The Turn of the Key

by Ruth Ware

Praise

Yellow - words & phrases I don't know or don't know well

Ruth

Blue - commentary on the book in general.

in...

Pink - phrasing, sentences, or ideas I just really like.

York

Orange - facts to remember, character names, ages, traits, etc., important plot points.

barrister

Because if I tell you my name, you will know why I am writing to you.

But, doesn't he know why you're writing to him anyway?

remand.

Maddie is eight, Ellie is five, and the baby, Petra, is just eighteen months,

“Rhiannon is fourteen going on twenty-four. She’s at boarding school—not

moue—and

Doors led off to each side, and opening one at random I found a walk-in closet filled with empty racks and shelves, spotlights flickering into life above the bare shelves automatically as I pulled open the door. I tried the second one, but it seemed to be locked. The third was ajar, and I remembered it was the one that Sandra had lit up to show the bathroom inside.

Whoops, here from much farther in the book. TOTALLY did not notice the locked door.

More than that, I wanted to be part of this family.

How could she know that without having met almost any of them? I can see wanting to live in the house, and wanting a house that cool to feel like your actual home. But being part of a family she hasn't even met yet?

all my reading matter was on the Kindle app.

Lol same

Wrought iron

You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you all this, Mr. Wrexham.

It seems so silly and out of place to still be treating this like a letter

reedy

au pairs,

scarpered

gorse

He was padded—every inch of him. I don’t mean he was fat, but he was cushioned, physically, emotionally, financially, in a way that he just didn’t seem to grasp, and it was his very ignorance of the fact that made it even more infuriating.

I definitely know people like this. Well put.

Do you understand what it’s like for people who don’t have your money, and your protection, and your privilege?

holding forth

Curious about this turn of phrase, never heard it before.

He was selfish. A selfish, self-centered man who had barely asked me a single personal question—not even how my journey had been. He just didn’t care.

Did you download Happy?”

So perfectly obnoxiously named

Maddie was sucking her thumb, though she took it swiftly out of her mouth as her mother came in, with a slightly guilty jump. I resolved to look that one up in the binder.

soporific,

“So, who are you, Rowan Caine?” he asked. His voice was a little slurred, and I wondered how much he’d had to drink. Something, something in his tone, in the directness of the question, in the uncomfortably intense intimacy of his gaze, made my stomach shift uneasily.

Really well described, I can easily visualize the unnerving shift in demeanor she's describing. I feel vicarious dread for sure.

He was not one iota discomfited, only amused at my reaction. He stayed in place, half sitting, half leaning comfortably against the barstool, as I grabbed a dishcloth and mopped at the floor between his legs.

YUCK! He probably thinks she's flustered bc he is just such a casanova... Gag. Instead of the actual reason, that he's sexually harrassing her at her brand new job working in his house and she's probably so extremely uncomfortable.

ribald

The one who would have called Bill a fucking pig instead of standing there, paralyzed into politeness, before offering to wipe up after herself.

irresolute,

grousing,

checked the red binder in case it gave instructions for what to do if the children disappeared off the face of the earth.

Lol!

compunction

Then I went into the playroom to see if Maddie had returned.

Well, this is obviously going to end badly...

It was just gone one.

I can so so relate to the frantic feeling of disaster when things go immediately off script like this. The vicarious stress is killing me! Been there done that for sure.

loam

old man’s beard

gamboling

Petra was asleep, in her cot, arms flung out to either side, sooty lashes sweeping her pink cheeks. Her bunny was clutched in her left hand, and she had plainly not stirred since I had put her down.

😶😮😦😱

I know I’m going on. And I know you must be wondering when the hell I’m going to get to the point—to the reason I’m here, in this prison cell, and the reason I shouldn’t be. And I promise you, it’s coming. But I can’t—I can’t seem to explain the situation quickly. That was the problem with Mr. Gates. He never let me explain properly—to show how it all built up, all the little things, all the sleepless nights and the loneliness and the isolation, and the craziness of the house and the cameras and everything else. To explain properly, I have to tell you how it happened. Day by day. Night by night. Piece by piece.

I really feel like the letter thing is so out of place at this point. I like the idea, but this execution is lacking. I could see something more like an Interview With a Vampire working here. But no one would write (let alone send) a letter the size of a book; unless they were writing it to someone farther in the future.

And besides, I’d had nothing to eat or drink since noon—too busy trying to feed and bathe the girls to make supper for myself. I was suddenly ravenous, light-headed, and desperate for food.

Man, in some ways this reminds me so much of watching the farm.

inveigled

gloaming,

brutalist

With a rush of mingled relief and fury, I realized—the voice was coming out of the speakers. Sandra had somehow dialed in to the house system

CREEPY!

something felt . . . wrong,

Ooooooh! What's it gonna be???? Will the door be open???

The locked door in my room.

Wait, when did she mention a locked door?? Better page back and find out. I definitely would have highlighted something like that. Update: yeah, I missed it.

fractious

It was not working, and the statue on top was cracked and gray with lichen, and it occurred to me then what a strange contrast the house made with this rather wild, unkempt garden. I would have expected outdoor seating areas and decking and elaborate planting schemes, not this slightly sad, crumbling neglect. Perhaps Sandra wasn’t an outdoor person? Or maybe they had spent so long working on the house, they hadn’t had time to tend to the grounds yet.