The narrative of Missing Ruth kicks off with what appears to be a frustratingly relatable scenario: an employee attempting to hand in his notice to a boss who absolutely refuses to let him go. This early sense of mundane professional conflict is quickly and effectively undermined by the narrator’s crucial, upfront admission of their own unreliability. It’s a masterful move, because when the narrator begins to reveal the dark truth of their past—a life steeped in specialised, high-stakes operational work—the shared information feels shockingly honest.
This dynamic immediately ratchets up the tension, creating palpable suspense and uncertainty. Even without knowing the full plan, the very act of trying to leave this “job” feels incredibly dangerous, forcing the reader to question not just the protagonist’s motives, but the true nature of the organisation he is trying to escape.
As P begins his new life, he lands at a mysterious entity known only as “The Institute.” Crucially, the narrative never fully solidifies what The Institute is or what its ultimate goals are. While local opinion suggests they are doing genuinely good work in Berlin, and P’s current collaboration with his new partner, R, seems professionally purposeful, the atmosphere remains deeply ambiguous. This lack of certainty is perhaps the book’s most compelling structural feature; it perfectly mirrors P’s own admission of being an unreliable narrator.
Beyond the high-wire tension of his past work, the book’s second quarter unfolds into a subtle but compelling journey of self-discovery for P. Having moved from a job that rigidly defined his entire identity, he now finds himself in a new environment at The Institute where he feels obligated to wear a mask of professional normalcy.
Ironically, this forced limitation and his continuous, close proximity to R—a relationship you’ll find instantly absorbing—becomes the very mechanism by which he starts discovering his own individual truths. The narrative cleverly uses P’s lack of freedom and his new, complex relationship to explore who he is beneath the professional façades, suggesting that sometimes, the greatest revelations about ourselves happen when we’re trapped in circumstances of someone else’s making. It adds unexpected emotional depth to an already gripping thriller.
Any lingering hope that The Institute represented a benign or protective force is shattered when the political environment in Germany shifts. Despite their supposed benevolence, the organization reveals its true nature as a calculating, self-interested entity. The moment circumstances require discretion, P and R are immediately and unceremoniously separated, left without institutional support. This sequence masterfully exposes the harsh reality of their world: loyalty is conditional, and in the face of shifting political winds, even organizations painted as ‘good’ will prioritize their own survival over the well-being of their agents. It’s a moment that significantly raises the stakes, forcing P and R to rely only on themselves in a suddenly hostile landscape.
Part three of the story introduces a fascinating thematic shift, moving deeper into the world of fairy tales and fantastical elements than ever before. For characters facing growing uncertainty, this world of magic feels less like an escape and more like a necessary distraction. The author brilliantly uses the allure of folklore to highlight the poignant emotional distance and increasing tension separating R and P, suggesting that their shared imaginative work is all they have left to hold onto amidst external pressures.
The sustained change in format—reading the ongoing correspondence between R and P—becomes an intense window into P’s deteriorating psychological state. While the letters were initially charming, they quickly reveal the heavy toll of loneliness and forced separation. The author uses P’s writing style to signal this decline. His messages aren’t consistent; they oscillate dramatically between moments of poetic clarity—where his mind is sharply focused on his fantastical work—and passages that are increasingly rambling and disjointed.
This stylistic variation keeps the reader unsettlingly off-balance. It’s never clear exactly what the mounting political and personal changes have done to him, but the evidence is written right there on the page. We, as readers, transition from simply observing a separation to feeling a genuine sense of anxiety about P’s overall mental well-being, raising the emotional stakes of the entire narrative. The letters aren’t just communicating ideas; they are charting a quiet, emotional collapse.
The story takes its boldest leap when the narrative abruptly returns to P’s first-person perspective. By this point, the distance and psychological strain hinted at in the letters have fully manifested, and the reader is plunged into a deeply unreliable viewpoint.
The line between P’s work on fairy tales, his traumatic memories, and his current reality completely dissolves. We witness disconcerting examples of hallucinations and confused logic, making P an unsettling guide for the story.
This fusion of the fantastical with the personal makes everything more difficult to understand. As P spirals, he mentions a vague, desperate plan, but his true motivations are obscured by his fractured mind. The reader must continuously sift through layers of myth and memory to discern what is actually happening. This narrative choice brilliantly heightens the tension, forcing the reader to question not just the plot, but the very nature of truth in the novel.
Parts Five and Six, hit with a distinctive, unsettling force. Having spent so much time immersed in P’s unstable mind, the author executes a final, brilliant structural shift that raises more questions than it answers. These parts deliberately blur the line between reality and the magical-fantasy narrative that P had been consumed by. The clarity readers craved is replaced by mystery, leaving you profoundly unsure of what was physically real and what was a symptom of P’s descent. This deliberate ambiguity is a testament to the novel’s complex themes.
Adding to this, the introduction of a new, crucial character’s perspective late in the game is both clear and immediately compelling. This new voice provides the minimum amount of information required—a kind of final, mysterious tally of consequences. This shift is highly effective, transforming the novel from a personal psychological drama into a larger, unresolved puzzle about the nature of history and truth.
Favourite characters:
P: the fascinating, conflicted core of the story. Introduced as an unreliable narrator, his motives are immediately suspect, yet his honesty about his own past—a life of specialised (and dangerous) work done not for pay, but for the need to feel useful—is instantly compelling. Though he is determined to carve out a quiet, civilian lifestyle, P’s professional curiosity is his fatal flaw. The moment his former boss offers him an enigmatic referral, P, “like many-a-cat” becomes curious and is pulled back toward the shadows. He’s a character caught between a desire for normalcy and the intense pull of a life he was clearly built for, making his inevitable return to high stakes feel both tragic and completely necessary.
A knowledgeable and fascinating figure: they play a key role in P’s journey at the Institute. She is presented as a wise, older woman who provides essential guidance and assistance to P in his work on folklore and memory. Her relationship with the protagonist is vital, and her presence adds a distinctive layer of historical wisdom to the narrative.
Favourite quotes:
“Fairytales can be dark, but they were always a good escape for me. They can be dark but life is darker”
“It should be clear to all. Fairytales do not tell you a story of once upon a time and they all lived happily after, they are a warning, to those who look beyond the words, for those who read between the lines.”
How it ends:
The conclusion of Missing Ruth is less an “ending” and more a profound thematic coda. Instead of offering a neat wrap-up to the personal drama of P and R, the narrative shifts focus entirely to the legacy of their research.
Through the eyes of a new narrator, the book shares the astonishing depth of the fairy tales and lore that P and R investigated. We discover that the magic within these ancient stories is far larger, and often far darker, than readers might expect, completely subverting familiar narratives like those from the Brothers Grimm.
Ultimately, the book leaves us with a powerful, echoing message: the magic should never truly die. This idea—that certain stories and powerful forces persist beyond the lifespan of any individual—serves as a poignant, beautiful commentary on the unexplained loss of P and R. Their tale itself becomes a final, mysterious piece of folklore, cementing the idea that while the researchers may be gone, the powerful, dangerous magic they chased endures. It’s an unforgettable, haunting way to conclude a story about memory, madness, and myth.
Favourite part:
One of the most compelling aspects of this novel is its masterful refusal to be pinned down to a single genre. While the narrative is propelled by the immediate high stakes of a political thriller and a compelling mystery, it consistently broadens its scope to include deeply personal elements. The story gracefully navigates between global intrigue, intimate romantic tension, magical fantasy and profound moments of self-discovery. This successful blend ensures the pacing remains dynamic and unpredictable, making every chapter feel fresh as the focus shifts fluidly between the grand, dangerous mission and the complex emotional lives of the characters involved.
Rating out of 5:
The 5-star rating is earned by the novel’s sheer ambition and flawless execution of its complex structure. Missing Ruthis a masterclass in controlled narrative ambiguity, delivering a story that is at once a high-stakes political thriller, an intimate psychological drama, and a deeply resonant magical-fantasy mystery.
The novel’s greatest strength is its ability to make the reader complicit in P’s psychological decline, culminating in a brilliant blurring of reality and myth. It handles challenging themes—loyalty, political upheaval, and mental fragility—with incredible grace, leading to a haunting, unforgettable conclusion that elevates the protagonists and their work into their own piece of enduring folklore. This is a genuinely compelling, un-put-downable read that will stay with you long after the final page.