Pleasure Island is one of those British bonkbusters that lets you escape into the habits of obscenely weathly people. It falls in the grand tradition of Victoria Fox, Jilly Cooper, Rebecca Chance and others. For me, unfortunately, it didn’t quite live up to those works. Escapist to be sure, frothy and ridiculous absolutely – just not fully enjoyable to me.

This is not a book that can be talked about without serious spoilers and I’m not sure what I can add to the back copy, but here goes.

Megalomaniac and insane gazillionare Martin McKenzie arranges for six people to be whisked to a secret location on a deserted island. They’re all sent for by invitation and given no details about who else will be joining them except for their partners. Three couples arrive onto Pleasure Island and mayhem ensues.

Added into this mix are eight mysterious people who are helping Martin conduct this business – whose identities we are never privy to, even at the end of the book. Add in a teenage genius hacker and a few other characters and this book just got too busy. Additionally, in these books, one wants detailed descriptions of the orgies and insane sexual acts and the parties and exactly who did what to whom… and with the exception of one scene, Weatherley consistently only gives us the cleaning up after the night before. Meh.

Drink for this book is definitely a tequila sunrise.


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I received a copy of this book from NetGalley in exchange for a fair review.