A. Rae Dunlap’s The Resurrectionist is a heartfelt yet gruesome historical thriller following two body snatchers as they fall in love and evade Burke and Hare.
A. Rae Dunlap’s The Resurrectionist is a heartfelt yet gruesome historical thriller following two body snatchers as they fall in love and evade Burke and Hare.
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It’s evident from the first page of Clear My Name that Paula Daly’s heroine, investigator Tess Gilroy, is as adept at keeping secrets as she is at uncovering them. Between Tess and Carrie, the woman she’s trying to prove innocent of murder, we’re left with two narrators who are simultaneously sympathetic and also inherently unreliable. Add exquisite pacing and a plot with some real twists, and you have a recipe for a book bound to keep you up all night.

A former probation officer, Tess is now the chief investigator for a group called Innocence UK that works to free the wrongfully convicted. Her latest case brings her back home to the small town she fled. She’s investigating the murder conviction of Carrie Kamara, a woman serving a 15-year sentence for killing her husband’s mistress. Many of the details surrounding Carrie’s case seem weak and the police work potentially shoddy, but Carrie was never able to account for how her blood was found in the victim’s home. That forensic detail was enough to see her incarcerated.

Even as Tess digs into Carrie’s deeply troubled marriage and her complicated relationship with her daughter, we can sense her unease at being back home. Tess thinks she’s being followed, and she’s avoiding contact with someone from her past. The competing mysteries of Tess’ past and Carrie’s true involvement in the murder make Clear My Name feel tightly wound, with threads of paranoia woven throughout. Tess is used to false claims of innocence, and even as she is reluctant to believe Carrie, we know we also cannot trust Tess.

Eventually Tess’ and Carrie’s narratives collide in a way that is genuinely shocking. The last quarter of this mystery doesn’t so much as unfold as it explodes; the tension is at a fever pitch and the final revelations are genuinely surprising.

With a wonderfully executed mystery and two unreliable narrators, Clear My Name straddles the line between psychological thriller and good old-fashioned whodunit.

It’s evident from the first page of Clear My Name that Paula Daly’s heroine, investigator Tess Gilroy, is as adept at keeping secrets as she is at uncovering them.

Stephen King’s The Institute is already drawing comparisons to a couple of his older works, Firestarter and It, as well as to the Netflix sensation “Stranger Things.” And with good reason—The Institute includes a ragtag collection of adolescents banding together against a common enemy, a shady organization exploiting children for their unique “gifts.” But whether King is chasing “Stranger Things” or “Stranger Things” is chasing King, the result is the same: shocking suspense and hallmark thrills.

In an unexpected move, King opens The Institute with a Jack Reacher-like drifter named Tim Jamieson, who takes a job as a “night knocker” with the sheriff’s department in rural Dupray, South Carolina. It’s more than 50 pages later before we meet the novel’s true protagonist, young prodigy Luke Ellis, whose parents are trying to get him into a prestigious school where his unique intellect will be challenged.

But Luke’s world is shattered when he is kidnapped from his Minneapolis home in the middle of the night by a team of highly skilled special operatives. He awakens in a room made to look like his own, though the illusion stops at the door. Once outside his room, Luke finds himself in a strange facility somewhere in Maine. He soon learns he’s not alone, as other kids, ranging in age from 10 to 16, are also being held prisoner. King conveys Luke’s confusion, shock, hopelessness and grief in convincing and heart-wrenching fashion.

The concept of family separation takes on an eerie weight here, with unsettling parallels between the events of the novel and the real-life images we see on the news of kids huddled under silver mylar blankets in cramped cages at the U.S.–Mexico border. In a thinly veiled comparison to callous border patrol agents, Luke’s adult captors lack compassion and are  often downright cruel. 

But King ramps up the cruelty even further, subjecting Luke to physical and mental abuse that, at times, readers may find hard to sit through. Luke and the other kids get slapped around, are forced to receive mysterious injections that cause convulsions and are nearly drowned in a sensory deprivation tank, all to awaken the kids’ latent telepathic or telekinetic powers. The kids are promised that, if they do as they are told, they’ll have their memories wiped and be returned home to their parents as if nothing ever happened. Good behavior is rewarded with tokens to purchase snacks or even alcohol and cigarettes. Kids can even buy time on a computer, though internet access is restricted.

After gaining the trust and help of one of the Institute’s support staff, Luke makes a break for freedom. His escape brings him to South Carolina, where Tim Jamieson finally reenters the story just in time to aid Luke in a final confrontation with the Institute’s baddies.

King makes no effort to hide his distaste for Trump, as he takes a direct jab at him in the book’s waning pages. Political leanings aside, The Institute offers a thrilling reading experience and rousing tribute to the resilience of children and the unending fight against evil.

Stephen King’s The Institute is already drawing comparisons to a couple of his older works, Firestarter and It, as well as to the Netflix sensation “Stranger Things.” And with good reason—The Institute includes a ragtag collection of adolescents banding together against a common enemy, a shady…

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Semi-starving Los Angeles freelance writer Jaine Austen (no relation to the famed author) is thrilled to be reuniting with her ex-husband despite the protestations of her cat, Prozac, and neighbor, Lance. When she lands a gig ghostwriting a smutty novel for an heiress, it feels like everything’s coming up roses. Not so fast, though. Death of a Gigolo is a humorous whodunit that’s as zippy as a triple-shot latte.

Laura Levine’s latest Jaine Austen mystery takes flight when a young man named Tommy woos Jaine’s new boss, Daisy Kincaid. Daisy’s staff hates Tommy, and with good reason; he’s bleeding her dry financially while hitting on the women who work for her. When he turns up with a knife in his neck, nobody’s sorry to see the last of him, but that means everyone’s a suspect. So Jaine tries to get to the bottom of things while also cranking out Daisy’s proposed bestseller, Fifty Shades of Turquoise. Subplots about Jaine’s parents (told entirely via emails) and the oddball guru her ex-husband has fallen in with are funny additions to the main story that weave together at the end. Running commentary and strategic hairballs from Prozac add to the fun while Jaine tries to pin down the killer.

This mystery has a deep bench of suspects and eliminates them with the precision of Agatha Christie. It would be equally at home beside the swimming pool or next to the fireplace on a dark and stormy night.

Death of a Gigolo is a whodunit that’s as zippy as a triple-shot latte.

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Stella Reid has barely corralled the seven young ones who call her “Granny” when disaster threatens their beloved fall tradition. Murder in the Corn Maze, G.A. McKevett’s second Granny Reid mystery, brings small-town heart to an especially tough case.

Granny has barely sorted the kids into who is and is not going through the annual corn maze in McGill, Georgia, when granddaughter Savannah (who, as an adult, stars in McKevett’s other cozy series) finds a skull in the mud. There are signs that this body may be the mother of Stella’s dear friend and that the killer may have been behind the murder of her own mother. No wonder Stella protects her grandkids with such ferocity.

Stella struggles with the ghosts of her past while dealing with the challenge of keeping food on the table for seven kids, to say nothing of refereeing their squabbles. She’s stern but sets a good example that they try their best to follow. It’s a special treat to see young Savannah deal with her early childhood trauma by channeling all her energy into the study of law enforcement, digging in to help solve the case while compartmentalizing the traumatic nature of her discovery.

The story incorporates heavy topics like the legacy of slavery and mistreatment of Native Americans without overwhelming what is ultimately a small-town page turner. The conclusion is chilling, but readers will be hungry for the next installment of this warm-hearted, 1980s-set series.

Stella Reid has barely corralled the seven young ones who call her “Granny” when disaster threatens their beloved fall tradition. Murder in the Corn Maze, G.A. McKevett’s second Granny Reid mystery, brings small-town heart to an especially tough case.

Reading The Warehouse is a kind of nightmare. Its near-future dystopia seems startlingly plausible; the split-narrative structure goes round and round like a Lazy Susan; and Rob Hart’s prose feels as densely claustrophobic as the living conditions he has constructed for the disenfranchised millions now working for the Warehouse, the hideous corporate giant (read: Amazon, a few clicks down the road) that has so benevolently, inevitably and horribly rescued the world’s ruined economy.

The novel doesn’t even bother with character development. Why should it? The only thing that matters in this book is the vastness of the nightmare. For this purpose, cardboard will do just as well as flesh and blood. The three main persons in the story (I want to call them “assets”) would literally rather die than be developed. First, there’s ordinary poor sod Paxton, who can’t pay his bills, so he gets on the bus to one of the Warehouse’s mega-centers, passes the entry exam and starts his job as a security officer, color-coded uniform and all. Second, there’s the smart, anti-establishment terrorist Zinnia, who also passes the exam and decides to enlist Paxton’s help to get the dirt on the Warehouse and bring it down.

And then there’s the third figure of Hart’s novel, who lifts the story out of its landfill of clichés, the only one who speaks to us in first person: Gibson, the founder and supreme leader of the Warehouse. It’s Gibson who transcends the book’s cynicism and obvious agenda. As an up-to-date incarnation of the beatific, ruthless redeemer archetype, Gibson elevates The Warehouse to the zone of indispensable satire and dark spiritual inquiry, the space where Dickens, Kafka, Orwell and Koestler reign. These titans of the genre have shown us what it looks like when evil wears the mask of goodness, how it feels when our salvation asks us to abandon all hope and what happens to us when the shining light of progress becomes an all-consuming darkness.

I hope they don’t make a movie out of this book. It’s already impossible to wake up from.

Reading The Warehouse is a kind of nightmare. Its near-future dystopia seems startlingly plausible; the split-narrative structure goes round and round like a Lazy Susan; and Rob Hart’s prose feels as densely claustrophobic as the living conditions he has constructed for the disenfranchised millions now…

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Stolen Things, R.H. Herron’s debut thriller, begins with a rape, a murder and a missing girl. The rape takes place at a gathering of citizens protesting police brutality at a famous football player’s house outside San Francisco. Laurie, an ex-cop who is now a 911 dispatcher, and Omid, her police chief husband, spring into action when they hear that the rape victim is their daughter, Jojo. At the site, Omid has a heart attack, so Laurie is left caring for him and her distraught daughter, as well as facing demons from her past. But to Jojo, the pressing issue is her missing best friend, Harper.

If Laurie calls dispatching “two parts boredom to two parts adrenalin,” then Stolen Things is two parts adrenaline to one part boredom. It combines scenes of everyday family life with riveting encounters between those involved in the crime. The storytelling is as smooth as a veteran ER nurse guiding a victim through trauma. Herron inconspicuously toggles between Laurie’s and Jojo’s perspectives for a seamless account of moment-by-moment action. These two heroines are multifaceted—fun-loving and vivacious as well as deadly serious and efficient.

The book confronts a slew of today’s issues—such as police brutality against black people, #MeToo, institutional scandal and sexual orientation—with pathos and conviction. Chapters are short, emotional bursts of energy that fuel the quest for answers. Each side is given credence and receives critique.

Faint-hearted readers beware; rooted in real events, the tale is graphic at times. The anger is palpable, and so is the love between a mother and daughter willing to fight for each other’s lives.

Jojo and Harper steal jewelry as a prank in high school, but what is stolen from them is much more heinous. Stolen Things explores the lengths we go to recover what is lost.

Stolen Things, R.H. Herron’s debut thriller, begins with a rape, a murder and a missing girl. The rape takes place at a gathering of citizens protesting police brutality at a famous football player’s house outside San Francisco. Laurie, an ex-cop who is now a 911…

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Ruth Ware’s homage to The Turn of the Screw is filled with all of the best gothic elements: an unreliable narrator, an isolated setting, creepy children and a house that functions as its own menacing character. Part epistolary novel, part psychological thriller, The Turn of the Key is compulsively readable and will keep readers guessing until the very last page.

Rowan Caine worries that the live-in nanny job she’s secured may be a little too good to be true. The pay is outstanding, the residence is a beautiful estate in the Scottish Highlands, and the parents want her to start right now. Almost immediately her fears are validated. Her charges, 8-year-old Maddie and 5-year-old Ellie, are fractious and have already burned through several caregivers. The home, Heatherbrae House, is a “smart home,” where every convenience is controlled by an app named “Happy” and every room except the bathrooms are monitored by security cameras. Left alone with two mutinous charges and a house that can be controlled remotely is enough to stretch Rowan to her last nerve.

Those elements are certainly chilling enough (especially when the “Happy” app nightmarishly malfunctions), but Ware expertly weaves in a supernatural element as well. Already fraught, Rowan begins experiencing strange events, like the sound of someone pacing in the supposedly empty, walled-off space above her room, and when objects start going missing or moving seemingly on their own. Then there is the story of a small girl who tragically died of an accidental poisoning in the house decades earlier.

A rational person might quit, but as the novel progresses, we learn that Rowan has secrets of her own, ones she certainly doesn’t want her employers uncovering. All of these twists and turns might feel unwieldy in the hands of another writer, but Ware is adept at managing multiple plot threads and using them to shock her reader.

The beauty of The Turn of the Key is in how it takes the tropes central to the gothic genre, like the isolated haunted house, and gives them a 21st-century spin while still managing to feel fresh and surprising to even the most gothic-averse reader.

Straddling the line between horror and thriller, this novel will delight fans of both genres.

Part epistolary novel, part psychological thriller, The Turn of the Key is compulsively readable and will keep readers guessing until the very last page.

What if someone you loved died and left you a letter plus a few important items? And the letter turned out to be a to-do list for vengeance? And those things were not mementos, but rather a gun, a counterfeit passport and some cash?

In Beijing Payback, California college student Victor Li and his sister, Jules, are stunned when their father, Vincent, a beloved owner of three Chinese restaurants, is murdered. In short order, they discover the aforementioned bizarre and alarming contents of their father’s safe, and a mysterious man named Sun—who knows all about their dad, though they had no idea Sun existed—shows up, ready to assist Victor in going to China to exact revenge on Vincent’s behalf.

It’s a dangerous, quite possibly fatal undertaking (for one thing, Victor’s a college athlete, not an assassin), but he ultimately decides to fulfill his dad’s wishes for one reason: Their comfortable life in suburban America wasn’t due solely to proceeds from the restaurants but from profits earned by the global crime syndicate his father and a few friends founded in post-Mao China.

This is not a typical realizing-your-parents-are-flawed story, to be sure, and debut author Daniel Nieh really goes for it, packing in action, suspense, drama, plus some humor and sexiness, too. The author’s background in Chinese-English translation serves him well, as skillfully employed language throughout evokes Victor’s ties to his Chinese heritage and reinforces his ability to move between cultures as he tries on various personas: basketball player, suave dude, loyal friend, family member . . . and righteous badass?

Drunken college parties give way to terrifying, blood-spattered encounters as the stakes grow ever higher, and Victor must reckon with the truth about his family’s past and its implications for his future in this entertaining, colorful debut.

 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our Q&A with Daniel Nieh about Beijing Payback.

What if someone you loved died and left you a letter plus a few important items? And the letter turned out to be a to-do list for vengeance? And those things were not mementos, but rather a gun, a counterfeit passport and some cash?

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A body falls from the Tarpeian Rock, a looming structure that overlooks the ancient Roman Forum. People assume it’s a suicide, but a woman insists she saw someone push the vitcim. When an investigation is called for, Flavia Alba is ready to help. A Capitol Death is a traditional whodunit set in ancient times, but it feels remarkably fresh.

Author Lindsey Davis (Pandora’s Boy) balances grit and frivolity with ease. Flavia feels like the love child of Philip Marlowe and Carrie Bradshaw—she’s on the case, observing and reporting with care, but keeps a running line of saucy commentary on everyone throughout. This death would hardly raise a fuss were it not for the Imperial Triumphs, a sort of war parade/street fair hybrid set to take place. The dead man organized the entire affair and made plenty of enemies in the process, on top of being widely disliked in general. Flavia researches the case and then comes home to the drama of her home, still under construction, with ever-changing staff and their own drama. Stolen moments with her husband, and their snappy repartee, are sweet side trips.

Her childhood as a British orphan gives Flavia an acute awareness of class and difference. She can gently mold herself to fit in almost any situation and draw people into her confidence. The story builds with numerous twists toward a thrilling conclusion, but much of the pleasure comes from the deep, realistic world Davis has created and the people who inhabit it.

A body falls from the Tarpeian Rock, a looming structure that overlooks the ancient Roman Forum. People assume it’s a suicide, but a woman insists she saw someone push the vitcim. When an investigation is called for, Flavia Alba is ready to help. A Capitol Death is a traditional whodunit set in ancient times, but it feels remarkably fresh.

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There are shades of Jeffery Deaver’s Lincoln Rhyme in quadriplegic forensics consultant Lucas Page, protagonist of Robert Pobi’s standout thriller City of Windows. Page is not quite as physically challenged as Rhyme, but as a result of a shooting some 10 years ago, he is burdened with the loss of an arm and a leg, as well as the loss of sight in one eye. Once a crack FBI field agent, Page has retreated into an academic life. And then something rattles his peaceful post-FBI existence: the assassination of his former partner by a sniper’s bullet, a seemingly impossible shot fired from a rooftop during a blinding snowstorm. Page reluctantly agrees to come out of retirement to help with the investigation of the shooting. His almost three-dimensional grasp of velocities and trajectories borders on the uncanny, and he is thus uniquely suited to the task at hand. Unfortunately, the shooting is only the first in a series of virtually impossible sniper shots targeting a member of the law enforcement community. The tension ratchets up for the reader just as it does for Page as he and his loved ones find themselves in the crosshairs. Pobi has written five other books, but this is his first thriller. It would seem he has found his calling.

There are shades of Jeffery Deaver’s Lincoln Rhyme in quadriplegic forensics consultant Lucas Page, protagonist of Robert Pobi’s standout thriller City of Windows.

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Inspector Konrad Sejer returns in Norwegian author Karin Fossum’s stark and oh-so-dark The Whisperer. The titular whisperer is Ragna Riegel, whose vocal cords were damaged in a botched operation, rendering her unable to speak in anything but the most hushed of tones. The surgery is just one in a series of unhappy life events that have left Ragna something of a recluse, her day-to-day existence repetitive and boring—that is, until she receives an anonymous and succinct death threat: “You are going to die.” At first, the police are somewhat lackadaisical in their response, treating the incident as little more than a prank. But as follow-up messages arrive, Sejer finds sufficient cause to launch an investigation, if not for the reasons Ragna might have preferred—he is suspicious that Ragna is in fact the perpetrator of a crime, and not a victim at all. Sympathetic by nature, Sejer nonetheless chips away at Ragna’s facade in the hope of exposing her crime, all the while finding himself moved by the loneliness and grief of her life. Fossum excels at this sort of psychological suspense, and as such, she is one of the leading lights of the Scandinavian whodunit genre. 

Inspector Konrad Sejer returns in Norwegian author Karin Fossum’s stark and oh-so-dark The Whisperer.

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The title of T. Jefferson Parker’s The Last Good Guy refers to its protagonist, private investigator Roland Ford, who is indeed a good guy, albeit one beset by troubles. But his latest case seems pretty straightforward, at least at the outset. A teenage girl has run away, an action not inconsistent with her wild nature, and her elder sister is anxious for her safety, especially since the young girl has a 20-year-old boyfriend who is a decidedly unsavory character. But rest assured, an author the caliber of Parker will not spin a simple tale of a runaway. Instead, there is nuance upon nuance, misdirection upon misdirection, including a celebrity evangelist, the aforementioned unsavory boyfriend, an enclave of neo-Nazis and a client whose motive for finding her sister may not be exactly as she represented it. As is typical for Parker’s novels, the stage upon which the story unfolds is a microcosm of today’s America, with racism and intolerance, the escalating struggle between conservatives and liberals and the pervasive influence of megachurches and the politics espoused therein. As is also typical of Parker’s novels, it is a mighty fine read.

The title of T. Jefferson Parker’s The Last Good Guy refers to its protagonist, private investigator Roland Ford, who is indeed a good guy, albeit one beset by troubles. But his latest case seems pretty straightforward, at least at the outset. A teenage girl has run…

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C.J. Box’s latest thriller, The Bitterroots, follows a family that redefines the word dysfunctional: the Kleinsassers, longtime ranchers and influential denizens of remote Lochsa County, Montana. Private investigator Cassie Dewell, on retainer with a local law office, has been tasked with the defense investigation of family black sheep Blake Kleinsasser, who has been credibly accused of the rape of his 15-year-old niece. It’s pretty much inevitable that this investigation will not end well, as there is quite a bit of enmity among the family members, and no resolution to the case will be satisfying to all the players. The evidence is compelling, with a positive ID from a DNA sample and Blake’s statement that he cannot remember any of the events of the night in question. Yet when Cassie ramps up the investigation, she is stymied at every turn by the Kleinsasser family, to the point of being jailed on trumped-up charges. Clearly someone is invested in derailing the investigation and seeing Blake put away for a very long time, irrespective of his guilt. Box is in top form here, gilding his reputation for finely crafted suspense novels of the New West—a place you wouldn’t necessarily want to live but that is endlessly intriguing to read about.

C.J. Box’s latest thriller, The Bitterroots, follows a family that redefines the word dysfunctional: the Kleinsassers, longtime ranchers and influential denizens of remote Lochsa County, Montana.

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There’s no going back in this apocalyptic home-invasion thriller

Praised by horrormeister Stephen King, Paul Tremblay’s shocking new novel, The Cabin at the End of the World, is an often graphic account of one family’s ordeal when their vacation is shattered in a cult-like home invasion. We asked Tremblay about the book’s origins, its dark path and his inner fears that helped forge the novel.

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