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THE GOLDBERG MUTILATIONS

A remarkably original achievement.

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In D’Stair’s novel, a gruesome murder is committed in famous pianist Glenn Gould’s hotel room, compelling him to defend his innocence.

Glenn Gould wakes up in a hotel room he has no memory of checking into, alarmingly separated from the potpourri of pills that permit him to navigate life. The scene he discovers in his room is as bizarre as it is macabre—a woman has been hacked to death with a hatchet, and a record player that is not his own is playing a recording of him (he doesn’t own that either) performing the Goldberg Variations on repeat. Stuffed in the victim’s mouth is a crumpled piece of paper on which is printed a hostile review of one of his performances, written by the critic Paul Henry Lang. Later, Gould learns the dead woman is a housekeeper who thought ill of him. Detective Inspector Dziurzynski interviews Gould and points out plainly how incriminating the scene is. Gould protests he is not only innocent but bewildered, lost in a “placid, medicinal haze,” his “nervous system in a state of fray”; the musician’s relentlessly neurotic condition is vividly and humorously depicted by the author in this enchantingly peculiar novel. Lang turns up dead next—he is killed within a day of the housekeeper’s demise—but Gould insists, despite mounting evidence to the contrary, that his hands are clean. The possibilities are many; maybe Gould is being framed? Of course, if he is not the killer, surely his life is in grave danger. As Dziurzynski notes: “If what I believe is correct, Mister Gould, there is someone very dangerous standing behind you, in the dark, breathing down your neck. They’ve proven themselves not only vicious, but calculating. Patient. In one way or another, however unwittingly, you are their link to whichever macabre impulse fuels this blood-thirsty endeavor.”

D’Stair has composed a grippingly deconstructed version of the classic crime drama—not only is it never entirely obvious who the killer is, it’s never certain Gould can rule himself out. It might even be the case there is another Glenn Gould somewhere, a doppelgänger of sorts. The reader will never solve the crime or predict the novel’s defiantly strange ending—that is a decisive neatness the author seems intent on undermining. D’Stair paints a dizzying picture that is deliciously complex; apparently, there is nothing as philosophically intractable as murder. As Dziurzynski declaims: “Murder is gonna be the most convoluted kerfuffle imaginable. Not even imaginable! A happenstance so outside typical human experience the truth of any instance would sound farcical if laid out by barristers to jury-folk.” The dialogue between Dziurzynski and Gould can be a touch cute—snappy one-liners are exchanged with a manufactured alacrity and a contrived rhetorical refinement. But even this literary hyperbole seems appropriate if understood as an ironic comment on the detective genre, a reinvention of a style that must be as much commandeered as it is renovated. Either way, the prose is never a fatal distraction, and one can’t help but be fascinated by Gould’s compelling amalgam of genius and mental disability. This is a thrillingly unconventional novel, one that successfully reinvents an old literary convention from the inside.

A remarkably original achievement.

Pub Date: today

ISBN: 9798348359539

Page Count: 508

Publisher: Late Marriage Press

Review Posted Online: March 7, 2025

Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 15, 2025

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THE SILENT PATIENT

Amateurish, with a twist savvy readers will see coming from a mile away.

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A woman accused of shooting her husband six times in the face refuses to speak.

"Alicia Berenson was thirty-three years old when she killed her husband. They had been married for seven years. They were both artists—Alicia was a painter, and Gabriel was a well-known fashion photographer." Michaelides' debut is narrated in the voice of psychotherapist Theo Faber, who applies for a job at the institution where Alicia is incarcerated because he's fascinated with her case and believes he will be able to get her to talk. The narration of the increasingly unrealistic events that follow is interwoven with excerpts from Alicia's diary. Ah, yes, the old interwoven diary trick. When you read Alicia's diary you'll conclude the woman could well have been a novelist instead of a painter because it contains page after page of detailed dialogue, scenes, and conversations quite unlike those in any journal you've ever seen. " 'What's the matter?' 'I can't talk about it on the phone, I need to see you.' 'It's just—I'm not sure I can make it up to Cambridge at the minute.' 'I'll come to you. This afternoon. Okay?' Something in Paul's voice made me agree without thinking about it. He sounded desperate. 'Okay. Are you sure you can't tell me about it now?' 'I'll see you later.' Paul hung up." Wouldn't all this appear in a diary as "Paul wouldn't tell me what was wrong"? An even more improbable entry is the one that pins the tail on the killer. While much of the book is clumsy, contrived, and silly, it is while reading passages of the diary that one may actually find oneself laughing out loud.

Amateurish, with a twist savvy readers will see coming from a mile away.

Pub Date: Feb. 5, 2019

ISBN: 978-1-250-30169-7

Page Count: 304

Publisher: Celadon Books

Review Posted Online: Nov. 3, 2018

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Nov. 15, 2018

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A CONSPIRACY OF BONES

Forget about solving all these crimes; the signal triumph here is (spoiler) the heroine’s survival.

Another sweltering month in Charlotte, another boatload of mysteries past and present for overworked, overstressed forensic anthropologist Temperance Brennan.

A week after the night she chases but fails to catch a mysterious trespasser outside her town house, some unknown party texts Tempe four images of a corpse that looks as if it’s been chewed by wild hogs, because it has been. Showboat Medical Examiner Margot Heavner makes it clear that, breaking with her department’s earlier practice (The Bone Collection, 2016, etc.), she has no intention of calling in Tempe as a consultant and promptly identifies the faceless body herself as that of a young Asian man. Nettled by several errors in Heavner’s analysis, and even more by her willingness to share the gory details at a press conference, Tempe launches her own investigation, which is not so much off the books as against the books. Heavner isn’t exactly mollified when Tempe, aided by retired police detective Skinny Slidell and a host of experts, puts a name to the dead man. But the hints of other crimes Tempe’s identification uncovers, particularly crimes against children, spur her on to redouble her efforts despite the new M.E.’s splenetic outbursts. Before he died, it seems, Felix Vodyanov was linked to a passenger ferry that sank in 1994, an even earlier U.S. government project to research biological agents that could control human behavior, the hinky spiritual retreat Sparkling Waters, the dark web site DeepUnder, and the disappearances of at least four schoolchildren, two of whom have also turned up dead. And why on earth was Vodyanov carrying Tempe’s own contact information? The mounting evidence of ever more and ever worse skulduggery will pull Tempe deeper and deeper down what even she sees as a rabbit hole before she confronts a ringleader implicated in “Drugs. Fraud. Breaking and entering. Arson. Kidnapping. How does attempted murder sound?”

Forget about solving all these crimes; the signal triumph here is (spoiler) the heroine’s survival.

Pub Date: March 17, 2020

ISBN: 978-1-9821-3888-2

Page Count: 352

Publisher: Scribner

Review Posted Online: Dec. 22, 2019

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 15, 2020

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