The first seven-eights of this novel is packed solid with cliches worthy of multiple eye rollings, but then it takes an unexpected turn that almost makes it worth reading.
First, the cliches: tortured and beautiful artist (tick), multiple men who seem to be dangerously attracted to her (tick) including a therapist who appears to be slightly in love with her (tick) and believes he is the only one who can save her (tick) from her self-imposed silence.
Question; is it sensible or credible for a woman accused of murdering her husband to voluntarily stop talking, and therefore fail to participate in her own defence and be convicted of his murder? Possibly it’s just me but I find the whole premise of this novel ridiculous. And the main character, Alicia, an artist, lends very little credibility to the enterprise. She believes herself to be watched, stalked, in mortal danger. But one day when she’s home alone, writing in her diary, and she hears noises downstairs, suggesting an intruder. So what does she do? Put down the pen and call the police or her neighbour? No, she continues writing in her diary: “I need to get out of here. I need to escape. Oh my God -I can hear him- He’s inside. He’s inside the house.”
Note to author: no woman, anywhere, anytime, would be that stupid. Part of my problem with so many thrillers is the woman in them are so often portrayed as weak willed, needy, useless, requiring emotional validation and/or physical rescue from the men around them. Alicia, the tortured artist utterly emotionally dependant on her husband, is a prime example of that. And then, after she is accused of her husband’s murder, she styles herself on the heroine of an Ancient Greek tragedy and chooses silence over an explanation for her actions, thereby getting herself consigned to a psychiatric facility. Do women like this really exist? Does the author believe they do?
The most irritating thing about this book is that it is so cleverly plotted, with such a surprising ending, that it almost makes it worth flinching your way through it. Almost. I’d still recommend Louise Candlish’s Our House or William Landay’s Defending Jacob if you want a good strong ending and credible female characters.
