The latest by the enormously successful author of The Girl on the Train and Into the Water portrays destruction continuing after long-ago catastrophes. On one side we see successful (and smarmy) London author Theo and his family reeling after an accident that leaves Theo longing for someone to blame. Nearby geographically, but worlds away in life choices, lives Laura, the victim of a hit-and-run that has left her physically and mentally unstable, and who was, shall we say, known to a young man who has been found stabbed to death. As in The Girl on the Train and the many unreliable-narrator novels it inspired, readers will be left wondering until the very end whom to trust and what exactly happened on one fateful day. Hawkins is a top-notch storyteller, and her vividly drawn characters will evoke strong emotions in readers. Enjoyable too are the author’s frequent wry nods towards today’s trends in fiction and the difficulty in following up on a blockbuster novel. As well as Hawkins’ many fans, this is one for Kate Atkinson’s readers and all who enjoy a disparate cast of characters slowly revealing their connections.
Literary
Molly Gray struggles to decipher social cues. Her speech is formal and old-fashioned. She’s obsessed with cleaning—a real advantage in her job as a maid in a grand old hotel. Gran, who always helped her navigate the world, recently died, leaving 25-year-old Molly an orphan. Readers may be quick to diagnose Molly as being on the autism spectrum, but Prose wisely avoids such language, forcing us to make sense of Molly on her own terms. Then comes the day when the maid goes to clean the room of the wealthy and loathsome Charles Black, only to find him dead, likely the victim of murder. Molly’s world is turned upside down as she finds herself the lead suspect. Suddenly, she has to do the unthinkable: reach out to others for help in saving herself. The Maid is a lovely, uplifting exploration of friendship and the power of difference. As Gran would say, “We are the same in different ways.”
With two Pulitzer prizes for fiction under his belt, it’s not surprising when Colson Whitehead writes a character for the ages, but beleaguered everyman Ray Carney is a standout even for Whitehead. “Living taught you that you didn’t have to live the way you’d been taught to live,” says Carney, a young Black man who’s barely making ends meet in his Harlem furniture store while dreaming of more. The pressure’s on, too: his parents-in-law think their daughter could have done better, and Carney longs to be admitted to his father in law’s “paper-bag club,” but with skin darker than said brown bag, he’s not allowed. Loyalty to his own family leads Ray to help his cousin Freddy; always sketchy, Freddy convinces Carney to help him in a can’t-go-wrong robbery scheme that, yes, goes wrong, starting Carney on a heartbreaking trajectory. This character’s relentless efforts to make good in a world that expects and revels in his failure will remind readers of Jean Valjean in Les Miserables. Shadowing Colson’s terrific crime tale are the final throes of Jim Crow and the claw-your-way-up culture of early 1960s Harlem, but most of all, Carney will grab readers’ hearts and stay with them.