Thrillers & Suspense
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A Slow Fire Burning: A Novel
AN INSTANT #1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
The scorching new thriller from the #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Girl on the Train.
"A Slow Fire Burning twists and turns like a great thriller should, but it's also deep, intelligent and intensely human." – Lee Child
"Only a clairvoyant could anticipate the book's ending" – New York Times
With the same propulsion that captivated millions of readers worldwide in The Girl on the Train and Into the Water, Paula Hawkins unfurls a gripping, twisting story of deceit, murder, and revenge.
When a young man is found gruesomely murdered in a London houseboat, it triggers questions about three women who knew him. Laura is the troubled one-night-stand last seen in the victim's home. Carla is his grief-stricken aunt, already mourning the recent death of yet another family member. And Miriam is the nosy neighbor clearly keeping secrets from the police. Three women with separate connections to the victim. Three women who are – for different reasons – simmering with resentment. Who are, whether they know it or not, burning to right the wrongs done to them. When it comes to revenge, even good people might be capable of terrible deeds. How far might any one of them go to find peace? How long can secrets smolder before they explode into flame?
Look what you started.
The scorching new thriller from the #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Girl on the Train.
"A Slow Fire Burning twists and turns like a great thriller should, but it's also deep, intelligent and intensely human." – Lee Child
"Only a clairvoyant could anticipate the book's ending" – New York Times
With the same propulsion that captivated millions of readers worldwide in The Girl on the Train and Into the Water, Paula Hawkins unfurls a gripping, twisting story of deceit, murder, and revenge.
When a young man is found gruesomely murdered in a London houseboat, it triggers questions about three women who knew him. Laura is the troubled one-night-stand last seen in the victim's home. Carla is his grief-stricken aunt, already mourning the recent death of yet another family member. And Miriam is the nosy neighbor clearly keeping secrets from the police. Three women with separate connections to the victim. Three women who are – for different reasons – simmering with resentment. Who are, whether they know it or not, burning to right the wrongs done to them. When it comes to revenge, even good people might be capable of terrible deeds. How far might any one of them go to find peace? How long can secrets smolder before they explode into flame?
Look what you started.
Editorial Reviews
Praise for A Slow Fire Burning:
"Sure to set the literary world on fire."-Good Morning America
"A Slow Fire Burning is a classic whodunit that unfolds the mystery until the very last page."-USA Today
"[It] Simmers…this one is indeed a page-turner….like a good curry, layered with spices, percolating for about 300 pages, leaving readers sated at the end." -The Associated Press
"A Slow Fire Burning is not only her most complex, twist-filled tale yet, but it's also the most mature, intricately detailed, and superbly paced book of her career."-shondaland
"Gives the term "thriller" a whole new meaning…Hawkins's new book is a bloody masterpiece that's darker than it appears."-Popsugar
"Paula Hawkins is the queen of keeping us on the edge of our seats. … [A Slow Fire Burning is] the thriller of the summer."-HelloGiggles
"A nuanced picture of the female psyche…a cleverly crafted whodunit."-Salon
"This thrilling whodunnit barely lets you breathe as it barrels toward a shocking ending."-Good Housekeeping
"A creeping psychological thriller about entanglement and strained family relations that spiral into viciousness...Hawkins submerges readers into the troubled lives of her leading ladies... Hawkins shapes the three women's stories in a way that brings their simmering fears and grief to the surface."-AV Club
"Get ready for your next big thrill ride...Filled with plot twists, it promises to keep you guessing until the very end."-CNN
"A Slow Fire Burning is the latest from Paula Hawkins, the woman whose words haunt your dreams. . .We follow three women close to the deceased-an ex, an aunt, and a neighbor. Each has kindled a hot-burning anger against the man in question, and Hawkins happily f...
"Sure to set the literary world on fire."-Good Morning America
"A Slow Fire Burning is a classic whodunit that unfolds the mystery until the very last page."-USA Today
"[It] Simmers…this one is indeed a page-turner….like a good curry, layered with spices, percolating for about 300 pages, leaving readers sated at the end." -The Associated Press
"A Slow Fire Burning is not only her most complex, twist-filled tale yet, but it's also the most mature, intricately detailed, and superbly paced book of her career."-shondaland
"Gives the term "thriller" a whole new meaning…Hawkins's new book is a bloody masterpiece that's darker than it appears."-Popsugar
"Paula Hawkins is the queen of keeping us on the edge of our seats. … [A Slow Fire Burning is] the thriller of the summer."-HelloGiggles
"A nuanced picture of the female psyche…a cleverly crafted whodunit."-Salon
"This thrilling whodunnit barely lets you breathe as it barrels toward a shocking ending."-Good Housekeeping
"A creeping psychological thriller about entanglement and strained family relations that spiral into viciousness...Hawkins submerges readers into the troubled lives of her leading ladies... Hawkins shapes the three women's stories in a way that brings their simmering fears and grief to the surface."-AV Club
"Get ready for your next big thrill ride...Filled with plot twists, it promises to keep you guessing until the very end."-CNN
"A Slow Fire Burning is the latest from Paula Hawkins, the woman whose words haunt your dreams. . .We follow three women close to the deceased-an ex, an aunt, and a neighbor. Each has kindled a hot-burning anger against the man in question, and Hawkins happily f...
Readers Top Reviews
Eric LeeLolly1306
I really liked The Girl on the Train, Paula Hawkins’ first best-selling thriller, and approached this book with caution. One should always be prepared for disappointment following blockbuster books and their Hollywood adaptations. But I was not disappointed: this story has elements in common with the earlier book, including complex female characters who struggle to be heard. Hawkins makes these characters – who live and work in North London, not far from where I live — seem real. There is a murder mystery at the heart of the story, but I found that to be a relatively easy puzzle to solve. The challenge of the book is finding answers to people’s lives, to their problems, some of which go back to childhood. The fact that long after one puts the book down, one cares about those characters is testimony to Hawkins’ talent.
The Cookster @ R
Rating: 3.3/5 This long-awaited novel from Paula Hawkins (it has been four years since her previous book) is an aptly titled slow-burner. It has been cleverly constructed, but ultimately, I didn't find it as satisfying a read as I had hoped. It wasn't just that the narrative seemed to take a while to get into its stride - though it was only after I was a good 30% or more into the book that I began to feel engaged with it to any degree. There were also too many occasions when I got the impression that Paula Hawkins was trying too hard to be clever and indulging herself rather than showing proper consideration for her reading audience. Let me give you an example: The time frame jumps around frequently throughout the novel, with countless "flashback-style" moments being related by numerous members of a fairly large cast of characters. This literary mechanic, in itself, is nothing unusual, though many writers choose to signpost such switches in time to make the narrative easier to follow. Paula Hawkins has chosen not to do this - and it is a decision she has made while being fully aware of how it is likely to be perceived by certain readers: 'It was there somewhere, though not at all easy to find in this novel, whose story jumped about all over the place, the point of view occasionally switching from victim to perpetrator, the timeline moving backwards and forwards. Very confusing and, if you asked Irene, irritating.' I will give the author the benefit that this quoted passage is intended to be a joke shared with her readers rather simply a slight dig at those who may disapprove of experimentation and challenging the perceptions of the audience. That said, I certainly didn't hate "A Slow Fire Burning" - there is also plenty to admire. It has a solid murder mystery foundation with plenty of misdirection. The tight plot has been properly thought through and the various strands are woven together neatly. There is a book within a book - not a new or unique idea - but executed effectively and ties in with the overall narrative. The characterisation is generally sound, though certain protagonists are better drawn than others - Laura, in particular, is delightfully well done. Overall, I enjoyed this for the most part and I acknowledge some impressive elements, but it still left me feeling not entirely satisfied.
FinaThe Cookster
It seems as though each book that Paula Hawkins publishes is better than the previous. "Girl on a Train" was not great. Her second book was awesome. This book is just as good as her second book if not better. I hope she keeps writing because I love her books!
John BFinaThe Coo
The story is riveting - twisty - simple - complex - and completely engrossing! But the personalities of every character are the stars of this book. Each one is thoroughly drawn and animated! I'm a fast reader so I'm going back to reread this from the beginning so I can slowly relish every word.
customerAnnT
I loved the author's two previous suspense novels, but this book is so slow moving that I found it impossible to get past the 25% point. The major characters are unlikeable and involved in totally dysfunctional relationships, so I found it extremely difficult to empathize with their situations. I read 3-4 psychological suspense novels per week, so my expectations are high for books in this genre (especially given Hawkins' prior level of achievement) and this book does not meet the standard of four or five stars in my estimation. Almost every review I have seen mentions the slow pacing, changing back and forth of time frames, and unsympathetic characters, but still the reader is expected to plow through this book. Normally I can read an entire book in one sitting if the story is compelling, but I had to stop reading 25% through and then skipped to the last few chapters where the conclusion wasn't worth the effort. Sorry, I am annoyed at paying $15.00 for a mediocre book.
Short Excerpt Teaser
One
Inside Laura's head, Deidre spoke. The trouble with you, Laura, she said, is that you make bad choices.
Too fucking right, Deidre. Not something Laura expected to say or even think, but standing there in her bathroom, shaking uncontrollably, blood pulsing hot and steady from the cut to her arm, she had to admit that imaginary Deidre was bang on the money. She leaned forward, her forehead resting against the mirror so that she wouldn't have to look herself in the eye, only looking down was worse, because that way she could watch the blood ooze out of her, and it made her woozy, made her feel like she might throw up. So much blood. The cut was deeper than she'd thought; she ought to go to the hospital. There was no way she was going to the hospital.
Bad choices.
When at last the flow of blood seemed to slow, Laura took off her T-shirt and dropped it on the floor, slipped out of her jeans, dropped her knickers, and wriggled out of her bra, inhaling sharply through her teeth as the metal catch scraped against the cut, hissing, "Fuck fuck mother of fuck."
She dropped the bra on the floor too, clambered into the bathtub, and turned on the shower, then stood shivering under the paltry trickle of scalding water (her shower offered a choice of very hot or very cold, nothing in between). She ran the tips of her wrinkled fingers back and forth over her beautiful, bone-white scars: hip, thigh, shoulder, back of skull. Here I am, she said quietly to herself. Here I am.
Afterward, her forearm wrapped ineffectually in reams of toilet paper, the rest of her wrapped in a threadbare towel, sitting on the ugly gray pleather sofa in her living room, Laura rang her mother. It went to voicemail, and she hung up. No point wasting credit. She rang her father next. "You all right, chicken?" She could hear noises in the background, the radio, 5 Live.
"Dad." She felt a lump rise to her throat and she swallowed it.
"What's up?"
"Dad, could you come round? I . . . I had a bad night. I was wondering if you could just come over for a bit, I know it's a bit of a drive but I-"
No, Philip. Deidre, in the background, hissing through clenched teeth. We've got bridge.
"Dad? Could you take me off speaker?"
"Sweetheart, I-"
"Seriously, could you take me off speaker? I don't want to hear her voice; it makes me want to set fire to things."
"Now, come on, Laura."
"Just forget it, Dad, it doesn't matter."
"Are you sure?"
No I'm not no I'm not no I'm fucking not. "Yeah, sure. I'm fine. I'll be fine."
On her way to the bedroom, she stepped on her jacket, which she'd dropped in the hallway in her rush to get to the bathroom. She bent down and picked it up. The sleeve was torn, Daniel's watch still in the pocket. She took the watch out, turned it over, slipped it over her wrist. The toilet paper around her forearm bloomed scarlet, her limb throbbing gently as the blood pulsed out of her. Her head swam. In the bathroom, she dropped the watch into the sink, tore off the paper, dropped the towel on the floor. Climbed back under the shower.
Using a pair of scissors to scrape beneath her fingernails, she watched the water running rosy at her feet. She closed her eyes. She listened to Daniel's voice asking, What is wrong with you? and Deidre's voice saying, Bridge, Philip, we've got bridge, and to her own. Set fire to things. Set fire. Set fire set fire set fire.
Two
Every second Sunday, Miriam cleaned out the toilet. She had to lift the (always surprisingly, unpleasantly heavy) cassette out of the little toilet at the back of the boat, carry it through the cabin and out onto the towpath, and from there a full hundred yards to the loo block, where the waste had to be tipped out into the main toilet and flushed away, the cassette rinsed out to clear whatever remained. One of the less idyllic parts of narrowboat living and a task...
Inside Laura's head, Deidre spoke. The trouble with you, Laura, she said, is that you make bad choices.
Too fucking right, Deidre. Not something Laura expected to say or even think, but standing there in her bathroom, shaking uncontrollably, blood pulsing hot and steady from the cut to her arm, she had to admit that imaginary Deidre was bang on the money. She leaned forward, her forehead resting against the mirror so that she wouldn't have to look herself in the eye, only looking down was worse, because that way she could watch the blood ooze out of her, and it made her woozy, made her feel like she might throw up. So much blood. The cut was deeper than she'd thought; she ought to go to the hospital. There was no way she was going to the hospital.
Bad choices.
When at last the flow of blood seemed to slow, Laura took off her T-shirt and dropped it on the floor, slipped out of her jeans, dropped her knickers, and wriggled out of her bra, inhaling sharply through her teeth as the metal catch scraped against the cut, hissing, "Fuck fuck mother of fuck."
She dropped the bra on the floor too, clambered into the bathtub, and turned on the shower, then stood shivering under the paltry trickle of scalding water (her shower offered a choice of very hot or very cold, nothing in between). She ran the tips of her wrinkled fingers back and forth over her beautiful, bone-white scars: hip, thigh, shoulder, back of skull. Here I am, she said quietly to herself. Here I am.
Afterward, her forearm wrapped ineffectually in reams of toilet paper, the rest of her wrapped in a threadbare towel, sitting on the ugly gray pleather sofa in her living room, Laura rang her mother. It went to voicemail, and she hung up. No point wasting credit. She rang her father next. "You all right, chicken?" She could hear noises in the background, the radio, 5 Live.
"Dad." She felt a lump rise to her throat and she swallowed it.
"What's up?"
"Dad, could you come round? I . . . I had a bad night. I was wondering if you could just come over for a bit, I know it's a bit of a drive but I-"
No, Philip. Deidre, in the background, hissing through clenched teeth. We've got bridge.
"Dad? Could you take me off speaker?"
"Sweetheart, I-"
"Seriously, could you take me off speaker? I don't want to hear her voice; it makes me want to set fire to things."
"Now, come on, Laura."
"Just forget it, Dad, it doesn't matter."
"Are you sure?"
No I'm not no I'm not no I'm fucking not. "Yeah, sure. I'm fine. I'll be fine."
On her way to the bedroom, she stepped on her jacket, which she'd dropped in the hallway in her rush to get to the bathroom. She bent down and picked it up. The sleeve was torn, Daniel's watch still in the pocket. She took the watch out, turned it over, slipped it over her wrist. The toilet paper around her forearm bloomed scarlet, her limb throbbing gently as the blood pulsed out of her. Her head swam. In the bathroom, she dropped the watch into the sink, tore off the paper, dropped the towel on the floor. Climbed back under the shower.
Using a pair of scissors to scrape beneath her fingernails, she watched the water running rosy at her feet. She closed her eyes. She listened to Daniel's voice asking, What is wrong with you? and Deidre's voice saying, Bridge, Philip, we've got bridge, and to her own. Set fire to things. Set fire. Set fire set fire set fire.
Two
Every second Sunday, Miriam cleaned out the toilet. She had to lift the (always surprisingly, unpleasantly heavy) cassette out of the little toilet at the back of the boat, carry it through the cabin and out onto the towpath, and from there a full hundred yards to the loo block, where the waste had to be tipped out into the main toilet and flushed away, the cassette rinsed out to clear whatever remained. One of the less idyllic parts of narrowboat living and a task...
