"Not any more. In ways too dark and crucial to be called metaphorical, I never left that wood."

I know that I ought to gather my thoughts to organize them or whatever I usually do before writing a review, especially when the last page let me shell-shocked as [b:In the Woods|237209|In the Woods (Dublin Murder Squad, #1)|Tana French|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1538062501l/237209._SX50_.jpg|3088141] did. But I can't. I'm leaving tomorrow and I'm not one for writing reviews weeks after having read the damn book. I'm actually in awe of people who manage to do just that. I think that it says something about me : in the end, I'm an emotional reader, and I'll always hold to the bewilderment and wonder I feel when fictional stories get to me in such a strong level.

And I just began too many sentences with I. Ugh. Bear with me, would you?

[b:In the Woods|237209|In the Woods (Dublin Murder Squad, #1)|Tana French|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1538062501l/237209._SX50_.jpg|3088141] affected me in a way that I didn't expect, slowly enveloping me in its sickeningly sweet lure. Little by little, I've been rocked by a false sense of safety, by the discreet and uncertain laughs, proofs of Rob and Cassie's complicity. Of course I saw the warnings, the insights, yet I chose to ignore the bad taste in my mouth, the inexorable growth of my doubts and then the pang of betrayal and sadness. God, this book let me so fucking sad. Hollowed. There's nothing, really, that I could say to convince you to give it a chance, and many reviewers did it before me and with much more eloquence.

So I'll only say this : rarely did I feel that the character's personality - whether they're likeable or not - was so besides the point as when reading this book. Is Rob a jerk? Maybe, but I don't care, he's real, all of them are real to me. I care so much, og my god, do I care for him still. Did I guess some clues before he did? Yes, actually, I did, but again, it changes nothing to the way I feel right now, to the sheer awe still palpable in me when I'm writing these (clumsy) words.

Spoiler

Do I feel some kind of bond with him, because in my early 20s I've come across a girl (a woman, really) who acted the same way as Rosalyn and that I fell for it? Yes, definitely.

I am frustrated, does that show? I'm just so sick of writing that, it's not perfect but - god, I'm so fed up with that sentence and I write it way too often. Nothing's perfect. Life is far from perfect (or everybody would look at populists and say, What The Hell, do I look like an idiot to you?!). [a:Tana French|138825|Tana French|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1535655031p2/138825.jpg] pictures the unfairness and imperfection of it all perfectly. It's enough for me. Of course it's enough.

PS. One day later and I'm still dazzled and yeah, so very much sad. It will linger, I just know it.

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