CW/TW: in this book there is child assault, child sexual assault, incest, murder, more murder, and history of sexual assault revealed but not depicted on the page.
I described the plot of this book to Elyse, and she, who reads all kinds of things that would scare me sleepless, said, “Holy mother of god. That is a PLOT.”
Oh, yes. Yes, it is.
Now, I can hear you thinking, “Sarah. Whoa. Why did you read this?”
Once I started reading this book, I could not put it down. There are class conflicts and characters operating between very different worlds in terms of class, social resource, and wealth, and very different ways of social interaction, plus deep-detail level world-building of turn-of-the-century New York City. If any of that is your catnip, you may really like this series. But as I will explain in the review for the next book, after two installments, I did have to tap out of this series. My brain couldn’t take it, and I have to respect its limitations.
Sarah Brandt was raised amid the privileged Knickerbockers of New York, but she married a doctor, became estranged from her family, and, after her husband was killed in an unsolved murder, now supports herself as a very competent and in-demand midwife. While assisting in a birth at a boarding house, Sarah notices a young girl who looks exactly like a friend of hers from when she was younger, and still in NY society.
The next day, that girl is found dead in her room, clearly strangled, and the police officer who arrives to investigate, Sergeant Frank Malloy, asks Sarah, who is back to check on her patients, to search the girl’s room. Sarah learns that the girl was indeed related to her old friend. She also notices that a curette, an instrument used in abortions, is on the floor.
Layered and intricate historical detail plays a massive role in the plot to this book, and I was fascinated with how those details were woven into the actions and reactions of the characters. This series is set in early 1900’s New York City, and the characters move within the worlds of tenement buildings, the tight, overcrowded neighborhoods struggling with the insufferable heat, and the spacious wealth of those who live uptown, and the even more spectacular estates of those who keep country homes outside the city.
The often harsh reality of life in New York City in that era affects everything, and everyone. For example: police forces were disorganized and very corrupt at the time, and investigations only happened when someone, such as a victim’s family, put up a large reward or bribed the police in the appropriate direction. The dead girl’s family won’t do such a thing, instead pretending her murder was a tragic, nonspecific accident to protect their own reputation – which leads Sarah, who is outraged, to investigate. She also pesters and annoys Frank about it. Reform is happening in the police departments, but it’s happening slowly – and Frank Malloy is feeling very pressured by Sarah to keep investigating, then he’s annoyed because she’s really good at uncovering leads faster than he can.
The triumvirate of exceptional historical detail, intelligent and slowly revealed characters, and a twisty mystery plot were too much for me to resist, and I tore through this book. The relationship between Sarah and Frank, which starts off prickly and progresses slowly to slightly less prickly, is emotionally compelling. Sarah is persistent, tenacious, smart, and fearless in a lot of ways. Frank is not at all sure what to make of her, and his personal confusion and state of perpetual flummox is only equaled by his pride when he realizes that she’s as good as, if not better at investigation. Competition turning to reluctant cooperation between two very guarded people with a LOT of baggage: I’m listening.
As for the resolution of the mystery plot, WHOA, is it scandalous, and after some thought, not really very satisfying. While I figured out who had done some of the majorly squicky things, I was wrong about who murdered whom, and thus the Big Reveal was Very Shocking and Quite Whoa. But that Big Reveal and massive shock also eclipses the humanity of the original victim, and I felt in the end that there wasn’t any real justice left for those who were complicit in some ways, and who survive the revelation of all those secrets. The moral center of the story is Sarah, who refuses to give up, but she doesn’t have much authority, and Frank isn’t able to do much, either.
This was such a hard grade to assign. On one hand, I couldn’t put the story down, and I loved reading about Sarah and Frank, and about their lives and surroundings in early-1900s New York. On the other hand, the story’s resolution was A LOT, and there were wild vacillations in Sarah’s behavior – confident one moment, making obvious and inconsistent mistakes and misjudgments the next – to say nothing of the dramatics of the conclusion.
However, I immediately checked out the next book in the series (a review for which will appear concurrent with this one) which is enough to tip the grade to B-.
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I read all of this series last year. Have fun!
This might be considered a spoiler for the book, although I don’t mention anything not mentioned in the tags –
SPOILER SPACE
I remember reading this when it came out and getting an inkling of where the story was going and thinking “please don’t be an incest story, please don’t be an incest story.” Yeah. (Frowny face). I mean, I somewhat do it to myself by reading not so cozy mysteries, there are going to be somewhat distasteful elements in there.
I’ve just hated that type of plot line ever since (spoiler alert for 40 year old movie?) Chinatown. I feel like it’s often treated in a very superficial “wow, you’ll never guess this crazy plot twist” way or in an intentionally salacious (*cough V.C. Andrews cough*) way. There are some books that I felt have treated it respectfully, but they are few and far between.
Anyways, it’s just one of those things that if I get even a whiff of it coming off a book, I feel okay DNF without further cause. I’m the same way for stories that delve too deeply into drug addiction (Requiem for a Dream, Trainspotting) etc. My brain just doesn’t like going to those particular dark spots. There may be good books I miss out and I accept that (shrug).
Jill – I completely agree. It’s gotten to the point where the salacious incest plot is so common that it’s predictable. I know this is just me, but at this point I’m bored by it.