Honey had all the ingredients to become my new favourite unhinged female serial killer novel: a Black academic protagonist, feminist rage, sharp humour, and a woman seeking justice against “bad men” (without condoning murder, obviously).
As a fellow sociology graduate, I was especially drawn to the academic angle, and the exploration of power, control, and retribution felt very close to my own interests. The stars weren’t quite aligned for a full five, but this is still a strong, compelling debut.
Yrsa is not written to be likeable – and that’s very much the point.
Her voice is sharp, restless, academic, and full of anger.
She dissects the world around her with intelligence and bitterness, and she invites the reader to watch her do it.
This is a novel about control: who has it, who loses it, and how far one woman is willing to go to take it back.
Yrsa doesn’t soften herself for the reader, and the book doesn’t try to excuse her either – it simply lets her exist in all her mess, rage, and contradictions.
There are some genuinely great moments within this book.
The dry, very British humour works well, with sharp one-liners that cut through the darkness.
I also really enjoyed the discussions of being a Black female academic at Cambridge, and it’s genuinely nice to read a contemporary novel set in Cambridge that actually uses the setting meaningfully rather than just as a backdrop.
The way Thompson weaves Yrsa’s research into the narrative, particularly the connections to Afropessimism and power structures, adds real depth and texture.
My main frustration is that too much of the most interesting material happens off page. For a book about a woman slowly becoming a serial killer, we spend surprisingly little time actually seeing the killings or the psychological descent.
Even Yrsa’s drug abuse – which explains some of the narrative distance – mostly happens in the background. It isn’t until the final 25–30% that the story fully shifts into focus, and that section is easily the strongest part of the novel.
The last quarter is powerful, especially when we learn more about Yrsa’s grandmother, her past, and her estrangement from her school friends.
These emotional threads give real depth to her character and finally ground the violence in something human and personal.
Unfortunately, the ending feels rushed, and there are a few storylines that I would have loved to see explored in more detail.
Still, Honey is twisty, darkly funny, and full of ideas.
It’s not a comfortable read, and it’s not meant to be. It’s a novel about rage, justice, control, and a woman who believes – completely – in the rightness of what she’s doing.
Whether she ever feels guilt is left open, but her certainty is what makes her so unsettling.
This will really appeal to readers who enjoy feminist suspense, morally complex protagonists, and character-driven psychological novels.
Not perfect, but bold, original, and a very promising debut.
With thanks to NetGalley and the publishers for an ARC in exchange for an honest review.