Those who pick up Jennifer Finney Boylan’s new novel, Long Black Veil, may be expecting a traditional horror story. The premise seems familiar at first glance, using well-loved tropes: A group of college students looking for fun accidentally get locked in the abandoned Eastern State Penitentiary, only to discover they aren’t alone. But Boylan, rather than focusing the story on who gets out alive that night in 1980, instead subverts the genre and focuses on identity, relationships and the human experience.

Alternating between 1980 and present day, Long Black Veil follows the six friends as the repercussions of that night send reverberations through the rest of their lives. In the present day, a body has been discovered in the walls of the prison, and Jon Casey, a famous chef who is haunted by the events of that night, has been arrested for the murder. The one man who could vouch for him has died, but an old friend, main character Judith Carrigan, has information that may be able to save him—though sharing it could mean losing her family and the life she has fought for.

Those familiar with Boylan’s bestselling memoir She’s Not There: A Life in Two Genders will be unsurprised by the dark humor and beautiful prose that drive the narrative. Boylan has crafted a plot full of whodunits, faked deaths and new identities, and delivered an elegant tale that does justice to both the high emotions of youth and the hardened regrets of middle age. Her pacing keeps the reader racing through time periods, life events and characters, eagerly flipping to the next chapter in an attempt to unravel the countless riddles the story offers. Fans of Donna Tartt’s The Secret History will find an equally engaging and erudite story full of references to classic literature and history.

In A Twist of the Knife, Becky Masterman ventures into intriguing new terrain with the third installment in her exciting crime series.

Hardheaded FBI agent turned PI Brigid Quinn darkened readers’ doorways previously in Rage Against the Dying (2013) and Fear the Darkness (2015), and she’s back again, barreling through a new investigation as she heads from her Arizona home to Florida to offer support and assistance to her former partner, Laura Coleman. Coleman is volunteering with a legal group that’s trying to prove the innocence of death row inmate Marcus Creighton, convicted of killing his wife and three kids.

You might think that Brigid, newly married and pushing 60, would have lost some of her rough edges to the call of love, but there’s none of that—though she’s happily married to Carlo, who seems downright saint-like at times. As for Brigid, she’s as opinionated as ever and figures that Creighton, given his past criminal record, probably isn’t innocent. She heads off to Laura’s aid, with the added excuse that her father is ill in a Fort Lauderdale hospital, and she can do double duty by spending time with her parents. The story is enhanced by intriguing characters including Shayna Murry, Creighton’s mistress, who hasn’t provided the alibi Creighton needs; fingerprint expert Tracy Mack, who has screwed up some cases in the past; and determined, steely Alison Samuels, a child abuse specialist who’s conducting an intensive search for traces of the Creighton kids, whose bodies were never found. Brigid’s cop brother, Todd, adds another layer to her family scene as he becomes involved in the Creighton case.

Ultimately, A Twist of the Knife is equal parts crime thriller and family drama. Oddly, Brigid projects a very narrow comfort zone for a cop who should know better when it comes to family dysfunction. Food fills the gaps in family togetherness—what else is new? “Mom never said what she meant”—join the club. Brigid, an otherwise strong character, often seems unable to roll with the blows or have much understanding of her own role in the family drama. Her stubbornness looks more like a cover for her own inability to connect.

Masterman’s writing is both satisfying and spare. The dialogue is brisk and realistic, and the story has a roller-coaster quality and a headlong pace, as readers are once again kept in suspense about what the volatile Brigid will get up to next.

There’s plenty that can be said about Brad Parks’ new novel, Say Nothing, and most of it good. From the opening chapter, Say Nothing drops the hammer down on its main character, Federal Judge Scott Sampson, and doesn’t let up until the suspense-filled finish.

Part domestic thriller, part legal thriller, Scott’s story begins when his world is rocked by the discovery that his 6-year-old twins, Sam and Emma, are missing. Scott and his wife, Alison, receive a chilling phone call stating the children have been kidnapped; if they want to see them alive again they’ll do exactly as told and “say nothing.” Any hint of police involvement will result in dire consequences for the children, possibly even death.

As a judge, Scott correctly surmises the kidnapping has something to do with influencing an upcoming case in his court. But with dozens of cases on his docket, determining which case is anyone’s guess. In the meantime, Scott must carry on as if nothing has happened, anxiously awaiting word from the kidnappers that may come at a moment’s notice. And when it does, he is immediately thrust into a moral dilemma concerning a decision that goes against his judicial convictions. As Scott strives to determine who could be behind the kidnapping, no one, not even Alison, is completely above suspicion.

The only author to have won the Shamus, Nero and Lefty Awards—three of crime fiction’s most prestigious prizes—Parks easily pulls readers along for the ride with crisp, sharp prose that puts us firmly in the head of his protagonist. The very real reactions of Scott and his wife to the shock of possibly losing their children are relatable to any parent—or anyone with a heart, for that matter. Merge that with increasing tension and the moral quandary Scott finds himself in, and this book works on numerous levels.

The atmosphere, attitude and ambiance in Emma Flint’s debut thriller, Little Deaths, tunes right into the era in which it’s set—that of 1965 New York. It’s a time full of female stereotypes, where law enforcement, juries, the press and the general public frequently pre-judge women on appearances, eager to denounce those who deviate from mom-and-apple-pie images of Norman Rockwell fantasies.

Ruth Malone is a single, working mother who discovers one morning that her two young children have gone missing from their beds. When their dead bodies surface days later and the case turns into one of murder, Ruth’s look and lifestyle immediately render her a prime suspect. She works long hours as a cocktail waitress; her makeup is heavy glam; she’s been known to sleep around and keeps a notebook of male “friends”; she’s not good at socializing with other women; and she dreams of finding that rich lover who’ll rescue her from her meager surroundings.

Local reporter Pete Wonicke gets assigned to the murder case, and he becomes increasingly obsessed with the case and attracted to what he believes is the real person beneath Ruth’s caricature of a surface. Lead detective Charlie Devlin is also obsessed, though in his eyes it’s “cherchez la femme”—for him, she is the obvious perpetrator to the exclusion of all other suspects. He’s a cop with a past, and he’ll do everything in his power to see that she’s found guilty of murder.

Ruth’s ex, Frank, was with his children shortly before they disappeared. He adds another voice to the narrative as the search for the guilty party heats up and readers sift through the stories and opinions from multiple sources.

As a thriller, Little Deaths succeeds as a fairly run-of-the-mill crime story with the usual collection of suspects, bad guys and sympathetic characters. However, as a psychological study of the subtle terror visited on a woman who is alone and essentially a victim herself, it’s superlative. The book effectively delivers a convulsive look at a woman trapped by circumstance and gender, skillfully tuned by the author to convey Ruth’s claustrophobic sense of fatalism.

There’s an unfinished feel to the end of the book, and some readers will consider the conclusion a cop-out. But in another way—and more effectively than a slam-bang finale—the final pages will embed readers in the real drama of Ruth’s descent—and perhaps her hope.

Former Marine lieutenant Peter Ash has a knack for finding trouble in the most unlikely of situations.

In Burning Bright, the fast-paced, action-heavy follow-up to Nicholas Petrie’s debut novel, The Drifter, Ash is trying his best to keep to himself and avoid the “white static” that comes with his frequent bouts of post-traumatic stress, while hiking among the redwoods of Northern California. But a hungry grizzly bear hell-bent on devouring Ash whole has other ideas, literally chasing him up a tree where he finds a damsel in distress, June Cassidy.

That may seem a bit of a stretch, but if you’re a fan of Jack Reacher-style action/thrillers, who cares? Because like Reacher, Ash is a hard-nosed, take-no-nonsense hero who prefers to shoot first and ask questions later. So just go with it.

Cassidy is on the run from ruthless covert operatives after a complex computer algorithm invented by her mother, who died in a mysterious car crash. The pseudo-government thugs believe Cassidy can lead them to the program, which can learn and adapt on its own. Ash and Cassidy pool their skills to trace the missing algorithm to its source: Cassidy’s equally mysterious father, a man known as The Albino. Ash could just as easily have escorted Cassidy to the nearest police station and wash hands of the whole mess, but that’s not in his nature. His outlook is much simpler and he even says so on page 252: “Get the bad guys. Save the girl.”

Petrie wastes no time or excess words as the first hundred pages rip by. Things calm down a bit in the middle as the book’s intrepid heroes attempt to solve the puzzle and explore their own feelings toward each other before ramping up again in an explosive finale.

Jonathan Moore’s The Dark Room starts like any number of Kathy Reichs’ Bones novels, with a team of detectives overseeing the exhumation of a grave as part of a criminal investigation. But it doesn’t take long—only a matter of pages—before the novel takes the first of many intriguing plot turns.

San Francisco Police homicide inspector Gavin Cain is overseeing the cold case investigation when he is abruptly called away by his lieutenant for a more pressing case. He quickly learns that Mayor Harry Castelli is the victim of a blackmail scheme. Someone has sent the mayor a set of comprising photos of a young woman, naked and shackled to a bed. An accompanying note implores the mayor to take his own life or risk additional photos being released.

Cain is ordered to drop everything regarding his current case and to focus exclusively on the mayor’s situation. But Moore has other designs, and quickly weaves both storylines together into a complex, well-crafted thriller. The exhumed coffin contains a second set of remains that shouldn’t be there, and Cain, in perhaps a bit of a leap, believes the two cases are intrinsically linked. The further his investigation progresses, the more he is convinced the woman in the mayor’s photos is the woman in the coffin. Cain questions an increasingly charismatic assortment of individuals about their knowledge of the crimes, edging ever closer to long-buried secrets.

Moore—an attorney and author of three previous novels, including The Poison Artist and Redheads, which was short-listed for the Bram Stoker Award—infuses the complicated tale with richly detailed forensic facts and procedural expertise that would make Reichs proud. At the same time, he makes a concerted effort to craft characters you can care about. Cain’s girlfriend, Lucy, steals many scenes as she struggles to overcome a past trauma that has left her afraid to leave their house.

Bestselling author Thomas Perry has a distinct and methodical way of telling a story: bare bones with no extra words floating around. He’s a master at writing descriptively, plainly and with remarkable clarity, as well as imagining what can happen when the net tightens in an exciting, claustrophobic thriller. These skills combine nicely in what has become his métier, novels of escape suspense. Perry loves to write about people on the run and the detailed, scrupulous preparations they must make to ensure they disappear successfully—as well as try to make a different life and stay hidden from their enemies permanently.

This distinctive narrative form reached a kind of zenith in Perry’s outstanding Jane Whitefield series, beginning with Vanishing Act (1996). The so-named “Jane” helps others elude, evade and escape when they are unfairly being targeted, usually by a criminal agency, whether private or governmental. Jane embodies a kind of one-person “A-Team” who can materialize to help—if you can find her, since she lives under another identity.

The Old Man, Perry’s latest fictional marvel, is a standalone with a similar pretext, and it’s equally addictive. The main character, who becomes known to readers by several different aliases during the course of the novel, seeks to escape unfair targeting by a secret U.S. government agency that wants to offer him up to accommodate a shady alliance with a terrorist Libyan government—one that our man, first known as Dixon, ran afoul of 30 years earlier. Dixon has been living a quiet life for more than 30 years. But they’ve found him, so he must put in place the getaway plans he’s kept ready throughout that time.

Perry astounds and draws in even skeptical readers with his blow-by-blow descriptions of Dixon’s plans to evade the agency’s draconian clutches. Aiding him are a couple of marvelous canines; a woman who’s a story all by herself; a doubting independent contractor; a 30-year collection of survival skills and weaponry; and in-the-front, out-the-back tactics and preparedness. The book’s pièce de résistance is an exciting chase through the deep snow, with snowmobiles pitted against snowshoes and skis.

The Old Man is Perry at the top of his game, and readers will rip their way through every word to find out just who’s going to win this contest.

The U.S. debut of Argentinian author Federico Axat, Kill the Next One, starts off with a genuine bang—or, more accurately, an almost-bang: “Ted McKay was about to put a bullet through his brain when the doorbell rang.”

Readers venturing past the first intriguing sentence will likely experience a variety of feelings while tackling the remainder of this book, which features convoluted plotlines and blurry trips away from any grounding in reality. The mind-bending plot contrivances work effectively to heighten the interest level of this sometimes long-winded narrative.

The bullet-stopper of the first sentence turns out to be a stranger, standing on Ted’s doorstep. He unaccountably seems to know a lot about Ted’s suicide plans, and offers him a potentially more satisfactory way to achieve his own demise. He proposes a couple of—as he describes them—justifiable killings, with the final one conveniently resulting in Ted’s own death, thus sparing his family the pain of living with the knowledge of Ted’s suicide.

The book alludes to several murders, all of which initially point to Ted as the killer. The plot, with its numerous dream sequences, knocks reality a bit awry, and Ted winds up confined as a patient in a psychiatric hospital, searching through a confusion of dreams and a fragmented past to find the truth and determine just whom—if anyone—he can trust. Laura Hill, his therapist, sticks with Ted in his search for the truth.

Kill the Next One calls on hallucinatory sequences, including a sinister-seeming animal that shows itself to Ted but may or may not be real, labyrinths, Minotaurs and dead bodies that may or may not exist. In one of their many talk sessions, Ted tells Laura about his elusive memories: It’s “just bits and pieces, all jumbled together,” he says.

And possibly that’s true in readers’ minds as well. The book is constructed much like Ted’s brain, and that can be off-putting for some readers as they struggle to stay with the plot and maintain a level of interest in the outcome. Unnecessary graphic descriptions of animal torture are also a definite drawback in this narrative.

Fans of more straightforward crime and suspense may lose interest, while those who like juggling multiple layers in a possible alternate reality full of changing patterns and fragments will want to stay on to the finish. 

The heading on Joanne Harris’ website remarks that she “does a bit of writing.” Many readers will recognize the understatement: Harris is the author of more than a dozen notable works, including the popular, award-winning novel Chocolat, which first brought Harris to the attention of American readers.

In Different Class, Harris has created an absorbing novel with a deep, dark mystery at its heart. Though the story is a standalone, Different Class returns to geographical territory Harris explored in Gentlemen Players (2005) and Blueeyedboy (2010)—that of St. Oswald’s, a not-quite-first-class boys’ grammar school located in Yorkshire. Harris taught modern languages at a boys’ grammar school in England for 15 years, so she has nailed the musty, chalk-filled, stuck-in-time atmosphere dead-on.

Different Class doesn’t read like a traditional, blood-and-guts thriller, but its slow-burning fuse has a deeper impact that readers absorb through two different, remarkable narratives: that of Latin teacher Roy Straitley, who’s been at St. Oswald’s for decades; and that of a more sinister-sounding and anonymous diary writer who tells a chilling story about his time as a student at the school.

Readers are introduced, at first in a low-key way, to a milieu that encompasses pedophilia, homophobia and the sorts of subtle cruelties that may seem to sprout naturally in the setting of a boys’ school of this kind, where close contact provides fertile ground for adolescent discontent, dependency and an inbred atmosphere of bullying.

The book straddles a period of about 25 years in the life of the school. The unknown diarist writes during the 1980s, when St. Oswald’s experienced the imprisonment of a gay teacher for a crime that involved pedophilia and murder, with tragic implications that filter through to the present, as revisited by the now-elderly Straitley, who was a best friend to the accused. Straitley is also pretty much alone among the current teaching staff in his revulsion for the school’s new headmaster, Johnny Harrington, who was present during the 1981 event.

The author skillfully misdirects readers, who must sift for the truth through the lens of her narrators’ conflicting perspectives. Straitley remains intent on bringing the real wrongdoers to justice, although at book’s end, as in all good stories, the feeling remains that there’s still much to be accounted for.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read a Behind the Book essay by Joanne Harris on Different Class.

What do four girlfriends pushing 40, a collection of foregone dreams and need—that desire for something extraordinary and rejuvenating—become? The precursor for the horrors that unveil themselves in Erica Ferencik’s latest novel, The River at Night. 

Wini, Sandra, Rachel and Pia are the type of friends that remain close in spite of physical distance and ever-changing lives. Each year, the three take a vacation together. Adventurous Pia has finally convinced her three mates to face a new challenge: rafting the Winnegosset River. The foursome head into the Maine wilderness accompanied by a 20-something guide, Rory. Tension builds as some start to question Rory’s competency, and intensifies when Pia impulsively begins an intimate relationship with Rory. 

Despite the emotional chasm, cooperation is required in order to navigate the dangers of the river. Each bend and rush successfully maneuvered builds confidence. But when unexpected tragedy strikes, the remaining group must struggle to survive in the remote woods of Maine—injured and with limited supplies. Roaming for help, the group discovers potential salvation . . . but have they actually just revealed themselves to the most dangerous predator yet? 

Ferencik, no stranger to creating an effective blend of dread and horror (showcased in her novel Repeaters), continually surprises with as many plot twists and turns as the titular river itself. Following the influence that the various characters’ strengths, flaws, insecurities and determination have on the ultimate resolution is a captivating experience. This is a novel that will burrow in your memory well after its conclusion.

This article was originally published in the January 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook

Argentinian author Samanta Schweblin’s English-language debut, Fever Dream, snares readers. It’s a page-turner of mounting dread, unfolding entirely through a conversation between a bedridden young woman and the boy who whispers in her ear.

Amanda lies dying in a hospital clinic in rural Argentina. Sitting next to her is David, a boy who asks her—urges her—to remember the events of whatever trauma rendered her terminally ill. At his behest, Amanda recalls meeting David’s mother, a nervous and elegant woman named Carla. Carla tells Amanda a strange story about a very young David, who drinks the same toxic water that kills Carla’s husband’s prized stallion. To spare her son’s life, Carla calls upon a local woman with medicinal and magical abilities. By splitting David’s soul with another child’s, she saves the boy.

But this is only the beginning. Why is Amanda in the hospital? And what has happened to Amanda’s own daughter, Nina? Time and again, Amanda references the “rescue distance,” the variable space between her and Nina, the distance between a mother and any worst-case scenario that may imperil her child. “I spend half the day calculating it,” Amanda says. As she recalls more and more details, Amanda begins to tell the story her own way, trying to make sense of what matters in these events and what does not—and decide which threats are inevitable or imagined.

With the urgency, attention to detail and threat of an abrupt ending that define short stories, the novel builds unease seamlessly through exceptionally well-paced dialogue. The sparseness of Schweblin’s prose, translated by Megan McDowell, anchors this strange conversation and keeps it from becoming disorienting. 

Minimalist yet complex, monochromatic yet textured, Fever Dream is a delicate and marvelously constructed tale, like a bundle of our darkest worries artfully arranged into our own likeness.

This article was originally published in the January 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook

BookPage Fiction Top Pick, January 2017

While much of the world watched the Gulf War play out from the safety of their homes, Derek B. Miller found himself smack-dab in the middle of the action as an American university student studying abroad in Israel in the early 1990s. Now, with The Girl in Green, the award-winning writer (Norwegian by Night) returns to the conflict in Iraq in a darkly comic thriller that lays bare the absurdities of war.

It’s 1991, and the Gulf War has officially ended, but Arwood Hobbes, an American solider, is stationed at a sleepy outpost 100 miles from the Kuwaiti border. He is approached by Thomas Benton, a British journalist keen to visit an off-limits town; reckless from boredom, Hobbes allows Benton to pass. The off-base excursion, however, ends in tragedy when both he and Hobbes are forced to watch the cold-blooded killing of a young girl dressed in green.

Flash-forward to 2013: In the midst of a different war taking place in Iraq, Benton receives a call from Hobbes. A girl with an uncanny resemblance to the teenager they watched die 22 years earlier has shown up in a viral video of a mortar attack, and Hobbes thinks she has survived. As impossible and ill-fated as this mission seems, neither man can pass up a second chance to atone for a failure that has haunted them for decades.

A modern masterpiece, The Girl in Green taps into the same satirical vein as Joseph Heller’s war classic, Catch-22, as the two mismatched protagonists set out on a quixotic quest for redemption. Miller, who wrote his Ph.D. dissertation on the Iraqi war and has worked for the United Nations in disarmament policy, is well qualified to explore the tangled political, bureaucratic, cultural and religious issues at play in the Middle East. His tongue-in-cheek candor brings much-needed levity to the proceedings, making the difficult subject matter relatable and engaging. Bursting with humanity and humor, The Girl in Green is heartbreaking and hopeful in equal measures, delivering nail-biting suspense while bringing readers into the heart of the conflict in Iraq.

RELATED CONTENT: Read our Q&A with Derek B. Miller.

This article was originally published in the January 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.