“The vine started up again suddenly, also shouting: It’s my fault. I’m the one, aren’t I? The one who stepped into the vines? It was Amy’s voice, coming at them from all sides.”
I have been reading this book since I was vacationing in South America in 2016. It is 2018. Needless to say, it is not a page turner or anything frightening. If you are looking for a true horror novel look elsewhere.
I found my copy of The Ruins in a second-hand shop shortly before I left. I thought it would be a fun to terrorize myself as I lay poolside in the same location the story took place. Wrong. It did not scare me while reading in bed, by the pool, in spring, summer, fall, or winter. It doesn’t hit a nerve in the dead of night or in the early morning hours, believe me. I tried and I tired. Because I am a stubborn reader I didn’t give up and it didn’t get better.
In short, young adults are vacationing below the equator having a grand time drinking and making friends. They decide to go hiking for thrills and end up on cursed ruins. You can guess what happens next. Natives surround the ruins ready to kill anyone who tried to escape. They wait for help or death. Without spoiling the plot, they have been worse stories and there are definitely better ones out there.
If you find plants alarming you might want to look into a different novel. If slight gore irks you, look elsewhere. If those two tops excite you, this book is for you. I would not recommend The Ruins. If anything, watch the movie and call it a day.