Hall interrogates whether a man can be a “good man”—and from whose perspective.
Running from his failed marriage, Cole, the narrator, leaves London for England’s South Coast, where he takes up animal trapping and tries to get over his ex-wife. Soon, in his somewhat tentative way, he’s making gentle moves on his new neighbor, an artist. For her part, Lennie seems to appreciate Cole’s companionship, even as she’s not ready to sleep with him yet. Then, on New Year’s Eve, two young women who’ve been hiking through the south of England to raise money to help female victims of violence go missing. Their disappearance follows a recent confrontation with Cole, and it soon appears he may be a suspect. This is the first third of Hall’s novel; then suddenly she pulls the rug. Part Two offers backstory in the voice of Cole’s ex-wife, Mel. By the time Part Three begins, the rug has been pulled once again. In addition to these narrative voices, Hall includes excerpts from Twitter and various news outlets, an artist statement by Lennie, and interview transcripts, so the novel emerges through layers of perspective and interpretation, all pointing to a single question with incredibly complicated optics: Is it enough for a man to be “good” if he still refuses to listen, if he lives comfortably ensconced in the language and power of the patriarchy? Lately, it seems like every thriller wants to weigh in on the post-#MeToo landscape, and the better ones—and Hall’s definitely is—find some nuance in the commentary. The only thing that niggles is whether Cole deserves to have a say—the first and longest one, at that—in the novel. There’s something ironic about bemoaning the supremacy of the male voice and also offering quite a bit of perspective from the lone male character, but the approach does emphasize the way society’s expectations vary wildly for a “good man” versus a “good woman.”
Could this novel exist without the male voice—or should it? Hard to say, but it’s a fascinating read.