Everyone has a secret. Most people have several. But when you listen to the lies told by the characters in an Alice Feeney novel, you start to realize that the truth isn't just hidden—it’s actively being hunted.
If you’ve spent any time in the "BookTok" community or browsing the psychological thriller shelves at a local bookstore, you’ve seen her name. Feeney is the undisputed queen of the "unreliable narrator." She doesn't just write twists; she builds entire labyrinths where the walls move while you’re trying to find the exit. Sometimes I Lie put her on the map, but the broader cultural obsession with her work stems from a very specific human voyeurism. We want to be deceived, provided the payoff is worth the headache.
Why We Are Addicted to Unreliable Narrators
Why do we do it? Why do we intentionally subject ourselves to stories where we know the person talking to us is full of it? It’s because it mimics real life, just turned up to eleven.
Think about it.
You meet someone at a party. They tell you they’re a successful entrepreneur. Two weeks later, you find out they’re actually living in their cousin’s basement and the "startup" is a failed YouTube channel about competitive toe-wrestling. That sting of realization is a dopamine hit for the brain's pattern-recognition software. When we listen to the lies in fiction, we get that same rush without the real-world social embarrassment.
Feeney’s work, specifically her 2017 debut and the subsequent hits like Rock Paper Scissors, relies on a technique called "gaslighting the reader." It sounds aggressive. It is. But in the context of a 300-page thriller, it’s basically an extreme sport for people who prefer sitting on a couch.
The Mechanics of the Twist
Most writers follow a path. A leads to B, which eventually crashes into C.
Alice Feeney hates that path.
She prefers to take you from A to 7, then tell you that B never actually existed, and by the way, you aren't actually reading a book—you’re a character in someone else’s nightmare. Okay, maybe not that far. But close. In Sometimes I Lie, the protagonist, Amber Reynolds, starts with a chillingly simple hook: "I’m in a coma. My husband doesn't love me anymore. Sometimes I lie."
That’s a contract. She’s telling you she’s a liar. You agree to listen to the lies anyway.
The brilliance of this setup is that it creates a constant state of hyper-vigilance. You aren't just reading for the plot; you’re reading to catch her in a slip-up. You become a detective. You start looking at sentence structure and word choices. You look for the "tell," like a poker player staring down a rival across a green felt table.
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The Psychological Toll of Deception in Fiction
There is a real psychological concept at play here called "Narrative Transport." It’s when you become so lost in a story that your real-world surroundings fade away.
Dr. Melanie Green, a researcher who has spent years studying this, suggests that highly "transportive" stories can actually change our beliefs. When we listen to the lies of a compelling character, our empathy overrides our logic. We want to believe them, even if we know they’re sketchy.
It’s a weirdly vulnerable position for a reader.
Does it Hold Up on a Second Read?
This is the ultimate test of a thriller. If the book only works because of a "gotcha" moment at the end, it’s a gimmick. If it works because the clues were there the whole time and you were just too distracted to see them, it’s art.
Take Rock Paper Scissors. On a first read, the atmospheric setting—a creepy converted chapel in the Scottish Highlands—is doing a lot of the heavy lifting. It’s cold. It’s isolated. There’s a power cut. It’s classic gothic horror. But when you go back and listen to the lies again, knowing the ending, the dialogue changes. Every "he said" and "she said" takes on a double meaning.
It’s like that scene in The Sixth Sense. Once you know, you can’t un-know. The movie becomes a different movie. Feeney achieves this in prose, which is arguably much harder because you don't have visual cues to distract the audience. You only have words.
Breaking Down the Feeney Formula
If you were to map out a typical Feeney plot, it would look less like a timeline and more like a bowl of spaghetti. Honestly, it’s impressive she keeps it all straight.
- The Dual (or Triple) Timeline: Usually, we’re jumping between "Then" and "Now," and maybe some diary entries from twenty years ago.
- The Physical Limitation: A character who is in a coma, or has prosopagnosia (face blindness), or is trapped in a house during a snowstorm.
- The Domestic Noir Element: The lies aren't coming from international spies; they’re coming from the person sleeping next to you.
That last point is the one that really gets under the skin.
It’s easy to dismiss a lie from a stranger. It’s devastating to listen to the lies of a spouse or a parent. Domestic noir works because it exploits the most basic human fear: that we don't actually know the people we love.
Why Prose Matters More Than Plot
You can have the best twist in the world, but if the writing is clunky, no one will care. Feeney has a background in journalism—BBC News, specifically—and you can feel that in her pacing. It’s lean.
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She doesn't waste time describing the "cerulean sky" for three pages. She gets to the point. Then she stabs the point.
Short sentences.
Punchy chapters.
The "one more chapter before bed" trap.
This style is perfect for the modern attention span. We are used to scrolling, jumping from one headline to the next. Her books mimic that rhythm. They feel fast, even when the actual plot is a slow-burn character study.
The Evolution of the Genre
Psychological thrillers have changed since Gone Girl exploded in 2012. We’ve moved past the "Girl on a [Insert Mode of Transport]" phase. Readers are smarter now. They’ve seen every trope. They know the husband did it. They know the neighbor is a stalker.
To make a reader truly listen to the lies today, a writer has to be more clever. They have to play with the meta-narrative.
Feeney’s later books, like Daisy Darker, lean into this by paying homage to Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None. It’s a closed-room mystery, but updated for a cynical, modern audience. It’s not just about "whodunnit" anymore. It’s about why they told the story the way they did.
The "why" is always more interesting than the "who."
The Impact of Social Media on Reading
We have to talk about how we consume these books now. In the past, you’d read a book, maybe talk to a friend about it, and that was it. Now, we have collective reading experiences.
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When you listen to the lies in a new release, you’re doing it alongside thousands of people on TikTok or Goodreads. This creates a weird feedback loop. People start predicting the twists in the comments before the book is even out.
Does this ruin the experience? Maybe for some. But for most, it’s a new kind of game. It’s a race to see who can solve the puzzle first. Alice Feeney has mastered the art of staying one step ahead of a crowd that is actively trying to trip her up.
Practical Advice for Thriller Fans
If you’re looking to dive into this world, or if you’ve already read everything Feeney has written and you’re looking for that next hit, here’s how to approach it.
- Check the Publication Dates: If you’re new to Feeney, start with Sometimes I Lie. It’s the foundation. It sets the tone for everything that follows.
- Read the Epilogues Carefully: She is famous for the "final page" twist. You might think you’ve won the game at chapter 30, but chapter 31 will usually pull the rug out.
- Pay Attention to the Names: She often uses names with symbolic meanings or names that can be easily confused. It’s never accidental.
- Don't Trust the Protagonist: This seems obvious, but she’s very good at making you feel sorry for people who don't deserve it.
The Future of "The Lie"
Where does the genre go from here?
With the rise of AI-generated content and deepfakes, our relationship with the truth is getting weirder every day. In the next few years, I suspect we’ll see thrillers that tackle the idea of digital deception—where the character isn't just lying to us, but maybe isn't even a "person" in the traditional sense.
But for now, there is still something incredibly visceral about a well-written human lie.
We are social animals. We rely on communication to survive. When that communication is corrupted, it triggers a "fight or flight" response. That’s the feeling of a good thriller. It’s a controlled shot of adrenaline.
When you listen to the lies in a book, you’re safe. You’re in your bed, or on a train, or at a cafe. But your heart rate says otherwise. That’s the magic trick.
Actionable Insights for Aspiring Writers and Readers
If you want to understand this narrative style better, or perhaps try your hand at writing it, keep these things in mind:
- The Unreliable Narrator needs a motive. They shouldn't just lie because the author needs them to. They should lie because they are protecting something, or because they are genuinely deluded.
- Consistency is key. Even a liar has a logic. If their lies are random, the reader gets frustrated. If their lies follow a pattern, the reader gets hooked.
- The setting should reflect the internal state. Feeney uses weather and architecture to mirror the confusion of her characters. A foggy moor isn't just a cliché; it’s a physical manifestation of a character’s inability to see the truth.
The next time you pick up a psychological thriller, don't just read it. Listen. Listen to the lies being whispered between the lines. The most interesting part of the story is usually the thing the narrator is trying the hardest not to say.
Go back and look at the first chapter of the last thriller you read. Look for the first lie. It’s usually hidden in plain sight, tucked away in a sentence that seems totally mundane. That’s where the real story begins.