Where should I begin? Perhaps with how I was sure that Fear would suck me in and drag me along to terrifying lengths of psychological horrors. Perhaps with how I expected to be met with fast paced interactions and nail-biting suspense. But, unfortunately, I cannot say such things, because instead, I was met with a seemingly never-ending slump through a middle-aged man's mind. How he felt about his beautiful wife, the kids he built Lego with and the Michelin star meals he ate. It truly failed in thrilling me — even in the tiniest ways possible.


From the get go, I anticipated murder, sinister characters, bribes and difficult positions. Instead, what I got was the chance to wade through the inner thoughts of a middle-class architect with serious daddy issues. The stalker was not terrifying or intrusive. He wasn't much of a stalker, either, if I'm honest. (Unless you take into account the one time he buzzed the gate open for the protagonists wife.) The poems he left, sure they were disgusting in nature, but that didn't make the character frightening like a real stalker ought to be. Dieter Tiberius was truly nothing but a lazy slob addicted to old movies and flushing his toilet.


As for the conclusion, I can say that it really should have ended with Randolph's big revelation — which, if you have read Fear already, should know what I'm talking about because it's literally the only interesting thing that occurs. The following chapters were notoriously unnecessary.

Though, credit given where credit due, Fear did tackle some serious social issues, in it's own way, but did it have to do it in such an uninteresting fashion? The eventless chapters combined with the less-than-appealing writing style made me sure I'd give up on it, that I'd put it down and forget all about the tedious lives of the Tiefenhaler's, but instead I persevered, though that was simply due to my hatred of being defeated.

Perhaps others, those with more of a likening to semi-autobiographies, will enjoy this in a way I very much did not.