Source of book: NetGalley (thank you)
Relevant disclaimers: None
Please note: This review may not be reproduced or quoted, in whole or in part, without explicit consent from the author.
And remember: I am not here to judge your drag, I mean your book. Books are art and art is subjective. These are just my personal thoughts. They are not meant to be taken as broader commentary on the general quality of the work. Believe me, I have not enjoyed many an excellent book, and my individual lack of enjoyment has not made any of those books less excellent or (more relevantly) less successful.
***
It’s probably slightly unfair of me to be reviewing this book since I’m not the biggest thriller reader. And when I do fancy a thriller it tends to be in slightly aberrant situations—like being on a long journey—where capacity to engage me is the only thing I’m seeking from my entertainment.
To give The Perfect Boyfriend credit, it did indeed engage me, even if it didn’t completely blow my mind, and I suspect will not linger in it. Then again, my mind is basically Swiss cheese so very little lingers in it.
The premise here is that the heroine, Kirsty, is working as a midwife up in somewhere Scotlandy—I think I want to say Aberdeen. She’s also heavily pregnant, and about to go on parental leave, when she suddenly sees a former ex-boyfriend, apparently working as an anaesthesiologist at the same hospital. This particular boyfriend left her in a notably unpleasant way, vanishing without a trace after, and when she attempts to talk to him in the hospital, he acts as though he doesn’t know her.
Cue the usual thriller type happenings, which I won’t go into detail on, because it would spoil literally the entire thing. But it definitely has all the elements you want from this sort of book: mysteries, revelations and twists oh my, a handful of murders, a narrator presumed unreliable by those around her, messing around with timelines, kidnappings, peril and the POV of the villain interspersed with those of the heroine/narrator.
I think my strongest impression of this book was that it … how can I put this. It read the assignment. It is a thoughtful, brisky written, very well-constructed thriller that hits all the right notes at exactly the right times. And sometimes that’s kind of all you need?
Can I quibble? I mean, yeah. I’m me. Of course I can. I honestly found the heroine a bit of a non-person: she’s just a nice woman, with a nice life, from a nice background, who is nice to people. As a certified feral basket, by about the midway point I was starting to maybe think the villain was broadly had a point in his frustration with her. Also, while it’s clear the villain is a horrible person who does horrible things, at least he’s got more going on than being nice—which ended up making his sections read as disproportionately charismatic. And there’s always going to be part of me that’s going to relate to people from fucked up backgrounds who do fucked up things for fucked up reasons (although I definitely draw the line at fraud, abuse and murder). I think what also makes the villain complicated, especially compared to Kirsty Who Is Nice, is that his ambitions are fairly modest? He wants to escape his deprived and abusive background and, err, be an anaesthesiologist? At which—despite his lack of formal qualifications (sorry, mild spoiler there)—he seems to be genuinely talented, and causing no harm? I realise that we’d all prefer our medical practitioners to be qualified and fully vetted before doing their thing, especially given the consequences of doing it wrong are so very dire, but like … it’s not like being qualified magically insulates you ever making a mistake or being bad at your job. And, yes, I get that part of what qualifications are doing when it comes to high stakes professions are serving as a barrier to entry, so someone can’t just walk in off the street and operate on you, but, in abstract terms, between two people performing their jobs in a functionally identical way … what does it matter? I guess I’m just saying that if the villain hadn’t run into Kirsty, he’d probably have just continued his life of mild shitfuckery.
And most of us live lives of mild shitfuckery anyway?
The other plot note that mildly bugged me was that, at one point, Kirsty’s elderly neighbour (Kirsty is nice to her elderly neighbour because, of course, she is) disappears. And she remains disappeared for over a week, with nobody around taking Kirsty’s concerns seriously because, apparently, sometimes old women do be that vanishing way. Across the run of the book, Kirsty does make various attempts to contact the police about the various things that are going, and is disregarded, but … like … why on earth didn’t she just report her neighbour as a missing person (which you can do at any time you believe someone is missing, and will be taken especially seriously if they’re vulnerable, i.e. young, old, in mental distress).? And, yes, okay she’s getting texts from said neighbour, telling her to stay away, but they’re clearly not *from* her neighbour, and she doesn’t believe them—even going so far as to creep around her neighbour’s blatantly empty house.
I know it’s kind of a … limitation of the format. If people behaved wholly rationally at all times in a thriller, it wouldn’t be a thriller it would be a … a …quotidianer? A boringer? I don’t know. And I get that everyone suspends their disbelief in different ways, at different times, in different places, but, for me, I need at least lip service paid to the rudiments of sensible behaviour. Oh, and I also got slightly in my head about the fact that the dual narration is framed as a series of audio-interviews for a documentary. This is another suspension of disbelief thing: obviously I know a book written the way people genuinely talk would be unreadable and that the audio-interview aspect here is essentially equivalent to the letters in an epistolary novel i.e. it’s not meant to be a literal representation of the form, so much a way of conveying a fictional narrative that heightens intimacy and immediacy. But, for me personally, I would have liked a tiny nod, now and again, to the fact that the book-as-written is actually a series of audio-interviews. Because I don’t quite see why you’d employ a device like that and still present the book almost entirely in standard prose. Though I will add, since I’m talking about language, that the book does have a really nice ear for Scottish rhythms and dialect, that I felt was really well-judged, and was lovely to see on the page without it ever feeling cartoonish or overdone.
Finally … and this is … technically a spoiler, though it shouldn’t be a spoiler. Basically, at the very end of the novel, slightly out of nowhere, we learn that the heroine is in a queer relationship. Her partner, the ambiguously-named Dougie, is actually—OHEMGEE—her wife. I guess fair play to the book for playing the pronoun game for the entire duration of the text sufficiently subtlety that I didn’t notice, but also … why is the fact that the heroine is in a long-term relationship with another woman deliberately, I don’t know if withheld is even the right word, presented evasively in that way? Like, was it meant to reflect in some way upon Kirsty’s relationship with the relationship with the villain? He left her so traumatised she turned gay? What? No. Or was it more that the book kind of fucking with the reader, like “ahh, you made a gendered assumption, what does that say about you, ahhhh”. Or is it meant to be the final twist? In which case, also no, because queer people aren’t a twist. We’re just … here? And frankly the only way it can possibly work as a twist or a surprised if the queerness and queer identity play literally zero part in the heroine’s life or thinking up to the point she’s suddenly like AND THE CHARACTER CALLED DOUGIE IS ACTUALLY MY WIIIIIFE. I don’t know. It was all hella weird to me.
Even so, I still enjoyed the book. Based on the other reviews, which are very “omg, blew my mind, amazing twists” I think it would probably appeal to more to a thriller aficionado. But it delivered what I was hoping for, in terms of the quintessential thriller experience, and got me through a long, slightly emotionally tough, journey. For which I’m super grateful.