Officially: the snow is driving me bonkers. But on the bright side, the slippery sidewalks, icy roads and frigid temperatures have given me more than enough cause to kick back with a book series. Unfollow by Rob Williams and Mike Dowling, a long-completed Vertigo title, is the one I picked.

I was interested in Unfollow when it first debuted in 2016, but (and no one here is surprised)  procrastinated on picking it up until just recently. Let me tell you: I am so glad that I did; it really wasn’t what I expected, and that sort of freshness was just the sort of shakeup I needed as a reader.

Since the series is so short (only three volumes) and I read them all one after another, I figured I’d just review them all in this column. I’m not going to drop any spoilers, just because while I did have issues with the series, they’re not egregious enough to rant about in detail.

Unfollow is, essentially, The Hunger Games for social media enthusiasts. Larry Ferrell, the mega-rich creator of social media platforms Headspace and Chirper, is dying of cancer. Before he goes, he wants to ascertain the true meaning of humanity— by dividing up his wealth between 140 characters (err, people) and bringing them all to his private island to celebrate. Naturally, there’s a catch. If one of the chosen 140 dies, their portion of Ferrell’s wealth is then distributed among the survivors— Ferrell, along with his unhinged henchman, Rubinstein— which turns this unbelievably lucky break into a horrifying murder spree punctuated by mind games and deep, existential questions that wonder at the nature of humanity.

Honestly, the first two volumes of this series, 140 Characters and God Is Watching were a lot of fun. I mean, they fell back on easy tropes because convenience demands it (is anyone surprised by billionaire mega-geniuses turning out to be socially-inept asshats?) but the way Williams handles the script turns something that could so easily feel stereotypical into something fraught with tension and danger. If we were discussing the first two volumes alone, I’d have heart-eyes, raving about the fleshed-out character arcs, the meticulously-balanced plot points, the smart writing, and the overall sense of urgency.

But it all falls apart with Turn It Off. I don’t want to spoil any of this series, because honestly, if I dislike something, it is immediately tossed into my donation box and sent off to a new home, and Unfollow’s  good points outweigh the bad taste the ending left in my mouth.

I just . . . you know when you get so invested in a series that you start reading at two o’clock and you look up and it’s nine o’clock at night and you haven’t even eaten dinner yet or even paid attention to hunger, because you were so engrossed in the story? I couldn’t read Unfollow at night (Rubinstein was literally nightmare fuel), but it was enthralling nonetheless. After reading the first two volumes (action-packed, smart, a little bit cynical about humanity as a whole, but so. Damn. Addictive), my expectations for the series conclusion were through the roof.

Those expectations were not met. I felt like Turn It Off was the end of a different story, or fanfiction (that’s not a knock at fanfiction, much of it is absolutely loyal to the source material whilst enhancing it) that just missed the mark entirely.

Suddenly, that cynicism that was tolerable in the first two just turned into snide bleakness, plot threads were left hanging loose (while an entirely cliched “reveal” took up space), and characters that were previously shown as capable, smart, and paranoid became basic as hell.

In 2015, The Originals showrunner Robert Narducci was attached to the script for a TV show based on Unfollow for ABC. If it ever comes to fruition, I’ll definitely be tuning in.

Rating: 3 out of 5 stars

Recipe: Raspberry brownies for two

Author

Jess is a freelance journalist with training in the mystic arts of print, television, radio, and a dash of PR. She can typically be found wreaking havoc in her wheelchair, gushing over Disney, reading a book from her never-ending TBR pile, or writing like her life depends on it.

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