The Island by Natasha Preston
My rating: 1 of 5 stars
The Gist
Let’s start with this: The Island had one job—be entertaining. Unfortunately, it failed spectacularly. I picked it up expecting a tense, fast-paced survival thriller. Instead, I got a drawn-out group project written in emoji and sponsored content.
The Details
At first glance, the premise sounds promising. A group of young influencers gets invited to an exclusive retreat on a private island. Cue the danger, mystery, and chaos, right? Not quite. What follows is a painfully slow descent into nonsense with some of the dullest characters I’ve ever had the displeasure of reading.
To begin with, these aren’t characters. They’re walking TikToks. Every one of them blends into the next, speaking in what I can only describe as Gen Z Mad Libs. No personality, no emotional depth—just hashtags in human form. I kept waiting for someone to stand out. Sadly, no one did.
Moreover, the dialogue is downright painful. It’s like reading the world’s longest “teen-speak” generator. If I had a dollar for every time I rolled my eyes, I’d be rich enough to rent my own private island—and ban this book from it entirely. Every conversation felt like a parody of what a middle-aged author thinks teenagers sound like.
Eventually, the mystery kicks off—though not until around page 100, after everyone finishes taking selfies and being aggressively annoying. Then the deaths start. And I wish I could say the stakes got higher from there. They didn’t. Each character reacts to the murders like someone just spilled a drink at brunch. Honestly, there’s more panic when Starbucks runs out of pumpkin spice.
Furthermore, the so-called plot twist is anything but clever. If you’ve read literally any YA thriller before, you’ve probably seen this one coming from space. It’s less of a twist and more of a gentle nudge off a very small step. Predictable, cliché, and insultingly underwhelming.
In terms of pacing, the book is a disaster. Long, tedious stretches of wandering and whining are occasionally interrupted by bursts of forced action. The stakes never feel real. The fear never lands. It reads like a thriller that’s too afraid to thrill anyone.
And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, the ending arrives. It doesn’t stick the landing—it belly-flops into a puddle of unresolved tension and last-minute nonsense. No closure, no payoff. Just a whole lot of wasted time.
The Verdict
Overall, The Island is a masterclass in how not to write a thriller. Poorly drawn characters, awful dialogue, and a plot that tries to surprise but ends up sleepwalking to the finish line. If this island were real, I’d swim away on page 20.
In conclusion, read something else. Anything else. Even the instruction manual for a microwave would be a more gripping experience.
