The Tenant by Freida McFadden: I’ve Been Mentally Evicted and Emotionally Played

Let me set the scene for you.

It’s a gloomy Monday. I’m three iced coffees deep, wrapped in a blanket that smells like Netflix marathons and bad decisions, and I’m looking for something to scratch that specific itch. You know the one—creepy but not gory, thrilling but not exhausting, twisty but still readable in one sitting.

I open The Tenant by Freida McFadden thinking, “I’ll just read a few chapters while my laundry’s drying.”

LOL. FIVE HOURS LATER, I am dehydrated, visibly unwell, and staring at my wall like I’ve just gone through psychological warfare. No laundry was folded. No texts were answered. I forgot how to blink.

This book grabbed me by the throat and said, “You live here now.”

Enter Blake Porter: early 30s, smug marketing VP, living his little corporate dream in a newly renovated Brooklyn brownstone that he definitely can’t afford. Life is good. Too good. Which, in a McFadden novel, is your first red flag.

Then BOOM—he gets laid off. His financial stability goes up in flames, his fiancée is suspicious, and instead of coming clean, Blake decides to rent out a room to a stranger. Because that’s what all responsible people do when they’re spiralling, right?

Enter Whitney. She’s perfect. Too perfect. She’s charming, laid-back, pays on time, and has zero backstory. Like, none. No family, no friends, no digital footprint—which in today’s world is basically more suspicious than murder.

But Blake is desperate. And slowly, quietly, things start to shift.

What Freida McFadden does so well—and what you’ll know if you’ve read The Housemaid, Never Lie, or The Coworker—is lure you into this weird sense of comfort. You think you’ve got it all figured out. You think, “Yeah, okay, the tenant’s the psycho.”

But the real gag? You start to wonder if maybe… she’s not.

Maybe it’s Blake who’s unravelling. Maybe it’s the house. Maybe it’s you. Because McFadden turns up the paranoia so slowly, so expertly, that by the time you realize you’re in too deep—you’re locked in with no lights and a weird smell you can’t explain.

Let’s talk atmosphere.

The brownstone in this book is not just a setting. It’s a whole character. You can practically smell the mildew. You hear the whispering pipes. The hardwood floors creak like they’re hiding secrets, and the walls? They’re too close. Too watchful. The house is always listening. And you feel it.

This book does not rely on cheap jump scares. It’s about that slow, creeping dread. The kind of horror that’s not in what you see—but what you think you saw.

McFadden knows how to weaponize the ordinary:

• A locked door.

• A lingering stare.

• A glass left in the sink that you don’t remember using.

I caught myself turning around in my own house. That’s the kind of grip this story has.

Blake?

He's not just "flawed." He's unreliable in a way that makes you question every word he narrates. You’re never sure what’s real and what’s just his own guilt or ego talking. Is he a victim? A manipulator? A liar? All three?

Whitney?

I still don’t trust her. Even after finishing the book. She’s got that cool girl but possibly a serial killer energy that kept me glued to the page.

The neighbours? Suspicious.

The fiancée? Not as clueless as she seems.

Even the cat feels like it’s judging you.

Everyone has something to hide—and McFadden takes her sweet time letting the secrets bleed out.

Let me say this clearly: You will not see the ending coming.

You’ll think you do. You’ll feel smug. You’ll pause halfway through like, “I got this. I cracked it.”

You did not. You got played. And it will feel amazing.

McFadden saves her hardest punch for the last few pages—the kind that makes you question everything you just read. You’ll want to flip back to chapter one and reread every conversation with fresh eyes, picking up all the breadcrumbs you completely missed.

Compared to The Housemaid or The Inmate, The Tenant feels more claustrophobic. More layered. More... messed up, honestly. There’s a real moral grayness here that makes it extra juicy.

It’s not just “who’s the killer?”It’s:

• Who’s lying to themselves the most?

• Who’s the real villain in a house full of secrets?

• What happens when you lock two unstable people in one space and wait for the cracks to show?

If you want:

• A psychological thriller that will mess with your head

• Unreliable narrators who lie as convincingly as they breathe

• Creepy vibes without over-the-top gore

• Twists that make you do the dramatic slow blink

• And a story that lives rent-free in your brain for days...

  
  

Then The Tenant needs to be your next read.

Put your phone on Do Not Disturb. Grab your snack. Lock your door (seriously). And enjoy the descent.

Rating: 10/10 uneaten meals

Pace: Wildly bingeable

Twist Factor: Brain = flipped

Satisfaction Level: High… but I need therapy

Do I trust any of these characters? Absolutely not

Would I rent a room in that house? Not even for free. Maybe not even for cash.

And if you're new to Freida McFadden? Buckle up. She’s got a whole library of psychological chaos waiting for you. Start with The Housemaid (classic), dive into Never Lie (peak paranoia), and maybe save The Inmate for when you’re emotionally stable. (Which, after The Tenant, you won’t be.)

Let me know if you want a follow-up post ranking Freida’s most unhinged twists. Because girl does NOT miss.