Big Girls [NOOK Book]


Helen is serving a life sentence at Sloatsburg women's prison for the murder of her children.

Dr. Louise Forrest, a recently divorced mother of an eight-year-old boy, is the new chief of psychiatry there.

Captain Ike Bradshaw is the ...
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Big Girls

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Helen is serving a life sentence at Sloatsburg women's prison for the murder of her children.

Dr. Louise Forrest, a recently divorced mother of an eight-year-old boy, is the new chief of psychiatry there.

Captain Ike Bradshaw is the corrections officer who wants her.

And Angie, an ambitious Hollywood starlet contacted by Helen, is intent on nothing but fame.

Drawing these four characters together in a story of shocking and disturbing revelations, The Big Girls is an electrifying novel about the anarchy of families, the sometimes destructive power of maternal instinct, and the cult of celebrity.

From the Trade Paperback edition.
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Editorial Reviews

Stacey D'Erasmo
… as riveting as the body count can be, it can overshadow Moore’s subtler, more quietly lacerating talents. She has a pitch-perfect ear for the vernacular, for moving character detail and for the kind of bloodless savagery that the ravenous appetite for fame produces, as when Angie guilelessly explains, “Rafael makes perfect sense at this point when I’m making that important transition from TV star to artist.” Moore is quite funny and, particularly in her nuanced portrait of the tragic Helen, she is capable of the sort of empathy that encompasses the full range, for good and ill, of being human. “It didn’t turn out very good, I know,” Helen says, “but I tried my best.” With pity and tenderness, one believes her, and her sliver of hapless self-knowledge after the irrevocable fact cuts deeper, perhaps, than the more spectacular crimes that both sever and bind the haunted characters who populate this dreamy prison.
— The New York Times
Publishers Weekly

In spare yet hypnotic prose, Moore (One Last Look) examines the bond between a young psychiatrist and a mentally ill patient in her devastating sixth novel, set at an upstate New York federal women's prison. Sloatsburg Correctional Institution, a former sanitarium on the west bank of the Hudson, is dangerous, understaffed, underfinanced and overwhelmingly grim. The place epitomizes what's wrong with our nation's prison system and stands as a warning about our growing mental health crisis. Moore deftly shifts perspective among her principal characters—Dr. Louise Forrest, Sloatsburg's psychiatry chief; Helen Nash, a suicidal inmate who's been convicted of killing her children; Capt. Henry "Ike" Bradshaw, a corrections officer who's in love with Louise; and Angie Mills, a Hollywood actress (and Louise's ex-husband's girlfriend), whom Helen believes is her long-lost sister—as the action hurtles to an oddly satisfying resolution. Reading this heartbreaker is like watching a train wreck while dialing for help on your cellphone. You can't turn away. 75,000 printing; author tour. (May)

Copyright 2007 Reed Business Information
Library Journal
Moore unravels the connections among four women: an inmate at Sloatsberg women's prison, the prison psychiatrist, a young corrections officer, and an intensely focused young star. With a five-city tour. Copyright 2007 Reed Business Information.
Library Journal

Moore's disturbing look at the lives of people personally and professionally incarcerated in an upstate New York women's prison is not for the faint of heart. The novel weaves through the stories of four main characters: the prison's chief of psychiatry, a corrections officer, a convicted murderer, and a rising actress. Performances by a superb ensemble cast-Robin Miles, Tom Stechschulte, Elizabeth S. Rogers, and Jenny Burleson-add another dimension to the author's already powerful characterizations. The print version of Big Girlscreates necessary buffers between the reader and the eye-averting turbulence that permeates the characters' lives. However, the audio program provides rapid-fire sensory assaults that are hard to escape. The plot and performances are compelling, but libraries should be forewarned that some patrons might find the graphic violence in this format overwhelming.
—Gwendolyn Osborne

Kirkus Reviews
It's difficult to separate the problems of the prisoners from those of their keepers in this unrelentingly dark multilayered prison drama from Moore (One Last Look, 2003, etc.), told from the point of view of three women and one man. After six months on the psychiatric staff at a woman's prison in upstate New York, Louise is still struggling to adjust to the bleak conditions. At first, readers may wonder along with Louise's coworkers why a woman with her credentials chooses to practice there, but the lonely, divorced Louise, whose only joy is her young son Ransom, carries her own psychological baggage. She becomes increasingly involved in the case of Helen, a particularly troubled prisoner/patient. Helen hears voices she calls The Messengers, and clings to the belief that she was protecting her children when she killed them. A victim of abuse that began in childhood and continued beyond marriage and childbearing, Helen also believes, with good reason, that her younger sister, given up for adoption by Helen's mother, is now a rising Hollywood starlet. Helen begins writing letters to Angie, a pill-popping actress who coincidently is romantically involved with Louise's filmmaking ex-husband Rafael. Louise becomes sexually drawn to a young prison guard, Ike. Although Ike has his own narrative sections, he remains a cardboard cutout of male attractiveness. After walking in on Louise and Ike in bed, Ransom tells Rafael that Ike accosted him sexually. Outraged, the never-fleshed-out but alluring Rafael whisks Ransom off to California, where Angie cares for him in dangerously haphazard fashion. Distraught, Louise begins to fall apart emotionally. Meanwhile, Helen slips deeper into psychosis andultimately commits suicide. Angie, who has come to believe she is Helen's sister, gets Ransom to admit he lied and brings him home to Louise, who has been fired from the prison and now misses it terribly. Compelling, although nothing quite jells into clarity. First printing of 75,000; Book-of-the-Month Club/Literary Guild selection
From the Publisher
"Devastatingly accurate.... Engrossing and beautifully rendered.” —The New York Times Book Review“The most unflinching, graphically sexual, violent, literary female fiction writer alive. . . . Susanna Moore writes the way Frida Kahlo painted.” —Los Angeles Times Book ReviewThe Big Girls carries a voyeuristic charge, the confessions so intimate you feel embarrassed for looking, but the whip-smart narration makes it impossible to turn away.” —The Plain Dealer “Hypnotizing. . . . A remarkable feat.” —The Washington Post Book World
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780307267009
  • Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 5/1/2007
  • Sold by: Random House
  • Format: eBook
  • Sales rank: 1,354,128
  • File size: 247 KB

Meet the Author

Susanna Moore is the author of the novels One Last Look, In the Cut, The Whiteness of Bones, Sleeping Beauties, and My Old Sweetheart, which won the Ernest Hemingway Foundation/PEN Award for First Fiction, and the Sue Kaufman Prize for First Fiction from the American Academy of Arts and Letters. Her nonfiction travel book, I Myself Have Seen It, was published by the National Geographic Society in 2003. She lives in New York

From the Trade Paperback edition.
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Read an Excerpt

Sloatsburg Correctional Institution, a walled complex of seven large stone buildings, sits on the west bank of the Hudson River. An hour north of Manhattan by train, it was built in the late nineteenth century as a sanatorium for tuberculosis patients. Buildings A, B, and C hold five hundred prisoners of the federal government, all of them women. The remaining buildings are used for clinics, schoolrooms, the chapel, and administration as well as for the laundry, kitchens, library, and machine shop. There is a large plot of land behind Building A where the prisoners grow beans. A high brick wall with two wooden watchtowers occupied by men with rifles surrounds the prison on three sides. The river runs parallel to Building C on the east. There are no guardhouses along the river, which causes me to wonder. Do they think that black women can't swim?

My first day at Sloatsburg—six months ago this Monday—I made a cautious tour of the place, looking over my shoulder as if fearful of my own apprehension. No one seemed to notice, or to care, which I decided was a good sign. I am still making a cautious tour of the place.

I enter each weekday morning through elaborate iron gates, left from the days when Sloatsburg's population was consumptive Irish housemaids and dairy farmers, passing slowly through three security checkpoints with cameras, metal detectors, scanning machines, and electronic hand-checks to a large front hall with a white marble floor. The odor, even in the hall, is female.

My office is on the second floor of Building C. The rooms, on either side of a narrow hall, were once used by patients, but now they are occupied by the medical staff and social workers. The doors to the offices, each with a thick glass panel, are often left ajar, and it is possible to overhear the doctors and their patients. Cameras are suspended from the hall ceiling at intervals of thirty feet, although not inside the small bathroom. The bathroom is reserved for staff. The key is one of several we are meant to keep with us at all times, along with keys to the pharmacy, clinic, file room, and chapel, which is kept locked except when it is used as a movie theater.

There are no windows in the offices. There is a wooden desk with drawers. Three metal chairs—the one with arms is for the doctor. I keep my keys in the desk, as well as a Walkman and CDs for the train ride back and forth to the city, a tape measure in a green leather case that once belonged to my mother, a penknife, tea bags, my personal drugs, an alarm clock, a photograph of my son, pens and pencils, a pencil sharpener, and some licorice. Also a flask of vodka and a map of the prison. An electric kettle, teapot, and two Japanese saké cups sit atop a file cabinet. On my desk is a cypripedium in a clay pot. Some of these things are against prison regulations. With a little reflection, I see that my small attempts to make my office more comfortable, more suitable to my tastes, are a bit spinsterish.

Each morning, after checking the pharmacy's compliance sheet (expiration dates of prescriptions), I make a list of the psychiatrists' daily appointments for the officer on duty, who then arranges for the escorts to bring each patient at the appointed time. The most important events of the day are the two counts—one at ten o'clock in the morning and another at four in the afternoon. Because of the counts, there is only time to see two or three patients a day. In the past, patients were treated by a different psychiatrist every other week for two or three minutes. The previous chief of staff was given large amounts of money by the government to conduct a study of the animal tranquilizer ketamine with inmates used as subjects. Ketamine induces, among other things, hallucinations, light trails, and whispering voices. I've canceled the program. If a patient is too psychotic even for us, she is taken under guard to Bellevue Hospital in Manhattan.

I am beginning to understand certain things. Appearances to the contrary, I was a nervous wreck when I arrived last fall. Louise, I would say to myself each morning, you can do this. But the truth is I didn't have a clue. It is a miracle that I've lasted this long. I still feel strained and peculiar—the foul odors, the slow black river, the bells, the yellow light, all swirling around me, make me dizzy. It is only a matter of time.


They brought me here right after my sentencing. I was pretty confused. I didn't understand I was going to be locked up for the rest of my life. I thought all along I was going to be put to death. I wanted to be put to death!

The processing took all night. I was with four other women, who I never saw again. We had to fill out a lot of forms. Then they made us take off our clothes, and they searched us like we heard they would, wearing gloves. Some of the officers wore three pairs. They kept yelling, Come on! Come on! Hurry it up, ladies, let's get this show on the road! Which made me even more nervous than I was. One of the other women was crying, and she kept saying, I am innocent, I am innocent, until a guard finally said, Oh, I guess that's why they got you all wrapped up in chains, sweetheart.

I was sweating a lot, and when I was fingerprinted, my thumb came out all blurry. When I apologized, the woman guard taking my prints said in a nice way, It's okay, hon, it's just like the first pancake. The transport officer who had drove the bus was sitting there eating Chinese food and he said, I know what you mean about that pancake. Behind him was a sign, YOU WON'T BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS.

They asked us to wiggle our toes, pull our ears, and shake our hair, which was hard for the lady with dreads. They told us to puff out our face cheeks and our lips and to hold them that way. They sprayed us for lice and other things. Because it was so late, they decided not to give us a Pap smear and the liver tests. I kept wondering why they were going to so much trouble for people who were on their way to the electric chair, but I didn't say a word.

They put me in a big holding cell with a lot of other prisoners. It was so packed you couldn't lie down, not even on the floor. It was early in the summer, but it was already hot. There was no air-conditioning, and the hum of the generator made me feel calm, like I was inside a big machine. Some people had taken off their tops, wearing them on their head or around their waist. One lady used her bra as a headband. You were supposed to use the intercom to ask for what you needed, like a drink of water or toilet paper, but it didn't work. A lot of the women had their period and there was blood all over them. The toilet was overflowing, stuffed with all kinds of things, not just you-know-what.

They fed us at six-thirty in the morning. Lunch was at eleven, and dinner at four. After about two days—I think it was two days, I had trouble keeping track of time—I was put in my own cell. I was lucky to get moved so quick because some people can stay for weeks until cells are available. I found out later I wasn't even supposed to be with other women, but someone messed up. I was moved in case I was in danger. I felt bad for the ones who got left behind, but I figured they couldn't execute all of us at once. They could only do a few at a time, right? That's what I thought.


There are three psychiatrists, in addition to myself, on staff. Dr. Fischl has a full red beard and a medical degree from Grenada. Dr. Henska had her license suspended for six months in 2001 for selling human blood. Dr. de la Vega, if he is in fact a doctor, was engaged by my predecessor, who has since been promoted to Guantánamo Bay, where he advises the government on more efficient ways to increase the psychological and physical duress of prisoners. Dr. de la Vega was found through an agency called Shrinks Only. Each of the doctors, myself included, has eighty patients—at least on paper. We are assisted (impeded) by three medical social workers. Ms. Morton, a case manager, was disciplined in her previous place of employment for the suicide of a twelve-year-old boy in her care. Eight locum tenentes work part-time, usually at night or on the weekend. They tend to be fourth-year psychiatric residents trying to make some money—they can earn six hundred dollars for an eight-hour shift. They have trouble staying awake.

Yesterday, I overheard Dr. Fischl and Dr. de la Vega, who wears black three-piece suits, talking about me—like my former husband, they cannot conceive why I would work in a prison. It's a good question—even I sometimes wonder why I am here. The Girl Scouts, summers with the Haida in Canada, mild lesbian attractions, and a loss of virginity at a rather late age to the regional director of Amnesty International do not in themselves account for it. Dr. Henska and Dr. de la Vega certainly wouldn't work in a prison unless compelled by reasons I hope never to know. No one wants to work as a prison doctor, except the locums. The rest of us are badly paid, although slightly better than the inmates in the psychiatric unit who earn eighteen cents an hour to keep an eye on their fellow inmates. In some institutions, they ask the more melancholy prisoners to sign a pledge that they will not kill themselves. Dr. Henska suggested in a recent staff meeting that we avail ourselves of this precaution. There is not an abundance of wit in these meetings—that would be a lot to ask—but I did think it was funny. Only when she mentioned it a second time did I realize she meant it. I looked my most puzzled, wrinkling my brow to let her know I'd changed my mind—I no longer thought it very funny. Needless to say, she dislikes me.

One hundred African American, Hispanic, and Caucasian men and women are employed by the Bureau of Prisons as corrections officers at Sloatsburg. They aren't particularly friendly to the medical staff, moving as we do between the imprisoned and their captors, and they understandably mistrust us. As do the inmates. Although both the guards and the prisoners find us a bit ridiculous, there is a collective understanding that it does no harm to indulge us. You never know when a doctor might come in handy. The wilier of both groups manipulate us at their pleasure. It is every man for himself. Not the prisoners, but the medical staff.


Once I was put in my own cell, they took away the orange jumpsuit I wore in court and gave me two pairs of used jeans, four used black T-shirts in different sizes, black sneakers with elastic sides that fit perfect, three pairs of white tube socks, three pairs of white cotton underpants, two bras, a new blue sweatshirt, and a used black sweater. That's when it began to dawn on me maybe I wasn't going to die. And that's when I REALLY got crazy.


My patient Helen appears to be better. Of course, almost anything is an improvement over last month when she was found naked at the door of her cell, shouting Swim away, Ariel! Swim away! Three officers wrapped her in a suicide blanket as heavy as lead and carried her to the psychiatric unit, where she was kept for three weeks. I've had to change her prescription—fifteen milligrams of Haldol with four hundred fifty milligrams of Effexor, three hundred milligrams of Wellbutrin for depression, and a little Cogentin for the side effects of the Haldol. She is back in her own cell in Building C now.

There was some concern when she arrived last summer that her life was in danger, and she was kept in special housing for her own safety. (Last year, an inmate who had watched her husband beat her seven-year-old daughter to death after forcing the child to eat cat food and defecate in kitty litter was found drowned in her toilet bowl.) It eventually became apparent that no one intended to harm Helen, primarily because she was under the protection of an inmate named Wanda, and she was allowed to enter the general population. Her friendship with Wanda makes everything easier for her. I find Wanda a little frightening. I hope that she's not manipulating Helen to use her for illegal commissions. Some of the more aggressive inmates employ the mentally ill and other particularly powerless inmates for criminal purposes, as they aren't unduly punished if caught.

Helen asked me during our session today if I could bring her a subscription form to a handicraft magazine, as she wishes to start thinking about her Christmas gifts. I was sorry to have to refuse, but it is against the rules. She asks for so little, unlike the other women.


They make it hard for us prisoners. Not that I have any complaints. It's just not that easy to hide your meds in your mouth when the aide sticks her rubber fingers down your throat three times a day. I broke my glasses last month, but all that got me was three days in Ad Seg. Now they're held together with Snoopy Band-Aids. I still can't have pens, pencils, or a mirror. No hair dryer, wand for heating water, or curling iron for me. Anything with a cord, basically. I can't even have a plastic rosary—I doubt I could hang myself with a rosary. I can't say I blame them.

From the Hardcover edition.
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Reading Group Guide

1. The Big Girls has four alternating narrators—Louise Forrest, Helen, Captain Ike Bradshaw, and Angie Mills. Why would Susanna Moore choose to tell the story from four distinctive and subjective points of view? How does this multi-vocal narration affect the reader's relationship to the novel? What is the advantage of letting the characters speak for themselves?

2. Why has Louise chosen a job at the Sloatsburg Correctional Institution over a more lucrative and comfortable Park Avenue private practice? Does she fully understand her motives for doing so?

3. How does Moore manage to make Helen, a woman who has murdered her two young children, such a sympathetic character? What is it about Helen that elicits such care and compassion from Louise? Is she a tragic figure?

4. Louise says of her training “I'd been trained to believe in pathological models: bad parents make bad people who can be treated with lots of drugs. I saw symptoms and behavior in an a-contextual model. I was not particularly tolerant. I'd like to say that my breakdown was the beginning of my training in compassion, but that would not be the truth. That training has begun only recently” [p. 43]. In what ways does Louise's understanding of and compassion for her patients deepen over the course of the novel? In what ways is the a-contextual “pathological model” an inadequate response to the real lives of the women at Sloatsburg?

5. Near the end of the novel, Louise admits that she believes in the existence of evil. “Satan does not roam happily along Park Avenue in a form that is physically threatening, or even visible, but since coming to this place, I have seen evil. I don't think that it is a force in the world that is arbitrary and random, or that it is subjective or specific, or the consequence of sin, but it's here all the same” [p. 204]. Why does Louise come to believe in evil? Does the existence of evil help explain the crimes that are both inflicted on and committed by the women at Sloatsburg?

6. To what extent does Helen's mental state—the violent demands of the “Messengers”—and her history of abuse mitigate her responsibility for her crimes? To what extent does she hold herself responsible?

7. Louise says, “No matter how much I learn, no matter how instinctively sympathetic I am toward the women, and how deeply I still yearn to understand, I know less and less. I'm gullible. I'm condescending. Impatient. The encouragement of alternatives exhausts me. I've failed with Helen. I've failed with my son” [p. 194]. Is this an accurate or an unduly harsh self-assessment? Has Louise failed with Helen and with her son? Has she unwittingly contributed to Helen's suicide?

8. In what ways does the boundary between Louise's personal and professional life begin to blur over the course of the novel? What is the irony in her own son's accusation that Ike Bradshaw has abused him?

9. What does The Big Girls suggest about family life in America today?

10. Louise observes that the relationships between attacker and victim are often the most intimate. Why would this be? Does the novel help readers understand why women murder their children or their husbands? What causes does it suggest for these brutal crimes? Are these women driven to violence for different reasons than men are?

11. What peculiar social rules and rituals govern the lives of women in Sloatsburg? What function do these rules serve? In what ways are they like and unlike the social rules and rituals that prevail outside the prison walls?

12. In what ways are Angie, Ike Bradshaw, and Rafael important to the novel? How do they help clarify the novel's main concerns?

13. When Louise sees a “grotesque symmetry” in the fact that Helen's imagined sister Angie, is her ex-husband's lover, she says she may have to “change [her] mind about coincidence” [p. 209]. What is the significance of these “coincidences”? Why is the symmetry “grotesque”?

14. Louise says of Helen: “The tension between her conscious self and the self that she has so long kept hidden is so delicate that I am frightened for her. I always knew how dangerous knowledge would be to her, but must I still hold to the belief that her ignorance is equally dangerous?” [p. 133]. Does increasing Helen's consciousness of her own experience help or hurt her? Does she attain a measure of peace before her death?

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Sort by: Showing all of 5 Customer Reviews
  • Posted October 10, 2011

    more from this reviewer

    Big Girls? Big Whoop.

    THE BIG GIRLS is not a novel about overweight women. It's a novel about life in the "Big House." You know -- prison. A women's prison, to be more specific. Well, it's not exactly a novel either. THE BIG GIRLS has no chapters. Instead, it's broken up into 2-3 paragraph segments, separated by spaces, each alternating between three points of view (POV). (I only read the first 50 pages, so if there are more POVs later on, I wouldn't know because I didn't care to read beyond that. But more about that later...) Each paragraph segment reads like a diary entry. So, basically, THE BIG GIRLS is a compilation of non-labeled diary entries. Of at least three women. And you have to guess whose is whose. It's fairly easy to tell whose entry you're reading each time, just by context, but that doesn't make the entries any more interesting to read. They're so short that by the time you understand what's going on and what they're talking about, the entry ends and you're onto someone else's entry, their different POV, and sometimes unrelated comments. I felt like I was reading diary entries of people I didn't know, who talked about other people I didn't know. There were points of view of a prison inmate, a prison psychologist, and a celebrity in Hollywood. Their names aren't important in this review, just as they weren't in the book. It's really hard to get into a book when you don't even know or care about the characters, especially if you're jumping around from one point of view and/or story to the next. Is this the work of a mature author? Not from my perspective. The book felt like it was thrown together from diary entries attempted in a high school writing composition class. Hardly worth the read by anyone other than their teachers. In fact, like I stated early, I stopped 50 pages into the short book (I refuse to call it a novel). And it was difficult even getting that far. That's how disinterested I was.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 30, 2008

    Brilliant Susanna Moore writes the first book reader could not finish

    I Can't say I was not warned, 'this book is not an easy read.' I could not finish this dark work. . . from the wonderfully talented, usually brilliant Moore. Something 'twisted' must have happened to Susanna Moore to produced The Big Girls. Nietzsche's words concerning the exploration of Evil--that it will corrupt/damage your own soul--took on new meaning--causing me to discard the book after reading less than half of it. Truly. Don't go there without walking in' fear and trembling.'

    0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted February 2, 2009

    more from this reviewer


    The Big Girls is not easily read. It's a story that sears, discomfits, disturbs our complacency and, yes, sometimes amuses. We meet characters with psyches laid bare, stripped of any subterfuge or protective devices. Susanna Moore is s a noted writer ( One Last Look, In The Cut, Sleeping Beauties ) with a penchant for the psychological and she explores, better said, skillfully dissects minds. Her setting is New York's Sloatsburg Correctional Institute and her narrative is related in four voices. Dr. Louise Forrest has been the Chief Psychiatrist at Sloatsburg for some six months. At times, that feels more like a sentence to her than simply a period of time. She cannot adjust to the below standard conditions at the Institute nor to the incompetence of her fellow staff members, which is only compounded by their callousness. She's far too qualified for this position, leaving one to wonder what life experiences brought her there. A divorced mother, her one solace in life is a young son, Ransom. For reasons the reader takes to be compassion Louise is drawn to Helen, a prisoner and her patient. Helen is seriously afflicted she murdered her own children and hears voices. Further, her younger sister was given up for adoption yet Helen believes she has found her in the person of Angie Mills, a move star wannabe. One cannot help but feel pity for Helen as the details of her abusive childhood and adulthood are revealed. Especially poignant are her attempts to connect with Angie via mail. Angie, the third member of the narrative quartet, has her own agenda and it's all about promoting Angie any way she can. She's also involved with Louise's ex husband, Rafael. A fourth voice belongs to Ike Bradshaw, a former narcotics detective who is now a guard at Sloatsburg. He is attracted to Louise who reciprocates his feelings. How the lives of these four intersect, for good or ill, is the crux of the story. Susanna Moore has written a bold, powerful, sometimes violent novel not soon forgotten. - Gail Cooke

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  • Posted December 9, 2008

    more from this reviewer


    Six months of serving time at Sloatsburg Correctional Institution in upstate New York chief psychiatrist Dr. Louise Forrest still has not adjusted to the harsh conditions. The federal women¿s prison is as bleak a place as one can imagine with it being understaffed, which in turn means dangerous. Inmates like suicidal children¿s killer Helen Nash and corrections officer Captain Henry 'Ike' Bradshaw wonder why Louise stay at this foreboding dump when she can go anywhere.-------------------- Unbeknownst to those two and others, Louise has come here to hide from her own psychological baggage her solo joy in her grim lonely life is her son Ransom. However, Louise finds fascination in the case of Helen, who swears she was protecting her offspring from the voices of the ¿Messengers¿ that drive her actions. Helen believes that actress Angie Mills, the current girlfriend of Rafael, Louise¿s ex-husband, is her sister. Helen begins writing letters to Angie, Ike and Louise fall into to bed together only to be caught by Ransom, who tells his father the guard molested him. The six person pile-up has begun.-------------------- This character driven tale from the opening description of the prison setting grips the audience with a foreboding that disaster is imminent readers never let go of that dark gloomy feeling even after the tale is finished. The male characters seem more caricature than full blooded while the three prime females appear genuine with each having major issues including the actress who needs to believe that Helen is a sibling. Condemning the way America warehouses the mentally impaired especially the criminal subgroup, readers will appreciate this well written ominous drama.-------------- Harriet Klausner

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 1, 2011

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