Richard Dawson

The Merge had a compelling concept, yet its execution is hampered by underdeveloped world-building and rushed plot points. The latter half of the book suffers from an accelerated plot that fails to adequately resolve all narrative threads. The final plot revelations, even without divulging specifics, feel unearned and structurally weak. A more deliberate pace and a few additional chapters dedicated to developing these points could have resulted in a significantly more satisfying and cohesive conclusion.

The plot of the first game held real potential as a book. Unfortunately, it often reads like a game walkthrough rather than an engaging novel. It failed to strike the fine balance between satisfying fans with familiar scenes and translating the story into an engaging read.

Because the book felt exclusively written for longtime fans, all drama and suspense were stripped out of the plot's most pivotal points. The reveal of the antagonist’s motivations lacked any build-up, and the consequences of characters’ poor judgment were swiftly resolved with a quick apology and forgotten by the next page. The frequent use of the word “‘copter” in lieu of ‘helicopter’ was grating and exposed the weakness of the prose.

While I don't regret reading it, and it is a much more faithful adaptation than the Resident Evil films, the best way to truly enjoy this story remains playing the actual game.

Growing up a few years younger than Jodie, I was on the far periphery of London and many of the clubs mentioned. I merely saw the heavily airbrushed Room Service photos on Facebook, heard the news of the Astoria being bulldozed, and listened to my brother’s stories of visiting Madame Jojo's in the 90s. Reading this made me nostalgic for a London I never really knew.

I felt a rising dread as the nights out got longer and the drug binges wilder. The narrative shifts from the innocence of early days dancing to Dannii Minogue, culminating in a story of self-realisation and a redefined relationship with clubbing and substances.

Highly recommended for an account of a long-gone Soho, ideally read while listening to a soundtrack of Fischerspooner, Justice, and MGMT.

While the prose is beautiful and vividly captures the atmosphere of 1970s Italy, the narrative didn't quite land for me. I wasn't entirely sold on the fictional character of Nicholas; at times, I felt a non-fiction account of the production of Salò and Casanova might have been more engaging.

Entering the book without prior knowledge of Pasolini’s films or his death, I found the central relationships a bit shallow. Nicholas and Pasolini's exchange of past stories lacked the emotional resonance I was hoping for. Ultimately, despite the stunning setting, I found myself wishing for more substance within the story to maintain my interest.

To mention this in the same breath as Agatha Christie is offensive and wrong.

There is no suspense or intrigue, with the stagnant plot not really kicking into action until halfway through. The twists were perfunctory and the predictable structure turns every character spotlight into a death warrant. Without any spoilers, the reveal at the end was so obvious I had written it off as a red herring. I thought instead that the epilogue might have one last twist, but instead it was superfluous.

A stronger nod towards Cluedo with the different coloured bedrooms and outfits could have been fun, but instead we are left with cartoonishly flat characters, cobbled together from clichés. I would have been happy with a dumbed-down And Then There Were None for a quick fun read, but I just felt like I had wasted my time and money by reading this.