THE NEXT MRS. PARRISH

The bitch is back!

After four intervening novels of varying success, the sisters who write as Constantine have returned to the well, bringing back the craven sociopathic hussy we loved to hate in their breakout debut, The Last Mrs. Parrish (2017). The good news is, Amber Patterson Parrish, a.k.a. Lana Crump, is worse than ever. As the novel opens, she’s visiting her handsome, deeply horrible husband, Jackson, at Camp Fed, where he’s soon to wrap up his sentence and return to Amber’s loathing arms. “Amber had worried at first that the scandal would make her per­sona non grata in Bishops Harbor, but apparently tax evasion was a crime that didn’t garner much antipathy among the one-percenters.” Each of them has plans to dump the other just as soon as they can get through the welcome home party, and each has their own evil scheme for what happens after that. His: to get back the first Mrs. Parrish—sweet, confused, abused Daphne, who took the girls and moved to California after the divorce, where she divides her time between much-needed therapy and her cystic fibrosis nonprofit. Hers: to rob him blind and fly the coop, dumping little Jackson Junior with the nanny. I mean, he’s cute, but...you gotta do what you gotta do. What Amber doesn’t know is that Daisy Ann Briscoe, whose father was so briefly married to Amber that Daisy Ann didn’t even know Amber existed before he died “in a hunting accident,” has alternate plans for her former stepmother. She just has to find a way to prove what actually happened out in those Colorado woods. There’s no manipulative unreliable narrator, no contrived backstory shoehorned in at the eleventh hour, and the over-the-topness—like Amber meeting a shady diamond dealer named Mr. Stones—reads as funny and intentional. You go, ladies.

The timeless battle between good and evil has never been trashier. Hooray.