The One by John Marrs

Nothing says modern romance quite like mailing your DNA to strangers and hoping for emotional stability.

I just finished The One, and forget about needles ... my new fear is science-sponsored soulmates.

The premise is simple, which is exactly why it is so creepy. A company discovers that your DNA can identify your perfect romantic match. Your soulmate. Your one true love. Your happily ever after, conveniently delivered through a cheek swab and a database.

This book takes the modern obsession with dating apps, compatibility algorithms, personality quizzes, and “the universe meant for us to be together” energy and shoves it straight off a cliff. Because once society decides DNA matching is scientifically accurate, people stop questioning anything. Marriages implode. Relationships disintegrate. People abandon perfectly decent partners because “the science says otherwise.” Entire lives get rearranged because a lab report basically said, “Congratulations, this stranger is now your destiny.”

The crazy thing is it feels believable. Not futuristic-flying-cars believable. More like “I could absolutely see people doing this by next Tuesday” believable.

The real genius of the book is the mind games. Nobody here is a cartoon villain cackling in the shadows. They are regular people with regular insecurities making increasingly horrifying choices because they are desperate to protect their secrets. And EVERYBODY has secrets. Every single character is carrying emotional baggage like the airline stopped charging baggage fees entirely.

Take the serial killer storyline. This book looked at “DNA soulmates” and decided it still needed MORE nightmare fuel. One character is literally running around murdering women because he wants to reach a personal goal number. Not revenge. Not rage. Just… statistics. Like he turned homicide into a fitness tracker achievement. The scariest part is how calm and matter-of-fact he is about it.

The whole book has this unsettling undercurrent about people handing over responsibility for their choices to systems. The DNA company turns love into data. Society worships the results unquestioningly. Characters ignore giant red flags because “The One” is supposedly fate. Meanwhile, basic common sense packs a suitcase and quietly leaves the building.

It raises some genuinely uncomfortable questions:

If science proved someone was your soulmate, would you leave your spouse?
Would people mistake certainty for love?
Do we actually want truth, or do we just want reassurance?

And maybe most importantly:

Should we really be trusting strangers with our DNA when some of us still use “password123”?

By the end, I was equal parts fascinated, horrified, and deeply suspicious of every ancestry test commercial I have ever seen.

This novel had a slow start for me, but I'm giving it four stars for emotional damage. 

Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir

 A reluctant hero, an unlikely friendship, smart science, and a perfect ending. 

I went into Project Hail Mary fully expecting to love it. I’ve watched The Martian more times than I can count, so I already knew Andy Weir could turn science, survival, and sarcasm into something special. I was not disappointed.

The book opens with Ryland Grace waking up alone, weak, and confused. A computer is taking care of him, and two crewmates lie nearby, both deceased. He has no memory of who he is, where he is, or how he got there. That hooked me immediately.

From there, the story unfolds gradually as his memory returns. First, he remembers being a science teacher. Then a researcher. Then… oh-holy-cow… he’s not even in his own solar system anymore.

The amnesia structure worked incredibly well. Each recovered memory raised the stakes and pulled me deeper into the story. And when Grace finally remembers why he’s there and how he got there, his anger is completely understandable. I was right there with him, thinking some very uncharitable thoughts about the project leadership.

Ryland Grace isn’t your typical hero. He’s a normal guy. He teaches science. He grades papers. He’s reluctant, scared, and honestly not thrilled about saving humanity under those conditions. That made him incredibly relatable. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have volunteered either.

But then we meet Rocky. And suddenly, this story becomes something even better.

Watching Grace and Rocky learn to communicate was fascinating. It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t quick, but once they figured it out, they became partners in the truest sense. They weren’t just trying to save one world; they were trying to save two.

Their friendship became the emotional core of the story. They respected each other’s cultures, adapted to each other’s environments, and worked together to solve problem after problem. Grace couldn’t have done this alone. Neither could Rocky.

I also loved the science in this book. It was understandable, engaging, and rooted in problem solving. Define the problem. Try a solution. Reflect. Try again. Watching that process play out made the story feel smart and satisfying rather than overwhelming.

The emotional moments sneak up on you, especially as their friendship grows. They look out for each other, rescue each other, and genuinely care about each other’s survival. I didn’t expect to be so invested, but I absolutely was.

The flashbacks to Earth were just as interesting as the space storyline. They were essential to understanding both the stakes and Grace’s character. Without them, the story wouldn’t have had the same depth. 

And the ending was Perfect.

It surprised me, but in a good way. It didn’t make me emotional, but it left me smiling. Grace has time to figure things out. And after everything he accomplished, I have no doubt that he will.

This was a smart, engaging, and unexpectedly heartfelt science fiction story about friendship, cooperation, and problem solving. I loved every minute of it and I completely understand why it’s being turned into a movie. 

Which I plan to see as soon as possible. 

According to my rather snarky rating system, I am giving this book four out of five stars. It didn't keep me up at night or make me lose sleep, but it was a good, solid read that kept me engaged ... and sometimes even laughing. 

⭐ My Slightly Snarky Book Rating System ⭐

It occurred to me that I should spell out my personal (slightly snarky) rating system for those who wander into my book reviews. 

From the top: 

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Loved it. Could not put it down. Canceled plans and lost sleep with no regrets.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ A good solid read. Kept me turning pages with only occasional eye rolls. 

⭐⭐⭐ Decent. Kept me mildly interested, but I won't be recommending it.

⭐⭐ Meh. I finished it, but only because quitting felt like losing. Forgettable at best. 

⭐ Ugh. I can't believe I read this drivel. If it were on fire, I wouldn't grab a bucket. In fact, I may start a fire with it.

This rating system probably tells you something about me. I’m a thriller girl at heart. Psychological thrillers, crime thrillers, military thrillers, bring 'em on. I’ve yet to meet a thriller I didn’t at least mildly enjoy. I like my books fast, twisty, and a little dangerous.

So there you have it: My completely scientific, highly technical rating system. Give me secrets, twists, and ticking clocks, and we’re in business. Five stars is a public service announcement ... cancel your plans. One star means I already suffered for both of us.

The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides

 "I may never see a therapist again." - Me, after reading this book

I just finished The Silent Patient, and I have one thing to say: Rude. Not the writing. Not the plot. Not even the twist. Just… rude. Because I did not see that coming. Not even a little bit. Not a whisper. Not a suspicious eyebrow twitch. Completely blindsided.

Here’s the thing: I’ve read a decent number of psychological thrillers. I know the tricks. I look for the unreliable narrator. I question timelines. I am suspicious of everyone. And this book still managed to calmly rearrange my brain furniture while I stood there holding a throw pillow.

The structure is what makes it so effective. We’ve got Theo, the therapist, guiding us through sessions with Alicia, the woman who shot her husband (five times!) and then stopped speaking. We also get Alicia’s diary entries, which feel intimate and revealing. Between the two perspectives, you feel grounded. You feel informed. You feel smart.

You are being played.

The book plays fair, which is what makes it even more impressive. The clues are there. Subtle. Quiet. Hiding in plain sight while we’re busy analyzing Alicia, trying to “solve” her. Meanwhile, the real story is unfolding right in front of us.

Theo goes from calm, analytical, compassionate professional to… well. Let’s just say my trust issues have been activated. I spent the whole book sitting comfortably in those therapy sessions, nodding along like, “Yes, very insightful.” Sir. You were not insightful. You were spiraling. You said, "Trust the process," and then weaponized the process.

What I appreciate most is that the twist doesn’t feel random or desperate. It recontextualizes everything. It’s the kind of ending that makes you mentally flip back through earlier chapters, realizing you were expertly manipulated. 

This is one of those rare thrillers that makes you question not just the characters, but your own reading instincts. It reminds you that sometimes the most dangerous perspective is the one you trust the most.

Real-life therapists are safe.
Fictional narrators? I will now be evaluating all of them.