I found the detached director/narrator's voice and the unique framing of the scenes through the camera lens to be oddly calming. Like listening to a surgeon talk her techs through a routine biopsy: swift, purposeful, but clearly comfortable being up to her elbows in time-sensitive gore.

As a lover of horror and heist films this was a fun little crisscross of the two- I even found myself somewhat rooting for the invaders towards the end lol. I'm looking forward to reading more from this author! ( )

I am on record as loathing the chest-pokey, accusatory second-person narrative voice. Looking at the rating above, you're entitled to wonder what happened to that vat of extra-thick contumely I keep simmering away on the Stove of Rage firing my soul.

Author Seidlinger (MOTHER OF A MACHINE GUN, the ineffable six-stars-of-five THE FUN WE'VE HAD) pulls it off better than I have seen it done elsewhere. This post-apocalyptic Clockwork-Orange level story of the inevitable end of surveillance capitalism's seemingly unstoppable rise...Siri, Alexa, Ring, Google's absolute right to track your every move to earn more profits ring bells?...by poking your chest to remind you of who it is, exactly, who's consuming these "conveniences." The second-person feels accusatory because it is an accusation, a Zola-level J'accuse...! to our corrupt, passively complicit consumer ethos.

The joke here, it's no spoiler to say, is an "unscripted reality show" based around a home invasion. No one would watch that for real, would they, a group of people being terrorized for our amusement? I present In Cold Blood, book and film, as countervailing evidence for the antiquity of this trope being used for entertainment...there are other, older, examples of hostage-taking entertainments like Key Largo but they moved the action to a slightly less personal sphere...so no one's got any sound footing to tut and scoff at the premise. Not even me, the maharajah of TutAndScoff.

So what happens? You know already what happens, there's a family of sorts that gets home-invaded and different things happen to them. Nothing, in keeping with the reality-TV format, is personal. It's all done for the viewers, the audience (note that these words are from different senses and this should be very closely attended to), the dramatis personæ having only designations like "Invader #1" or "Victim #4". In his usual "you didn't imagine this would all be on the surface, did you?" style, Author Seidlinger slings his arrows into the tiniest cracks in the jaded consumer's armor, making this a book far better delectated than consumed. It is, in fact, horror in the sense it's really quite horrifying in what it says, but a supernatural-horror fan will leave the read unhappy, while a revenge-driven horror fan won't get far into it before discovering their needs are not being met. This is more existential horror, a horror that eases the bathroom door open inch by inch before ripping open the shower curtain and flinging cold water on you in order to elicit the screech of terror, outrage, and angry embarrassment at Being Caught.

Make no mistake: You're caught.

You're the one watching; you're the one there's a meta-home-invader to explain to, and to coach "Invader #3" and cohorts. You're the reason this story exists, is being enacted before your "horrified" eyes. You, consumer of the fear and anguish of others.

Which is why I will now say something I have never said before, and never expect to say again:

Second-person narration rocks.

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