Igor Stefanovic’s The Seven begins as a vivid family drama wrapped in mystery and tension, and it quickly evolves into something much larger. The story follows the Meyer siblings —seven of them —each scattered across continents after their father, Abraham, sets them on a strange quest to find sculptures that represent the purity of love. The setup feels biblical, almost mythic, but the execution is modern and cinematic. From luxury yachts and family mansions to deserts and laboratories, Stefanovic paints a sweeping world filled with ego, guilt, ambition, and buried love. The tone shifts from thriller to introspection and back again, and by the end, it feels like the first act of a much grander saga.

The writing is rich and immersive, the kind that drops you right into a scene with the scent of bourbon, the thrum of a yacht party, the quiet wheeze of an oxygen tank. It’s hard not to feel something for Abraham, the dying patriarch, trying to shake his spoiled children awake. Stefanovic writes him with compassion and grit. The dialogue, though occasionally heavy, feels raw and lived-in. Some parts hit hard, like watching someone confess a lifetime of regret.

The ideas in The Seven stuck in my head. It’s about privilege and purpose, about how easy it is to lose your soul when you’ve never had to fight for it. I found myself angry at the characters but also weirdly protective of them. Stefanovic’s sense of irony is sharp, and he never lets anyone off easy. The emotional punches are subtle at first and then land all at once, like waves catching you when you’re not ready. Sometimes the prose feels indulgent, but then it snaps back with a line so clear it cuts. I liked that unpredictability.

I’d recommend The Seven to readers who enjoy family epics with emotional weight and moral complexity. If you like stories that mix glamour with existential dread, this one’s for you. The writing has heart and ambition, and it always reaches for something real.

Pages: 511 | ASIN : B0FQJNYQHF