everyone! It’s KitKat again. I just hopped off this train-mystery, and I’ve got thoughts.

First: the humour. You'll remember it from the first book in the series. The main character Ernest (Ernie) Cunningham’s voice is wry, self-aware, and always nudging the reader. He often addresses you, lets you in on the tropes, even warns you when he’s doing something “murder-mystery-ish.” That meta quality is a delight. It doesn’t feel showy; it feels playful and smart.

The setup is a closed-circle: you’re on a train with a bunch of writers, and when a murder happens, the killer has to be one of those on board. The tension of knowing the murderer is “in the room” (or the carriage) is classic, and Stevenson leans into it well. You want to turn the pages, check every motive, and second-guess every conversation.

One of my favourite scenes takes place in Coober Pedy. If you haven’t heard of it, it’s a fascinating town in South Australia where, because of the brutal heat, many people live underground in “dugouts.” The novel leans into that strangeness, but I had to do some outside research to discover the true weirdness of place. There’s something thrilling about being in a spot where the landscape itself feels uncanny—hot, exposed, subterranean, hidden.

The train itself is a real one: The Ghan, a luxury line running north to south across Australia (Darwin to Adelaide). The slow stretches of outback, the stops in remote places, the shifts between isolation and motion — they all contribute to the atmosphere. You feel both confined and unsettled.

The characters are strong. Ernest is not perfect, and that’s good. He doubts himself. He’s funny and vulnerable. The other writers, the festival guests, the staff — each has quirks, secrets, ambitions. Nobody is wasted. Even small roles feel alive.

If you like ultra-dark mysteries, this isn’t that. The tone often leans lighter, more witty than grim. Also, the puzzle is tricky. Stevenson plays fair, giving clues, nods, and hints. But I don’t think I solved it before the reveal; there were surprises. The meta asides help you notice things you’d otherwise miss.

All told: Everyone on This Train Is a Suspect is one of those rare mystery books that’s both clever and fun. You get suspense and wit. You get place, and characters, and a puzzle you can chew on.

I highly recommend this one — especially if you like mysteries that wink at the genre. Hop on board early in this series and you’ll be waiting for the next Ernest Cunningham train.

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KitKat Reviews Exit by Belinda Bauer

Hi friends, it’s KitKat here with some complicated thoughts about Exit by Belinda Bauer. I just finished the audiobook, and I’m still sorting through how I feel—so this review might be a bit more reflective than usual.

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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Zorro Reviews: We Solve Murders by Richard Osman

We Solve Murders. Richard Osman. New series. Book one. Big win.

Richard Osman knows what he’s doing. This thing is sharp, quick, and funny. Very funny. Not cute funny—actual laugh-out-loud funny. Jokes land. Dialogue snaps.

The pace? Fast. But not chaotic. It moves. England. Ireland. America. Dubai. It hops around. You always know where you are. You always want to see what’s next.

The story’s solid. Twists, reveals, secrets. One mystery leads to another. Never drags.

Main guy is Steve Wheeler. Ex-cop. Haunted by grief. Dry sense of humor. Keeps things close to the chest.

Then there’s Amy Wheeler. His daughter-in-law. Professional bodyguard. Tough, sharp, no-nonsense. Their dynamic works.

And Rosie. She’s the client. Big energy. Total wildcard. She makes everything more complicated—and more fun.

Side characters? Weird. Memorable. No filler. Everyone’s got a line, a look, something strange. Osman makes it all work.

The tone? Stylish. Clever. Never smug. Cool without trying too hard. It’s also got heart. Hits when it needs to.

This is the start of a new series. You want in now. Ground floor. No question.

Zorro says: read it. No hesitation.


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Butterball Reviews: Thirteen Steps Down by Ruth Rendell

Posted by Butterball, Esquire of the Drawing Room, Keeper of the Hearth, Master of Suspense

Ah, Thirteen Steps Down. A title that positively purrs with menace, don’t you think? When I spotted this Ruth Rendell novel perched precariously on the shelf—like a vicar’s secret—I knew it was meant for me. And I must say, dear readers, it did not disappoint. This book slinks across the mind like a cat in moonlight: quietly, stylishly, and with claws at the ready.

We find ourselves in Notting Hill (not the one with Hugh Grant, thank heaven), where a peculiar young man named Mix Cellini rents a room in a crumbling Victorian house and quickly becomes obsessed—with both a faded model and a long-dead serial killer. Oh yes. And with Rendell at the helm, obsession is never just obsession, is it? It’s an infestation, a rot beneath the floorboards. Delicious.

Rendell is a master of the slow simmer. If you're looking for a chase scene or a shootout, you may as well go chase your own tail. But if you, like me, prefer your suspense with a side of existential dread and a sherry glass full of decay, then pull up a tufted armchair and get comfortable.

What I adore about this novel is the way Rendell writes madness. Not with melodrama, but with method. Mix is not a cartoonish villain; he is pitiful, lonely, deluded... in other words, deeply human. Uncomfortably so. I found myself hissing at him one moment and pitying him the next. Quite exhausting. I had to lie on the radiator for an hour afterward just to reset.

The house itself is nearly a character. It creaks, it sighs, it harbors secrets in every stair. Rendell knows exactly how to let place and psychology mirror one another until you're not sure where the walls end and the madness begins. Which is, in my semi-professional opinion, the goal of every proper psychological thriller.

A word to the wise: this is not a book to rush. It’s a slow descent—thirteen steps down, if you will—into obsession, control, and the rot that festers when we let fantasy take root in our reality. Read it when the rain taps at the windows, when the air smells of dust and secrets. Read it alone, and maybe not just before bed, unless you like your dreams with a twist of menace.

Final Judgment:
A sinister little masterpiece. Dark, deliberate, and magnificently British. 

Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe I hear the kettle boiling and a faint knocking on the cellar door. Probably nothing...

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KitKat Reviews Cold Skies by Thomas King (a DreadfulWater Mystery)

Hi everyone, it’s KitKat. I just finished reading Cold Skies by Thomas King, and I wanted to share my thoughts while they’re still fresh.

This is the third book in the DreadfulWater mystery series. I haven’t read the first two yet, but I didn’t feel lost—King gives just enough context that you can jump in here if you want. It’s a mystery set in a small town, with a retired cop-turned-photographer who ends up pulled into a murder investigation. It’s also funny. Not laugh-out-loud all the time, but there’s a dry, low-key sense of humor throughout that really worked for me.

That said, it took me a while to get into it. I’m a slow reader, and the writing style—especially the dialogue—felt like it would click better for someone who reads a bit faster. I kept thinking it might work really well as a dramatic reading or maybe an audiobook (I’m not sure if there is one). The pacing of the jokes and conversations might land better when heard.

Early on, I also found some of the side details distracting. There are a lot of little asides—extra bits about characters or the town—that sometimes pulled me off track. I think a faster reader could probably absorb those without losing the thread, but I ended up needing to refocus a few times.

Still, the deeper I got into the book, the more I enjoyed it. The story pulls you in gradually, and by the second half, I didn’t want to put it down. My special someone actually kept stealing the book from me, finished it in three days, and loved it. Honestly, that helped me stay motivated.

I’m really glad I stuck with it. Once I settled into the rhythm, I appreciated how well King balances mystery with character and tone. The mystery is satisfying, the humor is smart, and the world of Chinook feels real. There are themes, too—about technology, land, and the people caught in between—but King keeps the tone light, never preachy. It's more sardonic tail-flick than hiss. I’d definitely consider reading more in the series. 

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Butterball’s Positively Purrfect Review of Huge by Brent Butt #90s #Noir #Thriller

Gather 'round, my dear humans, for I, Butterball the Magnificent, should like to inform you of a book I recently read that impressed me enormously. 

"Huge" by Brent Butt is a noir thriller: a genre I, being of a refined nature, do not typically gravitate toward. I prefer the sophisticated coziness of a good literary mystery, perhaps with a hot cup of cream on the side. But my curiosity got the better of me. How could I possibly resist a thriller penned by the master of comedy himself, Brent Butt, whom many of you may know from the sitcom Corner Gas?

As I say, noir thrillers aren’t often my cup of tea, but I wondered how Brent Butt's comedic genius would translate to the shadowy world of a 90s-set thriller.

I listened to the audiobook—read by Butt himself, no less. And I must say, if you haven’t yet indulged in this form of storytelling, you are missing out on a delectable treat. Brent Butt’s narration is nothing short of mesmerizing. His voice carries you through the story with such grit that I was positively enraptured. 

Let’s talk about the book itself. Huge is a brilliant blend of chilling tension and biting humour. You’d think these two tones might clash, but I assure you, they do not. Butt manages to weave in moments of humour without undermining the seriousness of the plot—an extraordinary feat, to be sure. One moment you’re amused by a sharp one-liner, and the next, you’re gripping your seat as the suspense builds. It’s truly the best of both worlds. I found myself chuckling softly, only to freeze in suspense moments later. The balance of light and dark is nothing short of masterful.

And, oh, the 90s setting. What a time! A grungy, shadowy world full of pager codes, fax machines, and landlines that clang like a bell. Butt captures the essence of the era flawlessly, transporting us back to a time before smartphones ruined the art of a proper mystery.

I won’t spoil the plot for you, but let me tell you—there are gruesome moments, indeed. Dark, sinister, and raw. Yet they never feel gratuitous. And the humour? Well, it doesn't diminish the grimness, but rather, it enhances the story’s depth, making the characters feel alive and real.

Brent Butt, my dear readers, proves himself not only a master of comedy but also a formidable force in the thriller genre. If you’ve any sense at all, you’ll give Huge a listen or a read—whichever suits your fancy. But do consider the audiobook; it’s a performance you won’t soon forget.

In summary, Huge is nothing short of extraordinary. Gripping, hilarious, and chilling all at once. A noir thriller that even a British cat with highbrow tastes can thoroughly enjoy. Brent Butt, you’ve outdone yourself, and I would tip my hat (if I wore one) to you.

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