This is a difficult review to write. Throughout most of the story, I felt it was a five-star read, then came the ending, which disappointed me—it didn’t feel right—and so I lowered my internal rating system to four stars. Then waited a while to ensure I got it right.
Few, if any, reviewers have mentioned the dedication, so I will:
In loving memory of Grendel MacBride, my constant companion, muse, and very own little fuzzy serial killer. 2004-2021.
This dedication is accompanied by a photo of Grendel, who may be a British Longhair, but I’m not certain. I immediately thought about all those people who post pictures of their cats on their social media pages (and I am guilty of this). We’re in for a wild ride, this dedication shows us. And indeed it is crazy and chaotic, but then Stuart MacBride books always are.
The story begins with a prologue, the murder of a homeless man by two children (preteens), then shifts into typical MacBride country—a police station in Oldcastle, a fictitious city in Scotland that serves as the setting for most of the author’s darker stories—madcap with a somber overcast. So the reader knows what to expect.
We follow DS Lucy McVeigh and her companion DC Duncan Fraser (the Dunk) as they search for a serial killer, The Bloodsmith, before he strikes again. There is the typical MacBride bombardment of disjointed messages from many sources. This must be how it is like to be autistic, or schizophrenic, I thought as I read this constant patter—unable to filter out incessant messages coming from various sources. Brilliant. Of course, the conscientious neurotypical reader can follow each of the threads, by paying close attention. Not a quick read then.
Mostly we are in Lucy’s head, and it soon becomes obvious that she is very troubled. Early in the story, it is revealed that she has PTSD, and about half-way through, we find out what caused it. The Dunk, on the other hand, seems to serve as comedy relief—woefully out of shape, dresses like a hippie from the 1960s, spouts constant pithy statements about the privileged few, until he meets some, at the super-exclusive St. Nicholas College for gifted children (referred to throughout the book as St. Nick’s). At St. Nick’s, the Dunk is reduced to a speechless twit in the posh, elegant environment. (The name “St. Nick’s” should clue the reader into the twists that will follow.)
I view Dunk as the alter ego of the author. MacBride is laughing at himself. Not just comedy relief, but a statement of where he fits into this cultural environment—-fiction based on reality. Dunk is constantly complaining about writers who don’t use punctuation properly in their reports and, at one point, likens himself Dr. Watson following Holmes (Lucy)—in other words, a writer, telling a story about Lucy’s investigative prowess.
Thus, Lucy and Dunk progress through a multitude of different environments, searching for clues that will lead them to The Bloodsmith. At one point, the cat theme is again introduced, when they discover the body of a suicide.
eight fat furry felines prowled through the long grass, each one staring up at Lucy and licking its lips… Let [GED] deal with the rotting, half-eaten corpse and cannibal cats.
Also, throughout the narrative, the presence of questionable “mums” rears its head over and over again; mums who fail to adequately nurture their children, who care about these children only after they are dead. ’Some of our parents can be a bit … hands off.’ says a character talking about the boarders at St. Nick’s. Throughout the story, there are scenes showing a lack of communication—people stuck in their own worlds, unable to connect with one another. Again a nod to the autistic/schizophrenic mindset. And when Lucy is offered a promotion, she asks herself …had she just sold her soul to the Devil, or only rented it … All clues to where the story is heading.
Then around the 80% mark the story takes a sharp turn. I was expecting some of it—the foreshadowing of Lucy’s PTSD—but not all of it. There are more twists and turns through the last 20%, some I liked and some I didn’t like. But at the end, I was left with an uneasy feeling, because many of the killers escaped justice. In real life, this is often true, but most of us read thrillers because we want things to end right, the culprits caught, and justice to prevail. When an author doesn’t give us that satisfaction, we are left with a feeling of unease. Yes, MacBride throws us tidbits: not all the culprits escape; some are captured/killed. But some flourish.
This is a very ambitious novel. There are many currents running through it. The emphasis on psychology (psychologists, PTSD, mental breakdowns, etc.), the emphasis on class and income inequality (Dunk’s ramblings, St. Nick’s, etc.), the emphasis on negligent parenting and child abuse (a common theme in MacBride’s work). But when these all come together in the end, I, as a reader, was left feeling bruised.
So, as a social commentary, it worked brilliantly. But as a story, it didn’t provide me closure. Of course, MacBride could argue that in several Patricia Highsmith stories, the criminal gets away with it, and Highsmith is considered one of the world’s greatest crime writers. (Highsmith also loved cats.) So, many will love this book, and many won’t. I loved most of it, and am giving it four stars.
ADDENDUM (added May 7): I’m going to add this book to my shelf of “top crime thrillers published in 2022”. Although it has a flawed ending, it is still one of the most ambitious thrillers published thus far this year. MacBride was reaching high with this one and didn’t quite pull it off. But that’s better than not attempting to grow beyond one’s comfort zone, which is true of so many authors.