Here we go... There is a witness in the house that neither the panicked parents or their terrified 5 year old know about, yet who is the only observer to the full tragedy as it plays out. Afterward, nobody of course wishes to rent or purchase this place where bad men came and death snuck in. Vagrants, decay, cheap renovations, and then decay again arrive over the next decade or so.
The observer, though - the witnessing presence - stays on throughout the years. It remains in Broken River.
A dozen summers later, a little family moves their bustling lives from Brooklyn to this upstate, down-on-its-heels town where the state prison (and the distribution of pot) are its primary economic industries. Nell, the mother, is a successful women's author while the avante garde bear of a father is a sculptor who works in behemoth hunks of glass and bent metal rods.
**Note: book reports are generally something I avoid, but the following has that flavor. No spoilers, but skip the following if you want to be entirely surprised by the book.
The decrepit house has fantastic bones and a ridiculously low price tag, and the observer - still here - sees the mother and girl squeal with delight when the renovations directed by Karl, the artist dad, materialize. His forge in the newly built studio and his wife's laptop are the means by which the house is renovated and their bright 12 year old is afforded 23 acres to wander about exploring.
In this secluded and pastoral setting (once you get out of Broken River proper with its defunct book store and abandoned theater), the artistic parents are able to work on their respective endeavors without diversion or interruption. Yet it is not this creative solitude that has brought them here. Putting physical geographic space between scruffy Karl and his (latest) lover is the reason for their migration. Nell has made incredible sacrifices for her husband, and this will be their last chance to solidify the marriage.
As we get to know this couple - the husband is the Dude, straight out of The Big Lebowski, even regularly calling his 12 year old kid "dude!" - we wonder if their crumbling marriage will heal itself. The observer, too, is a character we begin to get a feel for, and although its ability to see into the future builds, it does not care enough to offer us any insights.
As the parents work, their precocious girl Irina is bored. While trying to write snippets for her own little novel (just like mom!), she ends up online to learn more about the murders that occurred, like, RIGHT HERE! Her excitement and pre-pubescent voice are really well characterized by the author and are an emotionally charged contrast to the neutrality of the observer.
Young Irina ends up creating a profile on "Cyber Sleuths", one of those chat rooms for amateur detectives and bored retirees who try to solve various cold crimes. Because the murders at her home were never solved and the little five-year-old girl survived, Irina is obsessed.
As Irina starts posting information about the house online, the observer knows that the bad men who once came to kill are aware of these updates. Since they did not find what they once murdered for (and thanks to the 12 year old's inflated imagination on Cyber Sleuths), they are coming back.
I've never read anything by Lennon before, but he has charmed me here with psychological suspense, wit, and not-so-hidden commentary about the world of artistes.
The metafictional inclusion of an omnipresent narrator is quirky, yet rather a throw-back. Interestingly, Lennon has this observer gradually become self-aware. It becomes a full character in the story, at times acting the role of the Greek chorus in making insightful commentary or moving us from setting to setting. Its disinterest in the well being of the humans in the story also helps ramp up the atmosphere of dread. If you remember the partial narration of Death in 'The Book Thief,' then you know that this method can work nicely if written well. It was and it did.
I also think that there is a deep layer written into this story that average people like me won't fully appreciate. The women's writer makes statements in a dream sequence where she is being skewered by some successful male author of thrillers. In defense of her chick lit, written for 'educated, upper middle class females,' she states that there is nothing wrong with giving people what they want. And yet the novel she works on while hoping that her marriage does not splinter into shards is decidedly not what they want.
The futzy, pot-smoking Karl posesses two hulking slabs of sculpture that he once began as a commission but that ended up meaning too much to him to ever let go. The pieces stand massively in the house exactly where other families might place their big screen TV, as they have for all the years they've been with Karl. We learn that the rods which pierce both structures actually align when the two pieces are placed next to one another, just so. That the two killers, when they reappear, resemble precisely those hunks of glass, stabbed with metal is not pointed out. We wonder if these men were always meant to pierce this little family's life.
The observer surely knows. It is just not telling.
I apologize that this rambling, disjointed review cannot do justice to the quirkiness of this psychological thriller/family drama. It was not the perfect book for me, and the father figure was a bit cartoonish. As the last ten percent went a little off the course I wanted, a 4 fits best for my experience. Well done.
But of course, the observer already knew that.