Inside the Greatest Female-Led Poisoning Scandal in Modern History
At the turn of the 20th century, in the village of Nagyrév, Hungary, midwife Zsuzsanna Fazekas was more than a caretaker — she was a confidante. She helped poor women give birth; she assisted them with abortions; and she listened. Their stories were the same: husbands who drank, who beat them, who made their lives unbearable.
In response, Auntie Zsuzsi asked one question: “Why bother with them?”
She had a solution: arsenic. Soon, women began slipping this concoction, made by dissolving flypaper in water, into their husbands’ porridge, stews, and brandy. And over the next twenty years, the quiet village became the epicenter of one of the deadliest poisoning epidemics of the 20th century – according to some estimates, up to 300 people in the region were murdered.
Why did they do it? How did these murders spin out of control? How did these women get away with their crimes for two decades?
In The Women Are Not Fine, journalist Hope Reese pieces together archival newspapers, court documents, police records, and the vital work of historians, sociologists, and psychologists, diving deep into the truth behind this extraordinary event. Her findings serve as a stark warning: when women in a community are pushed to the brink, the consequences reverberate through history.
The Women Are Not Fine is more than a true crime story. It’s a timely, haunting exploration of what happens when women’s suffering goes unanswered.
Hope is the author of "The Women Are Not Fine." She writes for The New York Times and dozens of other publications — on everything from culture to feminism to technology. And Hope is a featured author in the Verso Books collection, Where Freedom Starts: Sex Power Violence #MeToo: A Verso Report.
Previously, Hope was a staff writer at TechRepublic (CBS Interactive). She taught journalism at Indiana University, Southeast. Hope earned her Master’s in Journalism from Harvard Extension School while working for the Nieman Foundation for Journalism at Harvard.
Well researched and fascinating account of women in a small Hungarian village who took part in mass incidents of fatal poisonings. Many victims were alleged domestic abusers. I appreciated the author’s reminders throughout the book identifying the people mentioned previously. Highly recommend as a fantastic non fiction read.
sose irtam meg emailt ironak, ezutan a konyv utan azonnal megtettem. Zsenialis sztori, nem ertem miert most talalkozom vele eloszor, a Meregkeveroket meg is kertem karacsonyra gyorsban. Kurva jol leirta a torteneseket, empatikus a karaktereivel, kepes rendszerben gondolkodni, leirja az akkor uralkodo nezeteket, normakat, 10/10 munka, nyomas elolvasni!!! amugy meg slay queens
Interesting concept, poor execution. I was excited to read about my country, but this book did not live up to my expectations.
There is no distinctive style or literary prowess displayed. I noted several repetitions (the word ‘display’ is used three times in a single paragraph), grammatically dubious and unnecessarily drawn-out sentences, an overuse of adjectives and em-dashes, meaning it all reads like a mediocre essay. So many useless details are included—I don’t really need to know the exact proportions of a shed to follow the story.
I also found some choices to be of bad taste. Dedicating an entire chapter to the way these women were executed and explaining all of it in graphic detail? Girl. In the context of the story—but also in general—that is extremely inappropriate.
It would have been nice to keep the Hungarian naming conventions (known as the Eastern name order, in which the last name comes first) not only because it’s more pleasing to the ear, but also because I don’t like americanising names. The role of patriarchy as the core structure facilitating these murders could also have been explored; I was waiting for the topic to be brought up, but it never was. Another disappointment.
Meticulously researched and documented. Thoughtful and well-written. Does not sensationalize, seeks to understand. Connects the murders of a hundred years past with current patterns of violence. I couldn’t put it down.
Pretty interesting story about a topic I would’ve never heard about otherwise. Women can kill too people…. JK but, definitely it was very intriguing to hear about why the women did it, why they chose poison specifically, and how women turn to each other for support. Why even bother with him?
Hands down my favourite non-fiction read of the year.
When women in 20th-century Nagyrév, Hungary, suffered in silence, how did they communicate their pain? There were no phones, no TV, no radios, only neighbours. They survived through huddles and hives—tight-knit, uniquely female social networks.
What these women ultimately did to reclaim control over their lives and stop the abuse was extraordinary.
Hope Reese is a remarkably talented writer and journalist. Her storytelling is meticulous and deeply researched, yet balanced. She not only captured the women’s suffering, but also explored the strain and pain the men endured during this time.
Two of the most powerful lessons I took from this book:
1) The effects of war ripple far beyond the frontlines, seeping into every home and community. We should promote peace and co-existence at every opportunity.
2) When women commit violent crimes, society often responds more harshly than it does with men. Tabloids dehumanise them, calling them monsters, witches, psychopaths, “bad apples”—as if they’re no longer fully human. This narrative conveniently shifts the focus away from the societal conditions that allowed these crimes to occur in the first place.
This book is a gripping, eye-opening exploration of history, gender and survival. Seriously recommend!
A powerful and deeply researched story. It really pulls you in and gives you space to take in the complexity of these women’s lives. Gripping, thought-provoking, and definitely worth a read.
Fascinating read. The accounting of what occurred was interesting. But the analyses during the last 30 or so pages, I found most riveting. Great read especially for those interested in the psychology of trauma and domestic abuse.
What are women to do when their homes and dignity are threatened ? They must take back control of their destiny, whatever the cost. The author meticulously follows the trial of the angelmakers of Nagyrev to answer one crucial question : are these women cold-blooded killers or victims that are simply part of the never-ending cycle of violence ?
Without judgement, Reese investifates the past and connects the murders with current of violence. While she sometimes blurs the lines between corelation and direct consequence, it remains an interesting read. The long list of trials and murders are a bit repetitive though.
Set a century ago in the Hungarian hinterland, this is the true story of the greatest female-led mass poisoning in modern history, with some 300 men, over a period of 20 years and in a single region, murdered by their wives.
It should be shocking—and it is—but author Hope Rees does not lean into sensationalism; rather, presenting the facts of her meticulous research without embellishment or bias. And it is exactly this that makes for such compelling reading.
For Rees is keen to explore not just the crime itself, but the social and psychological factors behind it, many of which remain relevant today and, moreover, serve as a salutary warning as to what can happen when women are pushed to the brink.
Among other questions, Rees asks why the abused women—in a sparsely populated, isolated region, without access to modern communications—were able to form such a powerful network. Why did they resort to such extreme measures? And why did the poisonings—administered via an arsenic solution made from soaking flypaper in water—go undetected for so long?
It is to Rees’ credit that she not only details, through case studies, the suffering of the women, but also that of the men, the majority of whom had returned home from war maimed and severely traumatized. While not excusing their behavior, Rees demonstrates the implications of such experiences and their insidious reach into communities whose dynamics are forever changed.
Rees goes on to examine how female killers act and are perceived and treated differently to their male counterparts, both then and now, drawing on the expertise of historians, sociologists and psychologists to round out an enlightening, well-balanced and thought-provoking read.
Hope Reese has written a stunningly good nonfiction examination of feminism, domestic violence and how women in a small Hungarian village took actions to terminate their husbands by poisoning them over 100 years ago. At bottom the intricately researched episode is as much about the balance of power between men and women as it is about the huge number of murders from long ago. The last chapter is a brilliant review of current science and context of spousal abuse and its lack of remedies and justice. Strongly recommend.
Picked up this book for its feminist title and stayed for the historically rich account of women banding together and pushing back in an unexpected way. Not a genre I would usually gravitate towards but I was so intrigued by the detail and nuance that Reece brought to the story. I loved the links forward to current gendered & domestic violence statistics as well as the broader takes on gender. Incredibly well researched, highly recommend!
Fantastic piece of investigative work into an obscure, almost forgotten, phenomenon. Though through Reese's work the very idea that this is a phenomenon is tacitly. Journalistic and yet, simultaneously, the facts are arrayed in such a way as to provide insight into our contemporary culture. I've never read anything quite like it.
This is a harrowing, extraordinary true story that centred and spread from the small town of Nagyrev (population 1,500) Hungary in the early 1900s. It is a fascinating, little-known historical account, meticulously researched and detailed. If this were a fictional story, I believe it would be rejected as being too far-fetched and implausible. Author Hope Reese has written an astonishing factual report about a network of true crimes that escalated throughout the district. She accessed old newspapers, court documents, police records, and interviewed experts in human behaviour.
The women had few rights, and it was nearly impossible to leave a bad marriage or file for divorce. They were treated like servants in their home and were unable to flee an abusive, drunken, or violent husband. They lived in poverty and isolation. One hundred and two men left Nagyrev to fight in WW1, and only forty-nine returned. Many were disabled or disfigured and unable to work. They suffered from PTSD and drank heavily. The women were encouraged to take men's jobs while the men were at war. This gave them a new feeling of empowerment, but this was being lost. Many women suffered brutal beatings in silence, as was the custom, but this was about to change. They formed social groups where they exchanged tales of suffering.
The leading midwife, Auntie Zsuzsi, listened to their stories and suggested they kill men who were abusing them by poisoning them with arsenic. This was easily obtained by soaking flypaper in water and putting it in the men's food or liquor. The network of poisoning spread from Nagyrev by other practitioners and contacts. Within two decades, approximately 300 people, mainly men, died from arsenic poisoning. The book contains lists naming the victims, as well as the names of 28 defendants who stood trial starting in 1929, along with their court-ordered sentences.
While acknowledging that the events/phenomena she describes are unique in many ways, Hope doesn’t sensationalize/generalize them at all—instead, she remains curious, open-minded, and understanding.
As Hope implies, we’re often resistant to the idea that people who do things that surprise/shock/scare could be similar to us in any way. In order to maintain our distance, we call them things that we know that we aren’t—Hope gives monsters, witches, and psychopaths as examples.
Maybe we do this because it’s hard to imagine that we might do something “bad” if we were living through the same set of circumstances as them.
Hope’s thorough and nuanced research and empathetic perspective don’t allow for simple understandings of “something bad.” She rejects understanding the crimes of the women of Nagyrév as isolated events, and pushes the reader to understand them as natural responses to the environment/s in which they were living.
Hope’s empathy and willingness to linger in complexity makes The Women Are Not Fine a really captivating book. :-)
The Women Are not Fine is an almost incredible true story - and one that was written with great attention to detail. It is an important piece of research at this time in our culture. In the United States, we are on the precipice of losing women’s rights. This book delineates the patterns that can lead to accepted murder when women have no way to improve their lives. I was abused in my college days and, because I was lucky enough to be living at a time where we women owned our own bodies, was able to swiftly leave the relationship. With patricharical forces coming from the top of our nation today, that may not be the case in the near future. Hope Reese’s writing dramatically alerts us to dangers that can happen when women are not well. My suggestion is to read it through to the end so you will also be inspired to be vocal for a healthy society. Hope Reese thank you for this compelling book.
This book blew me away. The Women Are Not Fine is a fascinating, deeply researched look at a forgotten corner of history; rural Hungarian women who took justice into their own hands after years of abuse and neglect. Hope brings their story to life with empathy and sharp insight, showing how desperation and oppression can push people to unthinkable choices.
It’s true crime with a feminist lens, but it reads like a gripping novel. I couldn’t stop turning the pages. Thought-provoking, heartbreaking, and incredibly well-written. Highly recommend if you're into smart, bold storytelling that sticks with you.
Extremely interesting insight into the mass poisonings carried out by the Nagrév women of rural Hungary. It’s a story which is not well known and equally unusual as it flipped the statistics of gendered violence on It’s head. It discusses the daily lives of these working class women and the community they sought out in other women, who were also facing hardship due to a lack of freedom in their marriages and families.
As much as I found it insightful and important research, unfortunately I struggled to get on with the structure of the writing and the format of the timelines.
A fascinating and propulsive read. It's clear that Reese has mined all the possible artifacts and documents available, presenting a meticulous piece of historical detective work. What really stood out to me about the book, however, was how fresh and relevant it feels. Will certainly be enjoyed by lovers of Ruth Goodman, Siddhartha Mukherjee, and the like.
An engrossing story based on archival evidence of a stunning period in Hungarian history when rural (mostly) women were given the means to set themselves free from abusive situations. The stories are brought to life in gripping detail. A non-fiction thriller that also delves into the psychology of sisterhood.
This was an incredible feminist read, written from a trauma-informed lens on a complex piece of history. As a practitioner in the family and sexual violence sector, I appreciated the gravitas with which the author handled the subject matter. Kudos for taking this on, I hope you continue to write stories that deserve to be told.
3.5 stars. Aspects of this were really good. In the last quarter, Reese tried to explore numerous connected topics (surrounding domestic violence) that did not feel as broadly researched as they needed to be and what exactly she was trying to get at felt murky in a bad way.
Oh dear. This book is a beautiful example that having interesting material is not enough to make a book work. I hope that if the author decides / has another opportunity to publish a book, she will find a better, more honest editor.