Book Review: Girls Who Play Dead by Joelle Wellington
As a longtime fan of Joelle Wellington’s debut novel Their Vicious Games, I was both excited and a bit apprehensive to dive into her latest offering, Girls Who Play Dead. While her first book swept me off my feet with its masterful writing and compelling characters, I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe this sophomore effort would be a different story—a chance for Wellington to explore new terrain. Unfortunately, it seems that this time, I might be done with her books.
Let’s start with the things I genuinely enjoyed. The portrayal of sibling dynamics was heartwarming, especially the relationship between Erin and Jason, even if Erin herself remains a somewhat elusive presence. Their bond is a testament to the unconditional love and acceptance that often goes unspoken in families. The friendship between Erin and Kyla also shines, offering an innocent and genuine connection that can be hard to find amid the chaos of teen life. And then there’s Jason, my absolute favorite among the cast. His authenticity and emotional openness were refreshing; Wellington really captured the essence of a character who is supportive without being overbearing (even if he did become a red herring by the end, which I found a tad predictable).
The setting of a funeral home was a unique touch, providing an eerie yet fascinating backdrop, but it was just one small detail in a vast sea of disappointments. The narrative, told mostly through third-person observation, felt clinical to me. I longed for the intimacy of first-person perspectives, particularly with such flawed and largely unlikable characters. While flawed characters can generate depth, they can also alienate readers when there’s no one to root for. Unfortunately, apart from Jason, the rest felt more like caricatures than relatable individuals. Characters like Kyla and Rowan were presented with so many negative traits that I found it hard to see them as anything but two-dimensional obstacles in the story.
In a mystery that is already struggling, a convoluted subplot about Cook Cosmetics weighed it down even further. The repeated emphasis on the ‘sea green’ packaging became obsessive, overshadowing the plot. And while we’re on the subject of the plot, the motivations and reactions of the characters, especially after Erin’s murder, felt disconnected and implausible. Kyla’s lack of initiative when faced with her best friend’s tragic fate was baffling, leaving me frustrated rather than intrigued.
As I sat through the latter half of the book, hoping for some semblance of resolution, I found myself increasingly exasperated. The myriad of loose ends left me unsatisfied, and I couldn’t help but ask: What was the significance of it all? What happens to Jason? What about the Test Kitchens? So many questions lingered without answers, making the entire experience feel unfulfilling.
All in all, Girls Who Play Dead felt like a missed opportunity. While I commend Wellington for her willingness to explore new genres, it’s clear that mysteries may not be her forte. I couldn’t help but reminisce about the enchantment of her debut novel—its brilliance left a lasting impression that this sophomore effort simply didn’t match.
This book might appeal to readers who enjoy character-driven narratives, as well as those who appreciate intricate sibling and friendship dynamics. However, if you’re looking for a well-crafted mystery with satisfying resolutions, you might want to pass on this one. As for me, this reading experience has prompted some serious reflection; perhaps it’s time to step away from Wellington’s work until she returns to her relishing roots.
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