“Searing, searching, finally scorching. Think Making a Murderer via Patricia Highsmith: an elegant kaleidoscope novel that refines and combines multiple perspectives until its subject is brought into indelible, tragic focus.” —A. J. Finn, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Woman in the Window
“Pitch-black and superbly written.” —Ruth Ware, New York Times bestselling author of The Woman in Cabin 10
“Top-notch grip lit…incredibly brilliant.” —Marian Keyes, New York Times bestselling author
Oliver Ryan has the perfect life. Elegant and seductive, he wants for nothing, sharing a lovely home with his steadfast wife, Alice, who illustrates the award-winning children’s books that have brought him wealth and fame. Until one evening, after eating the dinner Alice has carefully prepared, Oliver savagely assaults her and leaves her for dead.
The people who know Oliver can only speculate about the reasons behind his brutal act: his empty-headed mistress Moya, vain and petulant; Veronique, the French chatelaine who tragically lost everything the summer she employed him in her vineyard; Alice’s friend Barney, who has nursed an unrequited love for her since childhood; Oliver’s college pal Michael, struggling with voiceless longings that have shamed him for years. What none of them understands is the dark secret that lies behind his immaculate façade.
The revelations that come to light as the layers of Oliver’s past are peeled away are as brutal as his singular act of violence. His decades of careful deception have masked a life irrevocably marked by abandonment, envy, and shame—and as the details of that life are laid bare, Oliver discovers that outrunning his demons is harder than it looks.
With its insight into the mind of a psychopath emerging from the wreckage of his own misbegotten past, Unraveling Oliver is a chilling page-turner, brilliantly crafted and unexpectedly moving, by a stunning new voice in fiction. Liz Nugent "presents a fresh look at a man hiding his violent personality in this intense character study" (Publishers Weekly, starred review). As powerful as Patricia Highsmith’s unforgettable noir classic, The Talented Mr. Ripley, Unraveling Oliver will enthrall you from its mesmerizing opening line to its equally shocking last page.
|Sold by:||SIMON & SCHUSTER|
|File size:||4 MB|
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
I expected more of a reaction the first time I hit her. She just lay on the floor, holding her jaw. Staring at me. Silent. She didn’t even seem to be surprised.
I was surprised. I hadn’t planned to do it. Usually when you hear about this kind of thing, it is the 1950s, and the husband comes home drunk to his slovenly wife from the pub and finds that his dinner is cold. On the contrary, it was November 12, 2011, a wintry Saturday evening on a south Dublin avenue, and Alice had prepared a delicious meal: lamb tagine, served on a bed of couscous, with pita bread and a side dish of mint yogurt. Though the lamb was a tad lukewarm by the time she presented it, I really couldn’t fault it. I had washed the meal down with two glasses of Sancerre while Alice prepared the raspberry roulade for serving. I certainly wasn’t drunk.
But now, here she lay, the lower half of her body nearly hidden behind the legs of our mahogany dining table, her arms, head, and torso curled inward like a question mark. How had she fallen into that shape? There must have been considerable force behind my closed fist. If the glass had been in my hand, would I have stopped and put it down before I hit her? Or would I have smashed it into her face? Would it have shattered on contact and torn her pale skin? Could I have scarred her for life? It’s very hard to know. The words that come to mind are “circumstances beyond our control.” I emphasize the word “our” because, although I should not have done it, she really should not have provoked me.
The phone rang. Maybe I should have ignored it, but it might have been important.
“Oliver. It’s Moya. How are things?”
These rhetorical questions irritate me. “How are things,” indeed.
Sorry, Moya, I’ve just punched Alice in the face, and she’s lying on the floor. And we’ve had a marvelous dinner.
Of course, I didn’t say that. I made some ham-fisted attempt at an excuse and bade her farewell. I waited for the reciprocal adieu.
There was a moment’s silence and then:
“Don’t you want to know how I am? Where I am?”
I was short and to the point. “No.”
Another silence. And then, whispered, “Oh, right, okay, is Alice there?”
Go away, you stupid, irritating woman.
I didn’t say that either. I told her that now was not a good time. She tried to inveigle me into a conversation, prattling about her new life in France. Even amid the turmoil, I could tell that she wanted me to be jealous. Bloody Moya. I ended the conversation politely but firmly.
I thought that the decent thing for me to do was to leave the house immediately. Not permanently, you understand. I thought there was more chance of Alice getting up off the floor if I wasn’t looming over her. I went to get my coat from its peg in the hall. It was a little difficult to fasten the buttons. My hands suddenly seemed to be too large for my gloves.
• • •
Two hours later, I was on my third brandy in Nash’s. Nervously I buttoned and unbuttoned my shirt cuffs. It is a habit from childhood, a thing I do when I am distressed. Even John-Joe commented on my rattled demeanor when he served me. Brandy would not have been my normal tipple. But I had had a shock, you see. Now I was drunk.
I wanted to phone Alice to see if she was all right, but I had left my cell phone in the house in my hurried exit, and I thought that perhaps borrowing somebody’s phone would make a bigger deal of the situation than it warranted. Don’t get me wrong, I knew it was serious. A significant error of judgment had been made. She should not have ended up on the floor.
I am aware that I am not the easiest of people. Alice has told me so. I have no friends, for example. I used to, many years ago, but that really didn’t work out. We drifted apart and I let them go—voluntarily, I suppose. Friends are just people who remind you of your failings. I have several acquaintances. I have no family either to speak of. Not in the sense that matters.
Over the years, Alice has never pried, has never been too curious. In fact, I would describe her as habitually obedient with just an occasional rebellion. I am not, have never been, violent.
I went to the bar and bought a packet of cigarettes. Strong ones. I was worried that my hands were still unsteady. Isn’t brandy supposed to help at a time like this? Or is that an old wives’ tale? Old wives.
Outside in the “beer garden” (a yard with half a roof beside the front door), I lit my first cigarette in years. Barney Dwyer, a neighbor from the Villas, approached from the public bar. Barney spent more time in the beer garden than inside the pub.
“Thought you quit?” he said.
“Jaysus,” he said, a swagger in his voice, sucking on a Rothmans, “they couldn’t break me.”
Here we go. Barney prided himself on his forty-a-day habit. When the smoking ban was introduced, most of us did our best to quit. I am proud to say that I was the first to succeed. I became known as the man with a “will of iron.” Barney, on the other hand, made no such attempt. If Barney had never smoked, he would have started the day the ban was introduced. A contrary bugger if ever there was one. Thin head, big ears.
“Welcome back,” he said.
“I’m not back. I’m just having the one. It’s been a bad day.”
“Jaysus, Oliver, it’s never just the one. You’re back on the smokes. Face it.”
I threw my almost-smoked cigarette on the ground. Stamped on it. Tossed the packet containing nineteen cigarettes at Barney.
“Keep them,” I said. “Go on, kill yourself.”
• • •
My wife had finally brought out the worst in me. It was most unexpected. I had always been fond of her, in my way. She was a marvelous cook, for example, after all the gourmet cuisine courses I made sure she attended. Also, she could be very athletic in bed, which was nice. It is terribly sad to think of such things now, considering her current state.
We met at the launch of a book she had illustrated back in 1982. My agent wanted me to meet her. He had suggested that she could do the illustrations for a children’s book I’d written that he was pushing around to publishers. I resisted the idea of illustrations initially. They would just distract from my text, I thought, but my agent, I admit it, was right. The drawings made my books far more marketable. We were introduced and I like to think there was an immediate . . . something. “Spark” is not the right word, but an acknowledgment of sorts. Some people call that love at first sight. I am not so naïve.
Neither of us was in the first flush of youth. Both in our late twenties, I think. But she was lovely in a soft way. I liked her quietness and she made little or no demands on me. She just accepted whatever attention I gave her and then withdrew into the background without complaint when I didn’t require her presence.
The wedding happened very quickly. There was nothing to be gained by waiting around. Her frail mother and half-witted brother stood behind us at the altar. No family on my side, of course. We didn’t bother with the palaver of a hotel reception. We had a rowdy meal in a city-center bistro owned by a former college friend, Michael. Barney was there. Back then I quite liked him. He was very emotional at the wedding, more than anybody else. One couldn’t blame him, I suppose.
We rented a spacious flat in Merrion Square for a few years. I insisted on a big place because I needed privacy to write. I can only write behind a locked door.
Those were good times. We made a bit of money when nobody else did. It made financial sense that we would collaborate on what was becoming quite a successful series. During the day we would retreat to our separate corners to work. Me, producing my books. She, cleverly matching pictures to my words. She was good at it too. Her work flattered mine appropriately.
I became quite well-known as a critic and occasional scribe for the weekend newspapers and for an infrequent guest spot on televised talk shows. In those days, everyone was more discreet and low-key about their achievements, their successes. Not like current times—I can’t tell you how often in the last decade I was approached about partaking in a “reality” show. Heaven forbid. Alice avoided all of that, which suited me really. She didn’t like the limelight, and she underestimated her own contribution to the success of my books, insisting that my work was more important, that she was just a doodler. She was timid and didn’t even want it known that we were a husband-and-wife team in case she would be “forced onto television.” Rather sweet, and it meant that for a lot of the time I could continue my life as a seemingly single man. It had its rewards. Truthfully, she couldn’t have been a better partner.
Alice’s mother died suddenly in 1986, at the end of our fourth year of marriage. Thanks be to God. I can’t stand old people. Can’t stand it even more now that I am getting to be one.
I used to make excuses to avoid visiting her and her doily-draped furniture. Used to pretend to be too busy to eat with them when she came to visit us. It was never pleasant to witness her struggling with her dentures, the half-wit dribbling by her side. Her death was a mixed blessing. We got the house. But we also got Alice’s imbecilic brother. The house is quite a pile on Pembroke Avenue. The brother goes by the name of Eugene.
Alice begged me to let her keep him. Until now, that was the biggest upset in our marriage. Bad enough to have a child, but this was a twenty-seven-year-old, two-hundred-pound dolt we were talking about. Eventually I had him accommodated in a home for the “mentally handicapped,” or “special needs,” or whatever they are calling them this year, at considerable personal expense.
When we got engaged, I made it very clear that children were not on the agenda. Well, I said I didn’t want children, and she agreed. I should have got that in writing. She must have been extraordinarily besotted with me to sacrifice something so fundamental to her in order to marry me. Maybe she thought I would change my mind, because it seems that lots of men do. Or maybe she knew that if I didn’t marry her, I’d marry the next quiet one that came along.
Of course, five years into our marriage, Alice began to whine and grew more shrill with each passing month. I reminded her of our agreement. She claimed that at the time, that was what she had wanted too, but now she desperately wanted a child. I am nothing if not a man of my word.
I couldn’t depend on her to protect herself, so I took control. I made a ritual of bedtime cocoa with a little crushed pill as an added extra. Alice thought that was so romantic.
I haven’t exactly been a saint within our marriage. Women, by and large, are attracted to me, and I do not like to disappoint them. Women you would never expect. Even Moya, for God’s sake. I eventually resent the ones who try to cling.
In later years, I had begun to satisfy myself with some tarts that operated near the canal. I never objected to them, even before I became a client. They were objects of curiosity. They were cheaper and more desperate, mostly addicts with raddled bodies and ropey veins but perfectly adequate for my needs. I would order them into a shower before any congress was allowed and I always provided a new toothbrush. Some of them took it for a gift. Pathetic. They are usually too emaciated to be good-looking. One would think that they might make an effort to make themselves attractive. Alas, they were only selling their various orifices; the packaging was immaterial. But still, they held a fascination for me. After all, my mother was one, or so my father said.
• • •
Returning to the house on the night Alice pushed me too far, I fumbled with the key in the door. I stepped into the dining room. She wasn’t on the floor, thank God. She was sitting in the kitchen, nursing a mug of tea. Her hand rubbed at her face. She looked at me without affection. I noticed that her jaw was quite red on the right-hand side. No bruise. Yet. I looked at her. Smiled.
The wooden box in which I had locked away my darkest secrets lay open on the table in the hall, its lid agape, lock smashed, contents violated.
“Liar!” she said, her voice breaking.
It was clear that she intended to ruin me.
The second time I hit Alice, I just couldn’t stop. I am very sorry about that indeed. I have been in control of my life since I was eighteen years old, and to lose control is a failing. Needless to say, I am not allowed to visit her in the hospital. It is silly really. It is February 2012, so it’s been three months now. In her condition, she wouldn’t know if I was there or not.
It turns out that I am a violent man after all. It comes as a shock to me. I have been psychologically assessed. I decided to tell them almost everything. Apparently, I have been harboring bitterness, resentment, and frustration since my childhood. Now, there’s a surprise.
What will the neighbors think? What will anybody think?
I really couldn’t care less.
Reading Group Guide
This readers group guide for Unraveling Oliver includes an introduction, discussion questions, and ideas for enhancing your book club. The suggested questions are intended to help your reading group find new and interesting angles and topics for your discussion. We hope that these ideas will enrich your conversation and increase your enjoyment of the book
Oliver Ryan, also known as the celebrated children’s book author Vincent Dax, is handsome, charismatic, and successful. Oliver’s stories are an international publishing sensation and illustrated by his devoted wife and professional partner, Alice. Their life together is one of enviable privilege and ease—until, one evening after a delightful dinner, Oliver delivers a blow to Alice that renders her unconscious and subsequently beats her into a coma.
In the aftermath of such an unthinkable event, as Alice hovers between life and death, the couple’s friends, neighbors, and acquaintances try to understand what could have driven Oliver to commit such a horrific act. Oliver’s story unfolds in a psychological study of his mysterious past; the layers are peeled away to reveal a life of shame, envy, deception, and masterful manipulation.
Topics and Questions for Discussion
1. Is Oliver a reliable narrator? Do you trust him more or less as a narrator as you learn more about him throughout the novel? Why?
2. Consider this passage from Oliver’s narration: “Apparently, you are supposed to learn the facts of life and the etiquette of how to treat women from your mother, or, failing that, your father. I learned instead by osmosis” (p. 31). What does Oliver fail to learn in his childhood about how to treat women?
3. How does the chorus of narrators bring Oliver’s character into focus? Is there any narrator that you would have liked to hear more from? Whose story isn’t represented among the narrators?
4. Why does Oliver not want to have children? Does his reason for not wanting children change throughout the book?
5. How might things have turned out differently for the characters of the novel if Barney hadn’t encouraged Alice to go away to a Greek island with Oliver? Do you think Oliver and Alice would have still gotten together? Why or why not?
6. Do you think Philip and Oliver’s father, Francis, was a good father to Philip? Was he capable of being a good father?
7. Family means very different things to Madame Véronique and her father, Monsieur d’Aigse, than the conservative Irish in the book. Why does Véronique choose to have Jean-Luc out of wedlock? Consider how Oliver’s father, Laura, Oliver, and others would have approached the same situation.
8. Oliver says he truly felt like a father to Jean-Luc. Do you think Oliver knows what a father is supposed to be? Does he know what being a father is supposed to feel like? Why or why not?
9. Why do you think Laura and Oliver’s relationship disintegrates? What role do the events of the summer in Bordeaux play? What role does Oliver himself play?
10. Oliver laments, “How could I even begin to explain that I only meant to be a hero, and not a murderer?” (p. 231). Do you believe him? Why or why not? Does he take responsibility for his actions?
11. Many of the parents (Mrs. O’Reilly, Monsieur d’Aigse, the Condells) in the book are only trying to guide their children into fruitful relationships, safe marriages. Who is successful at this end?
12. Father Daniel tells Oliver the story of his mother, the little that he knows. Does that make a difference? Does Oliver believe him? Would you have believed Father Daniel’s story?
13. Madame Véronique and Alice both discover the secret of Oliver’s locked box. Did you guess his secret? Why do you think Oliver did what he did?
14. Which characters are ultimately undone by family secrets? Could any of them have been saved by forgiveness? Who, and why?
15. What lengths will Oliver go to in order to protect his secrets? Does he make the right choice in keeping his final secret in the epilogue? Is that his redemption? Why or why not?
16. Do you think Oliver would have grown up to be a monster if he had a normal childhood? At what point did his life turn bad? Which decisions could he have made differently?
Enhance Your Book Club
1. The Prince Sparkle stories make Oliver, aka Vincent Dax, an international publishing sensation. Some say that they are metaphors for good and evil, allegorical references to the tragedies of WWII. Who would the main character be in your own illustrated series for children? What lessons or morals would you want to teach to children?
2. Unraveling Oliver won the Crime Fiction prize in the 2014 Irish Book Awards. Explore other Irish crime novels, such as Tana French’s Dublin Murder Squad series or John Connolly’s Every Dead Thing, with your book club and compare similar themes between the books.
3. Unraveling Oliver is Liz Nugent’s first novel. Learn more about the author by visiting her website (http://www.liznugent.ie/), and following her on Twitter @lizzienugent.
4. If Alice were to narrate a chapter, what do you think she would have to say?
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
Very good writing. Could not put this book down,read in one sitting. Very intriguing and interesting. Characters well developed. The only negative is its only 194 pages.
Thoroughly enjoyed understanding why someone would do something so heinous. A fascinating read
Always happy to discover a new author! This was a story that kept my interest throughout. Very original!
I recommend this book! One of the better books I've read this summer, much better than The Lying Game.
The first line of this novel and the cover sold me on reading it. From there, I should have stopped. As I read, I was seeking an explanation, a reason why, and I was expecting the novel to be twisted and dark because who in their right mind would say such a thing about their wife, unless they were, twisted and dark themselves. After Oliver commits a crime, the novel reflects back over Oliver’s life and tries to piece together where this fiery episode originated from. Reading about Oliver’s previous life and listening to what individuals have to say about Oliver, was not surprising to me. The narration felt tedious after a while and I found nothing fascinating about him. So, what exactly set Oliver off, that made him hit his wife? Why couldn’t Oliver stop this behavior before he ended up putting his wife in a coma? What was up with Oliver? As individuals help to strip down Oliver to his true identity and I attempted to see Oliver for who he truly is, I was hoping for something else besides what the author was providing me. When someone writes, “I expected more of a reaction the first time I hit her.” I expect drama and an enticing read. This just wasn’t a good novel for me and from the reviews, I am the odd man (gal) out on this one.
The first sentence knocks you off your feet and has you latch on until the end. Oliver Ryan has just slugged his wife Alice and surprises himself but not in ways you may think. The rest of the story is a journey back in time to learn more about how Oliver and Alice arrived at this point. It’s not always a traditionally linear look back but it’s never, ever confusing. Sort of like how someone would tell a story and take detours that matter and make the telling more engaging. There are quite a few characters taking the narrative and I’m so very, very glad multiple narrators were used in the audio performance. They all seemed to nail their characters (personality, attitudes, accents and dialects) and I always knew who was sharing. The story itself was just fascinating, challenging my opinion of Oliver at very juncture and ending with me having mixed feelings about him, even fighting with myself about where I landed. This would be an excellent book for discussion and I wish I’d partnered with someone. It’s hard to believe this is a debut novel as the writing is seamless and the charactizations are outstanding. While it’s pretty short, it definitely unravels Oliver almost perfectly as well as most of those who came within his orbit. I highly recommend this psychological thriller as it surpassed all my expectations. And, don’t miss the opportunity to listen to it if you decide to add it to your shelf. That experience was excellent and I finished it in one day.
Thank you to Netgalley, the publisher and Liz Nugent for providing me with an ARC in exchange for an honest review. Rating 4.5 stars Wow! I could not put this down!!! It is a short read but so much is jam packed. Don’t worry, it flows beautifully and the mystery unravels (haha) slowly. Very well written with characters that are so delicious that you want to eat them up and go back for seconds! Hmm I might have been reading this under the table while at a family dinner. Sorry folks, but I just had to finish - the suspense was killing me. First, you have to enjoy novels that tell a story by having each chapter set up as a different character’s point of view. I notice in some reviews people have a hard time with that. I personally love it. Liz Nugent does a really good job so you still might want to give this one a try. I will admit to going back and reading some of the pov’s over again because as I started to put a little more of the story together, I wanted to go back and see how it all tied together. Because it isn’t a thousand pages, I could easily do this without losing the momentum of the story in real time. There was one piece of the mystery that was left hanging and I couldn’t find the answer anywhere. Oliver mentions that his pseudonym was an homage and I couldn’t figure out what he meant. Did anyone figure out what he meant? So, what’s it all about. Well Oliver, obviously! It starts out with the main event. Oliver hits his wife - POW - and knocks her out cold. Well, to be fair, he beats the crap out of her and she never regains consciousness. We never hear from Alice and can only glean what she is thinking and feeling from other characters. No one really knows Oliver either. His past is shrouded in mystery and he reveals almost nothing about himself. To be fair, most psychopaths don’t. They love to shape themselves into some fantasy of who they think they should be. Oliver doesn’t let anyone in, even the reader. The most emotion Oliver reveals is right in the beginning when he loses control and beats Alice. He is a dark character and finding out how he ticks, why he did what he did is a fascinating tale.
Easy and quick read of a sociopath through the lens of the people around him and the wake of destruction and despair left behind. Not the best treatment on the subject.
Thank you to Simon & Schuster and NetGalley for providing me with an e-copy of Unraveling Oliver by Liz Nugent in exchange for an honest review. The story begins with Oliver Ryan, a best-selling children's author, violently beating his wife, who is also the illustrator of his books. From that point on, the novel goes back in time. Each chapter is narrated by a different person, each involved in the life of Oliver. Unraveling Oliver peels back the layers of Oliver's life, leading up to the domestic violence, revealing how his life brought him to sink to such a level.. I highly recommend this book, especially if you like reading psychological suspense. There is much to enjoy here. A captivating read.
It's midnight. I have to go to bed. But I'm not sure I can. I started this book casually this evening. It has not let me out if its grasp since. 61% through in mere hours. Completely messed up villain/opening incident. --- Fini!! Richly textured. Never read a protagonist who is also the villain like this. Highly recommend. Someone else read it quick so we can talk about the ending!
Well-crafted, original story.
I don't think this is a thriller. For me it was a description of a sick person destroying everyone and everything in his way. I didn't like Oliver one bit. He was evil and manipulative and a narcissist. It was sad to see all the broken people he left behind, when he got what he wanted and moved on. How could Alice live with him for such along time and not see the real Oliver? I think Barney might be the only one I liked, everyone else was just making me mad for some reason or other. I found that, for me, the book was very slow and it took me a while to get into the story. But if you like your story enfolding and building up the mystery slowly, then you have to give this book a chance. I chose to read this book and all opinions in this review are my own and completely unbiased. Thanks to NetGalley and Gallery, Threshold, Pocket Books!
Oliver, a self-centered man with few feelings for anyone else, was one hell of a bad guy. However, can you blame him? He was sent to boarding school when he was six by a father who gave him no paternal support and left him with the knowledge that his mother was a prostitute. His father never visited or communicated with him in any way other than to exact the sheer amount of hatred he felt for his son. When Oliver beats his wife of several decades, years later, and puts her into a coma, the book goes back and takes a look at Oliver's life. Told from many viewpoints, including the priest who ran the school, and none from his real father, it tells a very eye opening story. I could not believe some of the thoughts and actions of this man. And I can say, I was hooked from the very beginning. How can someone be this mean? Can I really feel sorry for him? Was this nature or nurture? A story that I found I could not put down as the real reason Oliver slapped Alice is not revealed until the end. A story that I just had to get to the bottom of this guy. Thanks to Gallery, Threshold, Pocket Books, Scott Press and Net Galley for providing me with a free e-galley in exchange for an honest, unbiased review.
Unraveling Oliver is an outstanding, captivating, and unforgettable psychological dark thriller. It’s hard to believe that this book is Liz Nugent’s debut novel. Unraveling Oliver is an intriguing, superbly written and brilliant read. Oliver Ryan was severely neglected by his father. He was left at a boarding school until his college years. He would watch from the school window the house his father lived in with the family he was supposed to be part of. His father paid for his boarding school, but that was the extent of his care. Oliver would watch his father from the window interact with his half brother, but never him. Did Oliver become evil because of his upbringing or was he born that way? The book begins with Oliver Ryan beating his wife, Alice, into a coma. Everyone was shocked that a famous writer of children’s books, could be so viciously violent, especially to a person he supposedly loved. Alice was a kind, loyal wife, and a great supporter of Oliver’s writing. She was the illustrator for all of his books. Every chapter in the book is narrated by either Oliver or a significant person in his life. They tell the story of what he was like as a child, a teen, a husband, and finally a famous author. Oliver’s life literally unravels for the reader. When I read about the treatment, he received from his father as a child; I felt sorry for him. But that changed after high school. When Oliver attended college, he had his first taste of freedom, and he loved it. He learned very quickly that he could use his charismatic charm to his advantage. Except for his father’s approval, Oliver got whatever he wanted. Oliver was a polite; handsome man and was able to use his desirability to manipulate people. In a word, Oliver Ryan was irresistible, and he knew it. As Oliver’s evil deeds began to add up, he hid his true self. Not even Alice knew who her husband really was. That would all change, though, when his past caught up with him. Don’t miss reading this extraordinary and engrossing book. I highly recommend it. Thank you, Gallery/Scout Press and NetGalley, for my advanced review copy. I loved it!
Truth be told, I’m not sure there has ever been a more aptly titled book. The entire book is dedicated to understanding how a man who is seemingly successful, well-adjusted and happily married, could come off his hinges so suddenly and beat his wife into a permanent coma. How do we come to that understanding? By unraveling his past. Some books are written to inform, to educate, to broaden perspective. Some are written to entertain. This book is certainly the former. It’s thoughtfully written, offering insight into the inner workings of a man who appeared to have it all. What could have caused him to act out so violently, to throw everything away in an instant? Isn’t a person who could do such a thing evil and inhuman? As we flash back to Oliver’s past, getting to know where he came from, how he became who he is, getting to hear the voices of those from his past, it gets harder and harder to label him evil. There are even points at which I felt some empathy for him, and given what he did, that was a bit of a hard pill to swallow. And that’s what I loved most about this book. It is very easy to read about violence and crime in the papers or watch it on the news and dismiss those involved as evil incarnate. But the world isn’t truly that black and white. People aren’t ever only one thing. Sure, there are serial killers, and sadists who derive pleasure from causing as much pain as possible, and they are rarely normal people. But that doesn’t mean they never were normal. More often than not, something happened to them in their early development that damaged them in irreparable ways. Are there sociopaths and psychopaths in the world? Certainly. But statistically speaking, most of them don’t beat their wives into a coma or go on killing sprees. As much as we’d like to believe it is so, violent criminals are not born evil. Given a certain type of upbringing (likely paired with certain genetic traits), anyone could grow up, live a seemingly normal life, and then lose it one day. But that is too scary a thought for us to contemplate, so we label all criminals as losers or evil and dismiss them as inhuman, other. This book examines the past of someone who finally lost it one day, after keeping it together for most of his life, and offers an alternative answer to the question – Why did he do it? While I did not like Oliver, I had empathy for what he went through, how he found himself where he did. Not a light book or a fun book, but certainly one worth reading. Note: I received this book from the publisher via NetGalley. I pride myself on writing fair and honest reviews.