Investigative journalist Sloane Keenan is no stranger to chasing the truth, but her newest assignment pulls her into something far darker than she expected. While investigating Reverb, a mysterious masked band with a cult-like following, Sloane begins to uncover unsettling connections between the band and her father’s unsolved murder.
As her investigation deepens, she’s drawn into a dangerous web involving a powerful corporation, secrets hidden within Reverb’s music, and two very different men who seem determined to pull her deeper into their world. With obsession, attraction, and deception blurring together, Sloane must decide just how much she’s willing to risk in order to uncover the truth—and whether some secrets might be safer left buried.
I went into The Frequency of Him really intrigued by the premise. The concept of a mysterious band, mind-bending sound frequencies, and a conspiracy tied to a journalist’s personal tragedy is genuinely compelling. On paper, this had all the ingredients for a dark, twisty romance with a unique edge.
Unfortunately, the execution didn’t quite live up to the potential of the idea.
The underlying story—the investigation into Reverb and the possibility that their music holds something more sinister—is interesting. There’s a foundation here that could have supported a gripping blend of mystery, suspense, and romance. But instead of fully developing those elements, the narrative often felt overshadowed by an overwhelming amount of spice.
And listen, Literary Gluttony is not anti-smut. Not even remotely. A good spicy scene can absolutely enhance a romance when it’s supported by strong characters and an engaging story. But here, it frequently felt like the spice replaced the plot rather than complimenting it.
Rather than watching the mystery unfold or the stakes deepen, many scenes leaned heavily into sexual tension and explicit encounters, leaving the larger story feeling underdeveloped. By the time the plot tried to regain momentum, it felt like it had already taken a back seat for too long.
Character development was another struggle for me. Sloane, Riven, and the other central figures had the potential to be complex and morally gray characters, but they never felt fully fleshed out. Without stronger emotional depth or clearer motivations, it was difficult to connect with them or become invested in their outcomes.
And because the characters didn’t feel fully realized, the romance itself didn’t carry the emotional weight it needed to. Chemistry alone can’t sustain a story if the characters behind it don’t feel layered or believable.
The writing style also made the reading experience harder than it should have been. Dialogue and internal monologues frequently relied on familiar dark-romance phrases and clichés, which started to feel repetitive over time. Instead of building tension or atmosphere, those moments often pulled me out of the story.
What’s frustrating is that the bones of a really interesting book are here. The conspiracy, the mysterious band, the idea of music influencing people on a psychological level—those are genuinely cool concepts. With tighter storytelling, stronger character development, and a better balance between plot and spice, this could have been a standout dark romance.
Instead, it ended up feeling like a promising premise that never fully reached its potential.
Devour or Nibble?
Nibble.
If you’re looking for a very spice-heavy dark romance and don’t mind a lighter focus on plot and character development, you might still find something to enjoy here. But if you’re hoping for a deeply developed story with rich characters and a strong narrative driving the romance, this one may leave you wishing there had been a little more substance behind the heat.
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