"A terrific suspense debut, reminiscent of Du Maurier's Rebecca. I wish I had written it."Stephen King
With its hip London backdrop and expert pacing, Erin Kelly's masterful debut, The Poison Tree, delivers all the way through to its shocker of an ending.
London, 1997. Karen meets exotic, flamboyant Biba and, spellbound, she moves into the crumbling mansion Biba shares with her enigmatic brother, Rex. Drugs and wine flow as Rex and Karen begin an affair, but their summer of freedom is about to end in blood. Ten years later, Karen and nine-year-old Alice pick up Rex from his stint in prison for murder. When old ghosts come calling, Karen will do whatever it takes to protect her family. She is a woman with everything to lose.
|Publisher:||Penguin Publishing Group|
|Product dimensions:||5.20(w) x 7.90(h) x 0.80(d)|
About the Author
Erin Kelly read English and European literature at Warwick University and has worked as a freelance journalist for more than ten years. She has written for The Sunday Times, The Sunday Telegraph, The Daily Mail, Psychologies, Red, Elle, Marie Claire, Cosmopolitan, and Glamour. She lives in North London with her husband and daughter.
Read an Excerpt
I let the telephone fall from my hand. Panic first cripples and then revives me. My fingertips tingle as they feel their way around the coffee table, scrabbling first for my car keys and then for my cell phone. I seem to have eight limbs as I try to get dressed in the dark, pulling on my coat and a pair of oversize sheepskin boots that I usually wear as slippers. At the threshold I hesitate for a second, then rush back to my desk and fumble in the drawer for my passport and a credit card that I keep for emergencies. I pull the door behind me in silence, although blood roars and rushes in my ears. With shaking hands I double-lock it: whether to keep someone in or to keep someone out, I can’t know yet.
Outside, I tiptoe, but there is a crack and a squelch as I flatten a snail beneath my sole, and when I tread in a puddle by the gate, cold water seeps through the soft suede and licks unpleasantly at my bare toes.
In the dark interior of the car I turn the key in the ignition and wince as the air blows icy cold, dispersing the fluffy clouds of my breath. My hands are so cold they feel wet; I am relieved to find a pair of woolen gloves bundled in my left pocket. Before put ting them on, I use my cell phone to cover the last caller’s tracks. I call the house phone, wait for the click of connection, and hang up before it has a chance to ring. The windshield is opaque with frost and I do not have time to wait for the heaters to defog the glass. I wipe a porthole in the passenger window and squint back into the dark recess of the bedroom window. If he had heard me, the light would be on by now. He would be silhouetted at the window, mouthing my name. Would that stop me? Would anything?
The car is pointed directly at the front of the house. If I turn the headlights on, they will shine into the window, so with no beams to guide me and only a smeared handprint of visibility through the windows, I pull out into the road. Only when I have guessed my way to the end of our lane do I switch on the full beam. The countryside is frosted and stark. Naked hedgerows cast eerie shapes in front of me and the high banks of the narrow road throw up shadows that take human form. The dead, the missing, and the missed surround me now, passive spirits who have become active ghosts. I am afraid to glance behind. They pursue me as I drive aggressively, suicidally, mounting the grass verge when I take a blind bend much too fast. The seatbelt digs into the flesh between my breasts as I make an emergency stop to avoid hitting the truck that suddenly looms in front of me. It’s a filthy vehicle of indeterminate color, tools loose in the back, moving so slowly that the driver must be drunk. I have no option but to slow to a crawl behind him.
I ought to use this enforced pause for rational thought. But there is nothing rational about this situation. I am driving alone in pajamas and wet, clammy boots on a country lane in the middle of the night. Nobody knows where I am or why. I had only been thinking of the others, but for the first time it strikes me that my own safety might be compromised if I continue.
A glance at my speedometer tells me that we are traveling at twelve miles an hour. I toot and flash, but by the cold blue glow in his cab I see that he is making a phone call. I map the road ahead in my mind. I have driven it so often that I know every pothole, kink, and curve. I take a deep breath, crunch the gears, and plunge blindly into the passing place I calculate is just to my right. The driver of a black car coming in the opposite direction has had the same idea and we skim each other as we pass, with a sickening screech of metal on metal. I accelerate. Let him chase me if he wants to make something of it. My left-hand mirror is wrenched from its casing and falls to dangle lifelessly at the side from a lone wire, like a severed limb attached to its body by a single vein. The retreating driver sounds his horn angrily, the Doppler effect making it drop a forlorn semitone as it continues in the direction of my house. The truck is between us and it is too late to turn and see if the driver was alone or carrying a passenger, if it was a regular car or a taxi.
I pick up my crazy pace. Only a speed camera, predicted by a luminous sign, persuades my foot to the brake. On the borders of the town the scrubby roadside edges give way to narrow pavements and trees thin out to accommodate houses, a pub, a gas station. Lampposts appear, imitation Victorian globes like a parade of tiny moons, and I realize with a corresponding lucidity that this is it. The event I have been expecting and dreading for a third of my life is finally here.
It suddenly feels very hot inside the car. My hands are sweating inside my gloves, my eyes are dry, and my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth. I have given up so much and done so many terrible things already for the sake of my family that I can only keep going. I do not know what is going to happen to us. I am frightened, but I feel strong. I have the strength of a woman who has everything to lose.
I try to see the city through his eyes. It has been only ten years, but London has changed. Will he notice the subtle developments of the last decade? Does he register the lack of telephone boxes or the proliferation of Polish grocers? What about the plugged-in pedestrians with white wires connecting their ears to their pockets? The red circles on the road that welcome us into and usher us out of the congestion zone? I’m dying to know what he is thinking. His eyes, though, are fixed on the sycamore pods and leaves stuck under the windshield wipers. Running commentary has never been his style, but this silence is unnerving.
Alice is talking enough for the three of us, a high-pitched stream of consciousness that spills from the backseat. She has made this journey from southeast London to our home on the Suffolk coast four times a year, every year of her life. She loves traveling home through town, preferring to inch through dirty streets rather than cruise around the highway, even though it adds hours onto our journey. I always save this route for a special treat, when her behavior throughout our visit has been particularly good, or when she and Rex have found saying good-bye harder than usual. Sometimes I drive through town when I need to think, knowing that Alice’s nose will remain pressed against the glass as the car crawls from suburb to inner city to suburb again, that the questions she asks will be about what that man is selling or what that building is, rather than another discussion about why Daddy has to live so far away.
But this afternoon’s detour isn’t at Alice’s request. As we creep along Holloway Road, her favorite part of the journey, her focus is inside the car. She does not seem to mind her demotion from the front seat to the back. She ignores the Caribbean barbershop she loves to wave at and the metallic, space-age university building we saw being built, panel by shiny blue panel. We even pass the grimy cell phone store that holds such a strange fascination for her without the usual argument about when she will be old enough for her own telephone. We stop at a red light and with a click and a giggle she slides out of her seatbelt and squeezes between the driver and passenger seats. Her twiggy fingers weave in and out of Rex’s hair, tugging it, massaging his scalp, shampooing it and revealing silver threads around his ears and temples. She shoots out rapid-fire questions one after the other without waiting for answers.
“Will you take me to school when I go back next week? Will you drive Mum’s car or are we going to have two? Lara’s mum and dad have a car each but she still walks to school. Don’t you think—oh my God, you can come swimming now! What’s your best stroke? Mine’s front crawl. Will you take me swimming?”
“I’ll do whatever you want,” says Rex, and Alice kisses the top of his head. Her knees fold forward and nudge the gearshift while an elbow knocks against my head as I try to negotiate the Archway traffic circle. I shout at her when I had sworn I wouldn’t, not today. She shrugs off my scolding. The car swings to the left as I take the exit for the Great North Road. Rex crosses his legs, folds his arms, and shifts in his seat. He knows where I’m going. Perhaps he was expecting it. Perhaps, like me, he needs this one last visit to the past before we can build our future.
Archway Road is unusually clear, and the three of us cruise underneath the bridge in the long, low autumn dazzle. The neighborhood has been gentrified in the decade since we lived here. We pass a designer baby boutique where a thrift store used to be. The liquor store that would sell us two bottles of nasty wine for five pounds, even at three in the morning, has now been upgraded to a wine merchant, and even the old pubs and restaurants look cleaner and brighter than I remember them: more plate glass, fewer metal shutters. But Archway still has some way to go, I think, as I swerve to avoid chunks of glass exploded from a bus stop window and scattered across the street like ice cubes.
Neither of us has been here for over a decade but I can still drive this street, anticipate those lights, make these gear changes, on autopilot. I could do it with my eyes shut. For a reckless second, I’m tempted to try, to close my eyes and lock the wheel on a right curve. But I make the double turn into Queenswood Lane wide-eyed and unblinking. The noise of the city falls away as we enter the secret sliver of wildwood, where the ancient trees muffle the sirens and the screeches of the street and the half-hidden houses occupy a dark green private universe, cushioned by money as much as by trunk and bough and leaf. I drive carefully between the expensive cars, their side-view mirrors tucked into their bodies in case someone unfamiliar with the road drives too quickly and knocks into one. But I am more familiar with this lane than any other road, including the one I grew up on and the one I live on now. It’s the setting for most of my memories and all of my nightmares. I know every old brick wall, every bump in the road, every lamppost. The 1860s apartment block with its Italianate walled garden still sits alongside that glass-and-concrete bubble, someone’s vision of the future from the 1960s that would never make it past the conservation society today. Stern Victorian town houses tower over a pastel-colored fairy-tale mansion. Their windows glower down at us.
I deliberately don’t look toward the last house, the place where everything happened, before the street surrenders to the trees. I focus on the road as the leafy tunnel swallows this car for the first time and park with the house behind me, telling Alice that Mummy and Daddy need to stretch their legs. She tumbles out of the car and skips into the trees, her tracksuit a flash of pink through half-undressed branches. The little red lights in the heels of her sneakers wink at us like tiny eyes.
“Don’t go too far!” I call. We watch as she drags her feet through the fallen leaves, tracing letters with her toes, staining the hem of her trousers with flakes of wet bark and leaf mold. She doesn’t know it, but she’s playing yards away from the spot where she was conceived. Rex speaks first.
“It’s got to be done, I suppose.” He circles the car to open my door. I get out and point the key at the car, and it locks with a pow-pow noise. Rex raises an eyebrow. “Very swish,” he says, taking the key from me and examining it as though it contains an entire album of high-energy dance tracks. I close my eyes to make the turn, and when I open them, there it is. Exactly where we left it, I think—although where could it have gone? The four-story town house surrounded not by cars and concrete but by lime and plane and birch and oak; half stucco, half gray brick, it really belongs on the end of a terrace in Islington or Hackney. Its incongruity is one of the things that always made its presence on the edge of the forest so magical. It has changed, of course. It looks naked, cleaner and more metropolitan than ever now that someone has pulled down the dark green ivy that covered all of the side wall and half the front one and found its way in through the windows in the summertime. The creamy stucco gleams, not a single peel or crack in the paint. It looks innocent. But then, so do I.
The flaked black paint on the front door has been replaced by flawless turquoise gloss, and the golden lion door knocker gleams. The steep front steps—formerly a death trap of long-dead herbs tufting out of broken terra-cotta pots, lone roller skates, empty wine bottles, and never-to-be-read free local newspapers—have also been restored, and instead the door is flanked by two perfectly symmetrical bay trees with twisted stems in aluminum pots. Six recycling boxes are stacked neatly and discreetly behind a magnolia tree in the front garden. Instead of the nonworking bell pull which no one ever bothered with, there are six buzzers. The first time I ever came here, I spent ten minutes looking for just such a row of doorbells bearing different names. It didn’t occur to me that people my age could live in the whole of this building rather than occupy an apartment within it. I don’t need to get any closer to know how the place has changed on the inside. Without peering through the white-shuttered windows, I know exactly how the interiors of these apartments will look: coir or sisal carpeting, because the battered floorboards were beyond restoration even for the most dedicated property developer. The black and white hall will have been renovated, an original feature that will have added value to the house price. It was in terrible condition when we lived there, and afterward, there was that terrible stain.
There will be magnolia walls with flat-screen television sets flush against them, stainless steel kitchens, each boxy white bedroom with its own frosted-glass bathroom. It had been sold, but not until a long time after the police and the press had gone. The redevelopment had begun as soon as the yellow incident tape had been taken down and the cameras and reporters had moved on. Only then did the real estate agents begin to throng the house. I had often imagined the swarm of suits trampling polystyrene and paper coffee cups discarded by reporters, looking beyond the building’s grisly history, seeing only the rare opportunity to sell a sensitively converted character property in a highly desirable location, situated seconds from the Tube and on the edge of the historic Queen’s Wood.
The violent physical reaction I was half-expecting—a swoon, or a full faint, or even vomiting—doesn’t come. Rex too is calm, indecipherable, and it’s he who has the most, and the most gruesome, memories of this place. It was his home for twenty-four years and mine for only one summer. Alice breaks the reverie, dropping five feet from a tree I hadn’t noticed her climb, bored now, asking Rex for a can of Coke because she knows I’ll say no. I shrug and let him decide. Tonight, we’ll sit down and establish some ground rules for dealing with Alice before she becomes hopelessly, irretrievably spoiled. But today, I’ll let Rex play the indulgent father. One day won’t hurt.
She gets her drink, but not from the newsstand near Highgate Tube; I bet it’s still owned by the same family. They might not recognize me, but of course they would remember Rex. They would have sold enough newspapers with him on the front page. Instead, we drive up Muswell Hill Road and I let Rex and Alice jump out and into a more anonymous convenience store. Did I ever go there? The fruits and vegetables piled up in front of the shop, their dull skins patiently absorbing the fumes from my exhaust, do nothing to jog my memory. Rex and Alice are in there for a while, and it’s not until she emerges, red-faced and holding out her hand, that I realize I haven’t given him any money.
Before we’ve even reached the North Circular Road that links Rex’s old part of London to his new home, Alice has slipped out of her seatbelt again and is lying across the seat, kicking at the air, singing to herself and spilling sticky cola all over her clothes and the car seat. Ten years fall away and I remember another journey on this road. It was the day Rex’s credit card arrived, and we celebrated by driving to the supermarket to stock up on all the food and drink we could cram into my little Fiat. Rex sat beside me losing a wrestling match with the sunroof, while Biba took up the whole of the backseat, so Guy can’t have been with us. She dangled a cigarette out of the left-hand window, her feet poking out of the right-hand one in a desperate attempt to cool down. I can feel the gummy heat of that summer now. I remember the prickle of my heat rash and the way the sweat from my body made my cheap purple T-shirt bleed dye onto my skin like an all-over bruise. I remember the way perspiration gave Rex a permanent kiss-curl in the middle of his forehead, like Superman. I can still see the crisscross sunburn lines on Biba’s back. A pink leg comes between me and the rearview mirror.
“Put your seatbelt on, Alice,” I say. She walks her feet up onto the ceiling, printing a thin layer of leaf mold in the shape of her shoes across the pale gray ceiling. She’s testing me and I fail. “I said, put your fucking seatbelt on, Alice!” Or did I say something else? Rex looks at me in horror while Alice, more interested in the unfolding drama than offended by my swearing, is suddenly silent and upright.
“What did you call her?” he says in a whisper, and at the same time Alice asks, “Who’s Biba?”
Excerpted from "The Poison Tree"
Copyright © 2012 Erin Kelly.
Excerpted by permission of Penguin Publishing Group.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
What People are Saying About This
Praise for THE POISON TREE:
“A terrific suspense debut, reminiscent of another British woman’s auspicious bow: Daphne DuMaurier’s Rebecca. The shadows gather until the ending looms like a threatening figure. This one gets the writer’s ultimate bit of praise: I wish I had written it.”
“A compelling creeper . . . More please, Ms. Kelly! Quickly!”
—The Washington Post
“There is a brooding sense of impending doom and imminent danger. . . . [T]he explosive ending, its revelations about the threesome and the lengths to which people will go to preserve or take what's theirs, makes THE POISON TREE a rich and satisfying pleasure.”
Reading Group Guide
"I held my life loosely in my hands, unaware that I was about to relinquish my grip. In the space of a week, apathy suddenly gave way to passion I had not begun to guess I was capable of" (p. 14).
When Karen Clarke's boyfriend, Rex, returns home after serving a ten-year sentence for murder, she hopes that the long nightmare is finally over. She longs to smooth the transition for everyone—especially nine-year-old Alice, who has grown up visiting prison and has never had a father at home. But all too soon it becomes clear that someone else knows of their blood-stained past and threatens to destroy the tenuous peace that Karen has worked so hard to build.
A decade earlier, Karen would have described her life as uneventful, even boring. Able to "pick up new languages as easily as the other children… copied radio jingles and cartoon catchphrases" (p. 12), Karen was a lower-middle-class scholarship student in her final year at Queen Charlotte's College in London. She dated a rugby player, and her roommates were three other girls whose wildest excesses consisted of a glass of wine with dinner. Then she met Biba.
"It was the summer when the Spice Girls were inescapable… [and] the girl before me appeared to be dressed like all five of them at once" (p. 20). Beautiful, flamboyant, and dazzlingly self-assured, Biba Capel was a drama student in need of someone to help her perfect a German accent. Karen coached her, and, in return, was invited to join her new friend's bohemian circle.
Biba's perfect vowels and Gucci handbag belied her constant lack of money and the dilapidated state of the rambling Highgate mansion she lived in with her brother, Rex. But Karen found everything about her fascinating. "Now that I had met Biba… my housemates seemed unbearably generic… I was angry at myself for not realizing this sooner, and angry at them for not being Biba" (p. 79).
With her university days behind her, Karen was eager to make up for lost time and quickly immersed herself in the hazy, intoxicated rhythms of the Capel household. Yet while the three of them lived at close quarters, Karen was initially unsure of her feelings toward Rex. Four years older than the sister he so uncannily resembled, Rex fussed over Biba with a "hysterical overprotectiveness [that] annoyed as well puzzled" (p. 84).
Rex's anxieties only increased when Biba became involved with Guy, a good-looking drug dealer whose lower-class accent "sounded like an affectation" (p. 149). But Biba found Rex's disapproval as amusing as Guy's tattoos and street-smart veneer, and Guy soon became firmly ensconced in their home.
"Perhaps… filling the void left by Biba's absence" (p. 164), Rex and Karen gravitated toward one another. Blissfully happy in their new romance, Karen didn't suspect that the mounting hostilities between Guy and Rex were on a collision course with the siblings' tragic family past or that her summer of freedom was about to end in blood.
Fans of psychological suspense will be enthralled as Karen's story unfolds in a sinuous narrative that flashes between the 1990s and the present. Gripping from the first page to its final shocking denouement, Erin Kelly's The Poison Tree is a masterful debut and a haunting exploration into the heart and mind of an ordinary woman who has everything to lose.
ABOUT ERIN KELLY
Erin Kelly read English and European literature at Warwick University and has worked as a freelance journalist for more than ten years. She has written for The Sunday Times, The Sunday Telegraph, The Daily Mail, Psychologies, Red, Elle, Marie Claire, Cosmopolitan, and Glamour. She lives in North London with her husband and daughter.
A CONVERSATION WITH ERIN KELLY
Q. Is any part of this novel autobiographical, or is it wholly imagined? Would you say that you were—or are—more like Karen or Biba?
The Poison Tree is autobiographical with respect to its setting—like Karen and Biba, I turned twenty-one in the summer of 1997 and remember it like it was yesterday, and I was living in Highgate at the time. This was simply because I was daunted by the task of writing my first novel; there were so many unknowns that I wanted to root the action in a time and place I could be confident about describing. In terms of character, I probably resemble Karen the most; like her, I was a studious teenager, and I have been that girl who hides in a corner at the party, overawed and tongue-tied, more times than I care to remember! That said, Karen is more naïve than I have ever been, something I think we can attribute to her sheltered, provincial adolescence and the fact that she is, due to her precocity, always an academic year ahead of her classmates. As for Biba, while I would love her ability to beguile (and indeed her extensive wardrobe), she is definitely drawn from friends and acquaintances rather than my own experience.
Q. Most of us have flirted with dangerous situations or people during our college or young adult years, but few pay the price that Karen does. What inspired her story?
I have always been drawn to characters on the cusp of adulthood, students in particular, because it's such an intense, irresponsible time of life. Our minds and bodies are adult, we are no longer under the care of our parents, not yet burdened by careers, mortgages, or children. Relationships and living arrangements tend to be quite fluid, with friendships forged and abandoned almost weekly, and the same goes for lovers; these fluctuations and transitions mean that life is brimming with potential for fun, sex, experience and the dark side of these things too, heartbreak, betrayal, death. Since turning thirty a few years ago I've come to realize just how small a window of irresponsibility those student years are, which makes it seem, in retrospect, even more intense.
Q. The Poison Tree has been justly compared to everything from Daphne DuMaurier's Rebecca to Evelyn Waugh's Brideshead Revisited. Who were your literary influences?
I've read Rebecca and Brideshead countless times, and I'm hugely flattered to be mentioned in the same breath as either of them. What they have in common is a theme that has always resonated with me, that of a young person being seduced by a house and its inhabitants, with fatal or heartbreaking consequences. Barbara Vine's early books were a huge influence on me; she is the mistress of the fragmented, extended flashback structure that I used for The Poison Tree (and indeed my next novel). Reading The House of Stairs and Grasshopper I realized for the first time that "murder mystery" novels don't have to start with the discovery of a body and work back from that, that your characters need not be marginalized criminals, PIs or policemen, and that lyrical writing and interesting relationships need not mean sacrificing plot. I also love Ian McEwan, Audrey Niffenegger, Tana French, William Boyd, Maggie O'Farrell, Kazuo Ishiguro, and Rebecca Miller. Going further back, I'm obsessed with the English Victorian writer Wilkie Collins. The Moonstone and The Woman in White are dense, droll, and brilliantly plotted: he was the pioneer of the genre that we now know as the psychological thriller.
Q. With the exception of Biba, none of the novel's central characters are happy with the class they were born into. Rex envies Karen's solid, lower-middle-class upbringing; Guy pretends to be a working-class street thug when he's actually from an upper-middle class background; and Karen aspires first to her college roommates' "world… of tennis clubs, aerobics classes, theaters, and restaurants" (p. 13), and then to Biba's upper-class Bohemianism. Are issues of class ever avoidable in an English novel?
In many ways preoccupation with class is universal. You don't need to have grown up in England to understand that feeling of pretending to be something you're not, or of not belonging where you come from. While the class structure in England is no longer as rigid and formal as it once was, social mobility is still a huge problem; for example, ten percent of the men in the current British government went to just one private school, Eton. Even the very talented or ambitious never really escape the class they were born into. No matter how outwardly successful you are, there will always be those who judge you on your family background rather than your achievement as an individual. Some of my favourite novels English novels—I'm thinking in particular of The Line of Beauty by Alan Hollinghurst and the aforementioned Brideshead Revisited—deal with those tiny identifying differences that are imperceptible to foreigners but are the things that determine where you live, who you marry, the work you do, all the things that make up a life.
This is bad news for the socially ambitious, but great news for novelists; class envy is, along with love and greed and desire and revenge, one of the great motivating forces in English life. It makes people do things. It makes things happen.
Q. At one point in the novel, Karen turns the tables on Alison Larch, a television journalist she suspects of investigating Rex, and interrogates her on her current roster of work. In what other ways did you draw upon your own experiences as a journalist?
My experience as a journalist was useful in that I don't get "stage fright" in front of a word processor, but actually it was more detrimental than helpful. Writing fiction is the opposite of journalism, where one owes it to one's readers and editors (not to mention lawyers) to adhere to the truth, so after a decade of interviewing and fact-checking you can imagine that writing a novel was hugely liberating for me. As for Karen's shadowing of Alison Larch, I don't think you need to be a professional reporter to write or even identify with that. The Internet means that we're all journalists now, to a degree; anyone with a broadband connection can find out the most surprising details about someone else's career or private life in minutes. I know that some writers lament the passing of telephones and letter writing, that cell phones and e-mails make suspense fiction harder to write but I think current technology is hugely democratizing. A young mother, working late in her home office, can experience the thrill of the chase while her daughter sleeps upstairs. It means that any of us can experience that cat-and-mouse feeling at any time.
Q. In the acknowledgments you thank your "beautiful daughter Marnie, the novel's twin, who had the grace not to be born until the ink on the last page was dry." In more superstitious times, expecting mothers were careful not to cross paths with any kind of unpleasantness (e.g. a dead body, someone with a deformity) lest the experience adversely affect their unborn children. Did you ever find it unsettling to dwell upon such a disturbing tale with a child in your womb?
It might sound strange but I found writing a dark novel reassuring rather than disturbing. I felt very vulnerable when I was pregnant, very aware that nothing was under my control, from the size of my belly to the big bad world my baby would be born into. Writing The Poison Tree allowed me to exercise total control, even if only over a fictional world.
Q. When Karen first returns to her parents' home with Alice, her mother tells her, "you're still my baby. I still feel about you the way you feel about her now" (p. 303). Do you read The Poison Tree differently now that you're a mother yourself?
That scene when Karen goes home has more to do with being a daughter than a mother, and I'm very lucky that my parents resemble the Clarkes more than the Capels when it comes to showing love and support. Karen feels that she has let them down very badly, and I tried to imagine how I might feel in her shoes.
I do feel that I understood Karen's actions better at the time of writing than I did in the months immediately after my daughter was born. When the newborn haze had ascended I revisited that section of the book and understood that Karen's relationship with Alice was indivisible from the sense of guilt and responsibility that she feels, rightly or wrongly, about the deaths that have occurred. I did go back and rework some of those chapters with that in mind, writing with my daughter sleeping in a sling on my front.
Q. What are you working on now?
I've just finished writing my second novel, The Sick Rose, about Paul, a teenage boy drawn into a destructive friendship with an illiterate classmate but their association ends in violence and he is forced to choose his own future over his allegiance to his friend. In hiding, he meets an older woman, Louisa, who has secrets of her own that are about to surface. Like The Poison Tree, it has a fractured narrative, with one strand set in the past.
The characters from my third book have started to form faces and voices, and I won't be able to ignore them for much longer.
Spoiler Warning: Don't read any further if you don't want to know whodunit!
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
A very well written psychological thriller! The characters were very well developed and the plot kept me guessing until the end. This book would make an amazing movie. I loved the back and forth between present and past, well written dialogue as well as the vivid descriptions of the various settings. Did not want this book to end while I was reading it- it was that good!!!
I thoroughly enjoyed this book. I was as mesmorized by the Capels as the main character, Karen, was. This book kept my interest from start to finish and the ending was a nice twist. I eagerly await the next novel from the author.
It's 1990s London and Karen Clarke is a straight A college student with a long summer and bright future ahead of her when she meets aspiring actress Biba Capel at Queen Charlotte's College. This chance meeting changes Karen's life forever. Her middle class upbringing and dedication to her studies are swiftly swept away as she becomes enamored with Biba and her bohemian lifestyle. She soon joins Biba and Biba's brother Rex in their crumbling family home amid the emotional turmoil of their lives; lives filled with drugs, alcohol and lost days that can only end in tragedy in this psychological thriller. As Ms. Kelly deftly weaves the past and present, we fast forward ten years as THE POISON TREE begins; Karen and her nine-year-old daughter arrive to pick up Rex from prison where he's spent the last decade for murder. The author never drops the ball as the suspense and tension build in this well written novel, right up to the dramatic ending. Ms. Kelly's writing has been compared to that of Donna Tartt, but while reading THE POISON TREE I also found it reminiscent of BOYS AND GIRLS TOGETHER, a coming of age novel from the '60s by William Goldman. This is a wondeful first novel and I highly recommend this psychological thriller! Lynn Kimmerle
A decade after they first met, Karen, accompanied by her nine year old daughter Alice the chatterbox; pick up Rex after he spent the past ten years in prison convicted of murder. Karen reflects back to 1993 when her life radically changed. It started innocently with her receiving a scholarship to attend Queen Charlotte's College in London. At the school, she meets drama student Biba Capel, whose off beat behavior fascinates the scholarship student. Biba introduces her new friend to her even odder older brother Rex. ----- The siblings invite Karen to come to their family house, a deteriorating but at one time incredible home in Highgate. There Karen meets an assortment of strange renters. The trio tosses wild party that alienates their neighbors, but none of them care as the feel they reside in paradise. However, the serpent arrives when Biba's lover crashes the idyllic Utopia. Soon murder joins the mix. ---- The Poison Tree is a terrific twisting British psychological thriller as the audience is hooked to learn how Rex is freed after ten years behind bars for murder. Karen is a strong protagonist who though frightened understands the stakes that she has "everything to lose" including the happiness that she thought would be forever with Rex. Filled with spins, Erin Kelly's suspense laden tale is a fabulous way to open 2011. ---- Harriet Klausner
Great book that delves wonderfully into the character's whirlwind enticing yet maddening personalities.
This was a well-written and intriguing book. I was fascinated by the characters - gifted, but unassuming Karen, neuotic Rex, and Biba, whose behavior and beauty command attention. Even those charcters who played small roles were well-developed by the author, and therefore interesting and real to me. Absolutely recommend.
Loved this book right to the end.
enjoyed the drama great ending
About the book: Karen was just an unassuming straight-A student in linguistics when she met Biba. She was finishing her senior year, and though she had the same roommates through college, she didn't feel like they were really friends. Meeting Biba seemed to be fate, as Biba was posting an ad for a German tutor when Karen happened to come upon her. She was immediately entranced. Biba hired her and invited her to a party at her house. Biba was an aspiring actress and lived a carefree life with her brother, Rex, in a rundown house in Highgate. The house had had a variety of tenants and Karen was soon to become it's latest. Their lifestyle was so foreign to the one that Karen knew that she couldn't help but embrace it in her desire to belong. She had never had a friend like Biba and felt alive in her presence. Her dad had told her she needed at leasst one summer to not work and enjoy herself before she started her "life". Little did she know that this last summer would effect her life and her choices in ways that she never could have dreamed. The story starts out with Karen picking up Rex as he is released from prison. They are going to try to make a go of it with their 9 year old daughter Alice. Secrets and choices are immediately alluded to as Karen tries to protect Alice from the secrets that sent Rex to prison as well as one secret that only Karen seems to know. We learn all about Karen, Rex and Biba through flashbacks that take you through the last summer they were all together. That carefree summer living in Highgate. Karen learns that Rex and Biba have had a troubled childhood marked with suicide and abandonment. The two of them are very close and Rex protects his sister with a fierceness that rivals a mama bear. Somewhere along the way, with the beer and drugs and sex, Karen and Rex fall into an unlikely relationship. Some rash decisions made by all change all their lives. My thoughts: This book was a wonderful debut by Erin Kelly. The flashbacks unfold with just the right speed and the groundwork is laid out for a surprising ending that I didn't see coming. The London setting and surrounding areas are perfect and the author does a good job of making you feel like you are there (not that I have ever been - but it is definitely as I imagined it). She weaves the story around these three to the point where one is inseparable from the other. Every choice and decision that was made lead to the inevitable conclusion. Great story! Highly recommended!
but the ending earns it four stars!!
I picked this book up off of the new books shelf at the library, having never heard anything about it, expecting a simple thriller. What I found, to my pleasant surprise, was so much more. It's truly a novel of psychological suspense, but it's also a story about coming of age, the families we make, and the regrets we live with. The melancholy harshness of it reminded me a little bit of Donna Tartt's The Secret History, which is one of my favorite novels of all time. I won't say too much more without giving away the plot, but I highly recommend this little novel and cannot wait to see what Kelly writes next. Four and a half stars.
This book kept me mildly entertained and went at a decent pace, though I felt like it was missing something. If not for a good ending, I would've rated it a 3/5 rather than 4/5. I felt that it took too long to get to a point, and I also had a hard time connecting with the characters. This is one that had potential but went nowhere; I was hoping for more.
I thought I had already reviewed this book but when I look on the list my review doesn't seem to be here, which is mysterious, so I will try and remember what I thought about the book and write something briefly here. I really didn't care for this first novel. In the beginning the plot was suspenseful and interesting but as the story progessed I really started to dislike the characters, particularly the main femalecharacter who I found to be very manipulative and completely unbelievable. So much of the novel revolves around her actions, especially what occurs in the end, that I found it very difficult to accept. The novel is partially about the obsessive love the narrator has for this principle female character and I didn't feel I could sympathize with her. This is a portrait of a very dysfunctional family and they didn't garner any of my sympathy. I just remember the book leaving a bad taste in my mouth. I have heard that a lot of people like this book which surprises me. I also didn't care for the main character's brother Rex, and in the scenes that take place in the present he never seems to blame his crazy sister for the terrible things that have befallen him. All of the characters are so passive with what happens to them. I don't think I will read any other works by this author. Stories of obsession usuallly turn me away.
In her first novel, Erin Kelly does an excellent job of maintaining the chill factor while remembering the halcyon days of a special summer. She goes back and forward over a ten-year span with ease. This enthralling tale is a real page-turner with well-developed characters and a surprise conclusion. Kelly is an author to watch for.
This is a first novel for Erin Kelly. I can only imagine what her second novel will be like. I am sure it will be another hit.This is story of a young college woman wondering if she will ever experience a ¿magical summer¿, that her mother assures will happen before she starts her ¿life¿. Will this be the ¿one?¿ While in college she meets Biba, who needs help with her German, for a future role in a play that she is in. Karen had mastered four languages by her 16th birthday without much effort. Bibi soon befriends Karen and suggests that Karen come and live with her and her brother, Rex, in their run down mansion owned by their father.The people living in the mansion live a carefree life and seeming to not have a care in the world. Wasting their days on parties and fun. Karen¿s relationship with Biba and Rex grow. She thinks of them as her family. The story spans 10 years from the time of this memorable summer to the present when her daughter is now 10 years old and Rex has just come back from being in prison for 10 years.Throughout the story, you are aware of secrets. The reader does not know what the secrets are. This part of the story can drive you crazy. It keeps you wondering and guessing what these secrets may be. It certainly makes you want to finish the book. Nearing the end, I really had a hard time putting the book down. I wanted to know what the secret was.That summer was certain to be the ¿magical summer¿ for Karen.I loved the way Erin Kelly describes the surroundings, the characters, the time, the feel of the moment, the graceful way she went from past to present and the surprise ending. I am going to keep my eyes open for more of Erin Kelly.
I read this book last month and I'm only now getting around to writing a review for it because I have no idea what to say about it. I really enjoyed it and didn't want to put it down. The characters were interesting, the plot was great and so was the writing.I would love to re-read it, but probably not for a year or two.
About the book: Karen was just an unassuming straight-A student in linguistics when she met Biba. She was finishing her senior year, and though she had the same roommates through college, she didn't feel like they were really friends. Meeting Biba seemed to be fate, as Biba was posting an ad for a German tutor when Karen happened to come upon her. She was immediately entranced. Biba hired her and invited her to a party at her house.Biba was an aspiring actress and lived a carefree life with her brother, Rex, in a rundown house in Highgate. The house had had a variety of tenants and Karen was soon to become it's latest. Their lifestyle was so foreign to the one that Karen knew that she couldn't help but embrace it in her desire to belong. She had never had a friend like Biba and felt alive in her presence. Her dad had told her she needed at leasst one summer to not work and enjoy herself before she started her "life". Little did she know that this last summer would effect her life and her choices in ways that she never could have dreamed.The story starts out with Karen picking up Rex as he is released from prison. They are going to try to make a go of it with their 9 year old daughter Alice. Secrets and choices are immediately alluded to as Karen tries to protect Alice from the secrets that sent Rex to prison as well as one secret that only Karen seems to know.We learn all about Karen, Rex and Biba through flashbacks that take you through the last summer they were all together. That carefree summer living in Highgate. Karen learns that Rex and Biba have had a troubled childhood marked with suicide and abandonment. The two of them are very close and Rex protects his sister with a fierceness that rivals a mama bear. Somewhere along the way, with the beer and drugs and sex, Karen and Rex fall into an unlikely relationship. Some rash decisions made by all change all their lives.My thoughts: This book was a wonderful debut by Erin Kelly. The flashbacks unfold with just the right speed and the groundwork is laid out for a surprising ending that I didn't see coming. The London setting and surrounding areas are perfect and the author does a good job of making you feel like you are there (not that I have ever been - but it is definitely as I imagined it). She weaves the story around these three to the point where one is inseparable from the other. Every choice and decision that was made lead to the inevitable conclusion. Great story! Highly recommended!
Just as her final year of college is ending, straight-laced Karen meets the charismatic Biba. Karen is enchanted, and the feeling seems to be mutual, as Biba invites Karen to a party at her house that evening. And what a house it is! 21-year-old Biba lives there with her slightly older brother Rex, and a moving feast of friends. In alternating chapters we are back with the young people during their idyllic summer, and with Karen in the present day, as she brings Rex home from serving his prison sentence. Kelly is a master at foreshadowing. From the first chapter we know that Karen has a secret. We know that something--or perhaps several things--terrible has happened. The story is released bit by bit, until it all comes together at the end. A wonderful example of psychological fiction, this one keeps the reader on the edge of his seat, wondering what on earth we will learn next!!
This book is told in alternating time periods by Karen, who ten years earlier had met a charasmatic young wanna-be actress named Biba at her college. Karen and Biba become fast friends, and she also meets Biba's older, strange brother Rex. The book jumps back and forth between the present time and that one summer that changed all of their lives. I really, really enjoyed this book. I thought I had it all figured it out but surprise! I was wrong again lol. It gets your attention from the first page and keeps you interested the entire time. I hated having to put it down even to sleep. I just HAD to know what happened. I will definitely watch for more books by this author. That being said, the only issue I had with this book, and it was a minor issue, was a little too much detail. Sometimes I felt like a little too much time was spent on setting up the scenery instead of getting on with the story. But I think after the second or third chapter the author got the hang of it and stopped doing that so much. I definitely recommend this book to any book lover!
Review based on Advance Reading ProofA wonderfully well-written, psychological thriller debut, one that just cries out to be read and discussed. A perfect choice for a book club. Although I found it a bit disconcerting with early chapters switching between then and now, it is really just an essential hiccup in the storyline. This ploy simply increases the building suspense as the story unfolds. Watch out for author Erin Kelly, she has thrown down the gauntlet and intends to stay around for a long time!An unusual storyline from the voice of the protagonist, Karen Clarke, the characters with their many differences are well-drawn and continue to grow throughout the book. Take a young normal girl who just happens to be fluent in several languages and throw her suddenly into a completely different society and what is she to do? Her meeting with Biba opens a whole new world to her, one she is not only introduced to, but embraces wholeheartedly. In 1990s London, the beautiful and vivacious Biba lives her life fully and dramatically, essentially the actress she wants to be. When she meets Karen, the straight-A student of linguistics, she brings her to her home, a very run-down yet exotic house of many characters, some of whom live there with Biba and her brother Rex. Soon Karen is a constant visitor.The book begins near the end, then switches back to this carefree and exciting life, time and time again. We learn of old secrets that have a distinct effect on the brother and sister, and later newer secrets come between them. Karen can not tell her story alone without telling the story of Rex and Biba. Their lives and stories are tangled as one. These three are the main characters, but there are more roles to be played by lesser players. Still, they are all bigger than life and all play their parts boldly. The story unfolds between this wild beginning, fraught with suspense and lies, racing toward an unknown and unexpected tragedy. Clues and portents are sprinkled between these carefree days of one summer, building and building to an excruciating level. Murder, prison, life, loss, all wrapped up in one great read. Descriptive, alluring, and definitely atmospheric, characteristics run the gamut from innocence and trust to parties, drugs, drama, sex and lies. This is not a book one can easily review without spoilers, mostly because of the way the book is written with all its portents. That said, the ending is shocking and yet feels right. Once read, the reader will understand what I mean, but earlier in the book he/she may not. This is an exceptional start to what I believe to be a long run for this author.
I am someone who loves when I am gripped by the first page and let know by the author that something bad is coming at some point in the book. It has to be done carefully or it can ruin the whole story. Stephanie Meyer did it well in the Twilight series and Erin Kelly does it well in The Poison Tree. Another weakness of mine in books are quirky characters, sometimes so much more real than so-called normal ones.Overall it's a wonderful first novel and please keep writing, Ms. Kelly!
Ahhh... the glorious days of youth.Or, maybe not...It is a very detailed book, with a lot of time invested in a collection of oddball characters, most of which are completely irrelevant to the story. From the start of the book, the reader knows something bad happened, and is left throughout most of the book reading hazy references to how bad this thing is, and how much it affected the main character's life, etc. I personally prefer when authors build suspense through plot, rather than by telling us something happened, but not exactly what it was that happened.When the "bad thing" is finally identified (very close to the end of the story), it occurs, and is wrapped up, very quickly. Too quickly compared to the long long buildup to get to this point. It's like knowing you have a grand surprise birthday party next week so you get all excited for it, but when the date arrives, they're taking you bowling.I will say, however, that there is an excellent twist/surprise in the story. It caught me off-guard and bumped the entire story up a star because it was an excellent way to end a book that seemed to get caught up a bit too much in the minutiae.
Wow. That was the thought I was stuck with for days after finishing this book. It was amazing. When the author contacted me on twitter, I told her I wish that I was Karen and Biba¿s friend. She said let me know if I felt that way on the last page. ;)There were so many twists and turns in this book, that I was surprised. I did guess a couple, but there were so many more that I completely missed. As a girl that likes to read this type of book, I think of myself as usually pretty good at sussing out the end ahead of time, but this one got me.I like the format of where it jumps from time and place through the life of the main character (Karen). It was a little difficult at times to follow the transitions, as the only clues were name changes, but that could have been the formatting of the copy I had.The characters are wonderful. Biba is as wild and dramatic and carefree as Karen is studious, responsible and down to earth. Fun seems to ensue following these two through the book, and I often wanted to join them. Rex, Biba¿s brother, was not a character I enjoyed as much. I found him a little dry, and did always appreciate the way he reacted to situations, but that could be because he is the type of person that wouldn¿t be my cup of tea in real life either. I loved the minor characters that popped in and out, and found they added depth, extra personality and humor, and sometimes needed lightness to the story.The setting is beautiful, and I could see it as if I was there. It was the type of descriptive writing that could only come from someone who had spent a great deal of time in a place. I could see it, hear it, smell it, but most importantly, wanted to visit it.I also can relate to the feeling she describes, of wandering into somewhere different, and knowing that is where you want to be. Have you ever gone to someone¿s home for the evening, or the weekend, and it so fun/ cozy/ welcoming/ comfortable/ different then your own, that you want to curl up and not leave. Kinda like being at home and escaping, all at the same time? She captures this beautifully.I have a feeling this one is going to stay with me for a long time to come. It was a very enjoyable ride. =D
This was just OK. I wasn't crazy about the ending.
This book was interesting to me since the story was told from the heroine's perspective and jumped from past to present every chapter. That way you were always learning little bits of the back story as the current story was progressing. I will say that it took me about 50-60 pages to really get into the book but once I did I didn't want to stop reading.Karen meets Biba and her brother Rex the summer after she finishes her undergraduate degree and moves into their home for the summer of "experiences." You see, Karen has always been responsible and has forgone fun and adolescent craziness. This is her time to let her hair down and it is all because she met free-spirit Biba. During the summer, Karen and Rex become lovers and everything is perfect until that fateful night when Karen's world in turned upside down and Rex is convicted of murder. The cuurent story line shows Rex and Karen trying to reconnect after Rex is released from prison and Rex trying to forge a new life released from his painful past.I would definitely recommend this book to others and found it very enjoyable and mysterious.