A blurb on the cover from Stephen King calls this "the best horror novel of the new century." It is a very well-written story in a line-by-line sense--literate, with a skillfully done omniscient point of view--yet ultimately couldn't hold me.
The reason was the characters. In terms of them feeling rounded and real I couldn't fault the characterizations of Jeff and Amy, Eric and Stacey, two couples who carry the narrative between them. The problem I think, that I found this a tedious read and impossible to care about them is that they were incredibly, inexorably, too stupid to live.
They make a friend, Mathias, while vacationing in Mexico. When his brother goes missing at an archeological dig, do they call the police? No. They go looking for him.
When, after encountering unfriendly natives and a path hidden by palm fronds, do they go back for the police? No, they press onward.
One of their party, Pablo, falls down a mine shaft and Eric goes down after him. The rope is short 20 feet. Does he allow himself to be pulled back up so they can lengthen the rope? No, he tosses himself down because he doesn't want Pablo to feel deserted.
They establish Pablo has broken his back. They know it's inadvisable to move someone with a back injury. Do they do their best to make him comfortable where he is? No, they decide to haul him back up.
And so on and so forth and all I listed doesn't even take us up to the first 150 pages. No way then I was hanging around for the next 200 pages to watch as they were taken down by the creeping, menacing vines.
