The Last Flight by Julie Clark is marketed as a thriller. So, naturally, I imagined its content to be thrilling. Or engaging, at least. After this read, I feel somewhat compelled to research if there are set rules that define when you can market a book as a 'thriller'. Can one reprint The Very Hungry Caterpillar, call it a thriller and market it as "a ravenous, heart-stopping chase from page to page, of one small animal's search for an escape" ? One only can assume so. (Also, admit it - that sounds like a blurb the New York Times or some other newspaper would give.) The marketing-machine of the publisher would kick in, millions of copies would sell, and everybody would give each other a pat on the back, as they would slap the NYT-bestseller sticker on the front. Congratulations, fam! Lots of money for ye, a wholly underwhelming reading experience for thee. Dear thees, in the form of other goodreads reviewers: 4,1 stars?! For THIS? Demand better. Look for better. I promise you, there are better books out there. The worst thing is - every person I summarized the premise of this book to was immediately engaged, because it sounds like such a thrilling (yes, THRILLING) premise for a book. Not the worst, but the bad thing is; I finished the book yesterday. And I brought it to work with me today, because the ending was so entirely unimpressive I just forgot that I had already finished it. I have more to say, because with me, there always is more to say. But if I get started on the actual contents of this book (the most tepid, unnecessary addition to the #metoo-debate imaginable) or the poor writing (SO many dramatic wannabe cliff-hangers, SO much Telling instead of Showing) we will still be here tomorrow. Two stars, for a basic idea that could have been interesting, and for the simple fact I did not spent money to get this book.