The author of the “master class in suspense” (Shari Lapena, New York Times bestselling author) The Chamber returns with a high-tension thriller about a family’s descent into darkness that is perfect for fans of Dennis Lehane and Lisa Jewell.

Peggy and Drew, both aspiring writers, move to an isolated canal boat with their fourteen-year-old son. Peggy is the glue that holds their family together, even as their son is bullied relentlessly for his physique and his family’s lack of money. But when Drew becomes frustrated by his wife’s sudden writing success, he moves their boat further and further from civilization.

With their increasing isolation, personal challenges become harder to ignore, even as they desperately try to break toxic generational patterns. But when Drew’s gaslighting becomes too much for Peggy to take, it sets off a catastrophic series of events.

With Will Dean’s signature “well-drawn characters and excellent prose” (Sarah Pearse, New York Times bestselling author), Adrift is gripping exploration of the ties that bind when everything spirals out of control.

I received an advance copy of this book courtesy of the publisher. All thoughts are my own.

This is the third Will Dean book I’ve read, and once again, he managed to keep me completely on edge. Not through relentless action or nonstop twists, but through something far more unsettling. Psychological erosion. This is the slowest of slow burns, and every choice the author makes feels deliberate and heavy with consequence.

The story centers on Peggy, her husband Drew, and their fourteen-year-old son Samson (AKA Sammy). They live together on a canal boat. They start off close to the town where they work, but as the book progresses, Drew moves them further and further up the canal, isolating them from the outside world. Both Peggy and Drew are aspiring writers, but Peggy’s sudden success becomes a fault line in their marriage. Drew does not take it well. What follows is a masterclass in depicting emotional manipulation, control, and gaslighting.

Drew is, without exaggeration, one of the most deplorable characters I’ve ever read. He is a privileged, deeply insecure white man who thrives on victimhood. He’s mean. He’s controlling. He’s petty. And at times, terifying. We never hear directly from Drew himself. The story is told only through Peggy and Sammy, and each of them sees Drew differently. That distance makes his presence even more oppressive. He looms over the book without ever needing his own voice. It also plays into whether the Drew we are getting to know is the real Drew or if he’s made to look this bad by unreliable narrators.

At first, it’s easy to label Drew as the villain and settle into that certainty. But as the story progresses, Dean begins to destabilize that comfort. Doubt creeps in. Perspectives blur. I found myself questioning my own interpretations, wondering if I was missing something, and second-guessing what I thought I understood. It’s deeply uncomfortable, and very intentional. I started to feel the same confusion Peggy feels, the same mental whiplash that comes from being constantly undermined.

I’ll be honest. This was triggering for me because I dated someone who played similar mind games when I was in my 20s. Drew’s behavior iss the kind of emotional abuse where reality is twisted just enough to keep you off balance, where confrontation is met with deflection and self-pity, and where the abuser somehow always becomes the injured party. Dean captures that dynamic with frightening accuracy. If you’ve experienced anything similar, this book may be difficult to read. But it’s also incredibly validating in the way it refuses to soften or excuse that behavior.

Sammy’s perspective adds another layer of tension. As a bullied teenager struggling with his place in the world, he interprets his father differently than Peggy does. His confusion about the world around him, loyalty to his father who provides for them, and fear of losing his family complicate the emotional landscape and raise the stakes.

The pacing is meticulous. Nothing happens quickly, and that’s the point. Each scene builds pressure. Each small decision matters. The isolation of the canal boat becomes a character in itself, amplifying the sense of entrapment. By the time events finally tip into catastrophe, it feels both shocking and inevitable.

My one issue with the book lies at the very end. I didn’t think it needed the final two epilogues. For me, they tidied things up a bit too neatly. The story would have carried more emotional weight if it had ended earlier, leaving some discomfort unresolved. That said, this didn’t undo the power of what came before it.

This is not an easy read, but it is a deeply effective one. It’s a psychological thriller that prioritizes character over spectacle and tension over twists. If you can stomach depictions of emotional and mental abuse, this is a gripping, unsettling ride that will stay with you long after the final page.