It's okay. I loved Everyone in My Family Has Killed Someone, and it's essentially the samey same. Some stories created a formula then kept on pulling new rugs out of readers' feet (think Danganronpa series), the Ernest Cunningham series is more that the first one you read will be the best, and you've read one you've read all.

It doesn't help that by second book, I've already figured out that Ernest Cunningham can be a kinda weird guy when it comes to being sly with definitions, and he's also smug without being really all that smart. Usually it's not a bad thing, but when the book's selling point is the narrator is absolutely reliable at narration, while turned out the narrator is quite unreliable at basic life common sense, well.

Consider I have a tendency of accidentally reading things in doubles, in a way this is a dueling book against Yellowface about publishing industry and writers with fragile egos. It's just that Rebecca Kuang is so much more biting and funnier, that it's Everyone On This Train 's bad luck that I've read them so closely back to back.

Way too much pasted on romance. As palatable as when people insist on pouring salted caramel into everything circa 2013. I'm so glad the salted caramel fad is over.

A bit disappointed that it's set on the Ghan, yet very little of Central Australia was part of this story. I know it's not the point and the story itself wasn't about Central Australia, it's just a place I really like and want to see more appreciation of.

It's not bad as far as a mindless read I suppose. Kinda like the second bag of potato chips, not as good as the first bag and I regretted having two packs, even if the second isn't necessarily objectively worse than the first.

#EveryoneOnThisTrainIsASuspect #BenjaminStevenson