I Know Who You Are (Alice Feeney)

I picked up I Know Who You Are expecting the kind of sharp, twisty psychological thriller Alice Feeney usually delivers – something like Sometimes I Lie, which kept me turning pages half the night. The premise sounded solid: an actress whose husband vanishes, a narrator you can’t quite trust, buried secrets from childhood bubbling up. All the pieces were in place for something unsettling.

But, unfortunately, it never quite clicked for me. I kept going mostly because I figured the payoff had to be coming. Thrillers like this are supposed to build to something that makes the slow parts worth it. Instead, I got long stretches of repetition and a kind of low-grade flatness that no amount of ominous hints or withheld details could lift. The tension never really tightened; it just hovered there, distant and unconvincing.

The main character, Aimee, is supposed to be deeply unreliable and haunted, but her inner monologue felt more removed than disturbing. I got what the book was asking me to question (identity, memory, self-delusion), but I never cared enough to lean in. Ambiguity can be gripping when it draws you closer; here, it mostly pushed me away, like the story was holding its cards too tightly for too long.

Feeney gestures at some big ideas of trauma, deception, and how we rewrite our own histories, but they stay on the surface. The book leans hard on withholding rather than earning escalation through character or insight, and that left big chunks feeling like nothing much was happening, narratively or emotionally.

The ending, though? It does land. The twist is clever, genuinely surprising, and it reframes everything that came before in a way that made me nod and think, okay, she pulled that off. Some people will finish and feel it was all worthwhile because of that final punch. For me, though, one strong reveal doesn’t quite make up for slogging through so much inertia to get there.

I’d recommend this one with reservations. If you’re the type who reads thrillers mainly for the big twist and doesn’t mind a slow middle, it might scratch that itch. If you want consistent momentum, real psychological depth, or characters you actually invest in, it could frustrate you. It’s not a bad book! Feeney’s got skill, and the craft shows in the structure, but it’s frustrating and you may feel it’s the kind of book where you finish thinking the journey didn’t earn the destination.