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In an isolated Idaho town, 16-year-old Min Wilder and Noah Livingston share both a birthday and a secret: Every two years, they are murdered by a strange man only to awake the next day miles from their homes, alive and well. They’ve never revealed their secret to one another. The only one who knows is a local psychiatrist who convinces Noah that these are simply hallucinations. But Min isn’t convinced she’s crazy, and a slew of events—including an asteroid on a collision course with Earth, a suspicious military presence in the area and unexplained natural disasters—have assured Min that her hunch is correct. After breaking into her psychiatrist’s office, Min discovers that she and Noah are part of a global conspiracy that starts with her sophomore class.

Brendan Reichs, who penned the popular Virals series with his mother, Kathy Reichs, knows how to build plot twists and dynamic characters. Min, the daughter of a struggling single mother, is sharp and intuitive, while Noah, the son of an affluent businessman, is lonely and insecure. There’s also a protective best friend, a surly bully and a shady principal. Everyone’s a cog in this well-plotted machine. Readers who get hooked must be warned: This isn’t a standalone. A sequel is likely underway.

 

Kimberly Giarratano is the author of Grunge Gods and Graveyards, a young adult paranormal mystery.

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

In an isolated Idaho town, 16-year-old Min Wilder and Noah Livingston share both a birthday and a secret: Every two years, they are murdered by a strange man only to awake the next day miles from their homes, alive and well. They’ve never revealed their secret to one another. The only one who knows is a local psychiatrist who convinces Noah that these are simply hallucinations. But Min isn’t convinced she’s crazy, and a slew of events—including an asteroid on a collision course with Earth, a suspicious military presence in the area and unexplained natural disasters—have assured Min that her hunch is correct. After breaking into her psychiatrist’s office, Min discovers that she and Noah are part of a global conspiracy that starts with her sophomore class.

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The Roanoke Girls lulled me into a false sense of security. The first chapters ably introduce Roanoke, a sprawling farmhouse in the middle of rural Kansas, and family black sheep Lane Roanoke, who returns to her family’s ancestral home years after a traumatic summer sent her running as fast as she could in the opposite direction. The disappearance of her cousin Allegra brings Lane back to her privileged grandparents and the summer fling she never quite got over, forcing her to deal with the dark things in her past while searching for her lost cousin. 

Based on those first few, perfectly capable pages, a reader may believe they know how The Roanoke Girls will end. But Engel drops a wicked twist in the first 35 pages—in the middle of a paragraph on the middle of the page—and lets it sit like a coiled snake. 

It’s a twist that most authors would save for the last chapter, and from that point on, The Roanoke Girls becomes a thrilling mystery and a satisfyingly gothic portrait of Middle America. But Engel is also interested in the things that break people and how they try to put themselves back together again. She deepens the typical tropes of the small-town mystery genre, using every sheltered country boy and fading matriarch to illustrate how people can silently, slowly shatter. 

Lane’s high school sweetheart is as damaged as she is, and the pair cleaves to each other with a jagged-edged desperation before tearing themselves instinctively away. It’s a painfully human, rough-hewn romance, and Engel balances it beautifully against Lane’s investigation into the fate of her cousin. Both threads braid together as the novel circles the mystery at its heart and The Roanoke Girls transforms into a dark fable of trauma and acceptance about damaged people accepting their crooked parts and using them to move forward.

 

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

The Roanoke Girls lulled me into a false sense of security. The first chapters ably introduce Roanoke, a sprawling farmhouse in the middle of rural Kansas, and family black sheep Lane Roanoke, who returns to her family’s ancestral home years after a traumatic summer sent her running as fast as she could in the opposite direction. The disappearance of her cousin Allegra brings Lane back to her privileged grandparents and the summer fling she never quite got over, forcing her to deal with the dark things in her past while searching for her lost cousin. 
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No one who has read Dan Chaon’s fiction will be surprised to learn that Ill Will, his new novel, is relentlessly bleak. It’s a murder mystery and a literary thriller, a multilayered nonlinear narrative and a psychological portrait of the dark side of human nature. You’ll lose track of the number of deaths, but you’ll remember the daring storytelling and the skillful treatment of characters who live with repressed memories.

If you’re Dustin Tillman, a 41-year-old Cleveland psychologist, widower and father of two teenage sons, then you’ve got horrific memories to repress. When Dustin was 13, his parents and an aunt and uncle were murdered on the eve of a camping trip. A Pulitzer-nominated photograph of Dustin running from the scene with his twin cousins, Kate and Wave, became famous.

The murder was blamed on Dustin’s adopted older brother, Rusty, in part because of Dustin’s testimony; he claimed that Rusty had engaged in satanic rituals involving baby rabbits, a doll and a candlelit pentagram. Now, 27 years after the murder, DNA evidence exonerates Rusty, who has always proclaimed his innocence and contended that Dustin’s testimony was based on faulty recollection.

Rusty’s re-emergence is only one of the factors that complicate Dustin’s life. In addition to his wife’s death and his younger son’s growing heroin addiction, Dustin has a patient, a Cleveland police officer put on leave for a “psychological difficulty,” who recruits Dustin to help solve a series of murders of college-age men who have drowned on dates that follow a pattern. And the next date to fit the pattern is coming up.

Throughout Ill Will, Chaon plays with the novel form: second-person narration, emails, shifting perspectives, emojis and, most radically, parallel columns of prose that show concurrent thoughts and episodes in characters’ lives. The result could have been style for style’s sake, but, in Chaon’s capable hands, the novel is a brilliant depiction of mental illness. Not a pretty picture, but masterfully painted.

 

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

No one who has read Dan Chaon’s fiction will be surprised to learn that Ill Will, his new novel, is relentlessly bleak. It’s a murder mystery and a literary thriller, a multilayered nonlinear narrative and a psychological portrait of the dark side of human nature. You’ll lose track of the number of deaths, but you’ll remember the daring storytelling and the skillful treatment of characters who live with repressed memories.

Sixteen-year-old Tina lives by the skin of her teeth as a Goonda, a member of the gang of thieves operating in Sangui City (a fictional place in East Africa). Although she has erased most of her past, Tina secretly visits her younger sister, Kiki, at her boarding school. But she has cut ties with the Greyhill family, for whom her mother, Anju, a refugee from the Democratic Republic of Congo, once worked as a maid. Except that now Tina hopes to prove what she has long suspected, that mining executive Roland Greyhill is responsible for her mother’s murder.

When Tina breaks into the Greyhill mansion, she is caught by Roland’s son, Michael, her childhood friend. Convinced that his father is innocent, Michael persuades Tina to try to look for the real killer. Michael and Tina, along with fellow thief Boyboy, embark on a perilous search to unravel Anju’s tortuous past—a search that brings them into the midst of unrest and violence.

In Tina, author Natalie C. Anderson has created an unforgettable heroine, who, like Katniss Everdeen and Lisbeth Salander, leaps off the page as a distinct individual, both strong and vulnerable. Tina’s passions—her love for her sister, a desire for revenge and her growing feelings for Michael—drive the narrative forward at breakneck speed.

Anderson drew from stories she heard firsthand while working with refugees in Kenya. While the story is fiction, there is a sobering authenticity in its themes of war, refugees, poverty and violence against women, which are sure to generate discussion in and out of the classroom.

 

Deborah Hopkinson lives near Portland, Oregon. Her most recent book for young readers is Steamboat School.

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

Sixteen-year-old Tina lives by the skin of her teeth as a Goonda, a member of the gang of thieves operating in Sangui City (a fictional place in East Africa). Although she has erased most of her past, Tina secretly visits her younger sister, Kiki, at her boarding school. But she has cut ties with the Greyhill family, for whom her mother, Anju, a refugee from the Democratic Republic of Congo, once worked as a maid. Except that now Tina hopes to prove what she has long suspected, that mining executive Roland Greyhill is responsible for her mother’s murder.
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In Normal, Warren Ellis’ exceptional new thriller, foresight strategist Adam Dearborn has just been admitted to a compound called Normal, located on the U.S. west coast. It’s where those who were previously hired to monitor Earth’s degrading civilization are sent when they’re so burned out they can no longer function, well, normally.

The word itself loses much of its meaning in a near-future world where surveillance is constant, and the Normal Head Research Station itself hardly seems a place of safety. One inmate describes the outside world as “a permanent condition of pervasive low-level warfare,” and explains, “We’ve all been sent mad by grief.” The patients at Normal have, they frequently say, spent too much time “gazing into the abyss.”

The compound is abuzz when there’s a bizarre murder the morning after Adam’s arrival. He noticed the strange figure of Mr. Mansfield the previous afternoon, lurking about the edges of Normal’s forest. But Mansfield is missing the next morning, gone from his room and seemingly replaced by a mound of hundreds of crawling insects.

Adam—no model of stability himself—begins a low-key quest to discover what exactly has happened, and whether there’s anyone in Normal who can be trusted. The compound’s inhabitants beguile each other with lies, hysteria or reclusive behavior, as they search for ways to cope with the loss of the normal society they remember. The search leads Adam to an area called Staging, the only place in the compound with access, through the Internet, to the outside. Staging could give access to some answers—or to something much worse.

It’s clear that things have gone badly wrong out in the wider world, where people are now constantly watched by interfering “microdrones.” Ellis excels by inference, offering a chilling picture of the emotional turmoil in a human society that’s come unhinged. More unsettling, at the end of the book, there’s a shocking description of the event that led Adam to untether from his own sanity. 

This slim sci-fi mystery will puzzle, engage your senses and stick with you, maybe popping up days later when one of its passages resonates uncomfortably in the real world outside the book’s pages. Normal chills not by overt action or gory effects, but by slyly transporting readers outside their comfort zone, offering a look into a future that seems increasingly plausible after all.

In Normal, Warren Ellis’ exceptional new thriller, foresight strategist Adam Dearborn has just been admitted to a compound called Normal, located on the U.S. west coast. It’s where those who were previously hired to monitor Earth’s degrading civilization are sent when they’re so burned out they can no longer function, well, normally.

Ten years ago, a serial killer in rural Pennsylvania lured Lori Cawley from the home where she was babysitting two 8-year-old girls and murdered her. Best friends Tessa and Callie were those two girls. Manipulated by police and their parents into testifying against the suspected killer, the girls have always wondered if they sent the wrong man to death row. They haven’t spoken since Tessa moved away after the trial. Now 18, Callie relies on alcohol to suppress her anxiety, and Tessa, who has been abandoned by both her mother and sister, returns to Pennsylvania to say goodbye to her dying father. Tessa’s visit stirs up questions, sending her on a dangerous hunt for answers.

The Darkest Corners is a suspenseful ride that’s really two mysteries in one: the location of Tessa’s sister and what really happened the night Lori was killed. Could Tessa’s sister be involved? A thriller at its core, the novel presents a layered view of how family, friendships and even the flawed judicial system can tear people apart if they let it.

 

Kimberly Giarratano is the author of Grunge Gods and Graveyards, a young adult paranormal mystery.

This article was originally published in the May 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Ten years ago, a serial killer in rural Pennsylvania lured Lori Cawley from the home where she was babysitting two 8-year-old girls and murdered her. Best friends Tessa and Callie were those two girls. Manipulated by police and their parents into testifying against the suspected killer, the girls have always wondered if they sent the wrong man to death row. They haven’t spoken since Tessa moved away after the trial.
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Draco Incendia Trychophyton—also known as Dragonscale—is a deadly spore that causes people to spontaneously combust. Theories on its origin range from the melting ice caps to biological weaponry to a simple evolutionary turn. Elaborate—beautiful, even—black and gold tattoo-like markings identify those who are infected. Because there is often no warning before a person ignites and there is no cure, paranoia and hysteria spread like, well, wildfire. Eventually, cities burn and civil order dissolves, with ruthless and sinister Quarantine Patrols and Cremation Crews driving the infected into hiding. 

The titular character of Joe Hill’s fourth novel (following, most recently, NOS4A2), John Rookwood, is not an actual fireman, but a mysterious, charismatic Englishman. He wears a firefighter’s uniform because it not only hides his markings, but also allows him to be in the open without arousing suspicion. The heart of the book, though, is Harper Grayson, an elementary school nurse with compassion, gumption and an affinity for Mary Poppins. Harper is infected, frightened, alone and pregnant when John leads her to an underground community of infected folk who show her that it is possible to live in harmony with the spore. Soon, though, it becomes clear that safety does not always lie in numbers and that there is as much to fear inside the camp as outside.

With plenty of pop-culture references and playfully meta moments (like when characters discuss what they would do if they were in a movie or book), The Fireman is a bona fide, post-apocalyptic page-turner that’s equal parts touching and pulse-pounding, surprising and awe-inducing. The icing on the metaphorical cake? Easter eggs referencing his father Stephen King’s works—ranging from Hill’s use of “shine” as a verb of the supernatural variety to one character murderously swinging a shovel “like a croquet mallet”—pepper the book, delighting this fan of both writers.

 

This article was originally published in the May 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Draco Incendia Trychophyton—also known as Dragonscale—is a deadly spore that causes people to spontaneously combust. Theories on its origin range from the melting ice caps to biological weaponry to a simple evolutionary turn. Elaborate—beautiful, even—black and gold tattoo-like markings identify those who are infected. Because there is often no warning before a person ignites and there is no cure, paranoia and hysteria spread like, well, wildfire. Eventually, cities burn and civil order dissolves, with ruthless and sinister Quarantine Patrols and Cremation Crews driving the infected into hiding.
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English audiologist-turned-author S.J. Watson made a big splash with his debut thriller, Before I Go to Sleep, in 2011. The book chronicled the struggles of a woman who suffers from an acute form of amnesia, and has to reconstruct the details of her life every day when she wakes up. Nicole Kidman starred in the much-anticipated (though tepidly received) big-screen version of Watson’s book, which was translated into over 40 languages.

Watson mines similar themes—the slippery nature of memory and reality, a married woman confronting some serious inner demons—in his follow up, A Second Life. The crippling effects of amnesia are here replaced by the rabbit hole of social media, where people are free to reinvent themselves—sometimes to disastrous, even murderous, results. Julia leads a seemingly placid life in London, though it’s not long before we learn about her dark past: alcoholism, a son who is, in fact, not hers biologically, a youthful bohemian phase she can’t quite let go of. When the tragic news arrives that Julia’s sister has been murdered, old wounds severely aggravate new ones.

Watson’s depiction of Julia’s familial and domestic struggles are convincing, particularly the little wars husbands and wives wage. Julia—whose sister’s death “sliced [her] life in two”—literally becomes another person (online) in pursuit of her sister’s killer. She also drifts into a romantic affair that quickly becomes disturbing on a number of levels, though it must be added that Watson’s portrayal of the dark side of Internet hook-ups feels rather dated, even if it is meant to be a reflection of Julia’s naivete. The eventual solution will either read as bold and risky, or simply frustrating. Either way, Watson can’t be accused of skimping on the twists and turns.

A life sliced in two in A Second Life.
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At first, this reviewer wanted to warn readers not to be taken in by the light tone of Liane Moriarty’s The Husband’s Secret. On second thought, maybe readers should let this rather crafty novelist’s deceptive breeziness and humor sweep them along. It makes the shocks just that much more deliciously nasty, including the gob-smacking twist in the epilogue.

On the surface, the story is about a group of nice, middle-class, mostly Catholic women living in modern-day Australia. There’s Cecilia, the disconcertingly chipper and organized Tupperware salesperson with her mysterious, moody husband John-Paul and their beautiful young daughters. There’s Tess, who embarks on an affair of her own after she discovers her cousin Felicity is sleeping with her husband. And then there’s poor Rachel Crowley, whose daughter Janie was found dead in a park many years ago as a teenager. The case has never been solved, but Rachel’s sure she knows who killed Janie.

A constellation of spouses, children and co-workers surrounds these women, giving the proceedings a cozy normality that we know can’t last. Though men tend to be background figures, the most developed is Connor Whitby, the P.E. teacher at the school attended by Cecilia and Tess’ kids. Handsome and fit, Connor has everyone wondering why he remains unmarried well into his 40s.

Perhaps there’s a reason that most everyone in the book is Catholic, given its themes of sin, both venal and mortal, of guilt and redemption, forgiveness and confession—as well as its images of Easter eggs and hot cross buns and wrong­doings that erupt on Good Friday like the undead. The genius of The Husband’s Secret is that it makes us start to wonder what in our own lives would—or would not—have happened if, say, we had waited just five more minutes before we walked out the door, had not said that hurtful thing, had applied a bit of logic to that situation. The Husband’s Secret is as scary as it is familiar.

At first, this reviewer wanted to warn readers not to be taken in by the light tone of Liane Moriarty’s The Husband’s Secret. On second thought, maybe readers should let this rather crafty novelist’s deceptive breeziness and humor sweep them along. It makes the shocks just that much more deliciously nasty, including the gob-smacking twist in the epilogue.

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The nightmare and shame of humanity is that there is always a war going on somewhere on the planet. And yet, for writers such as John le Carré, this sad fact is great fodder for stories. Where there is conflict, there are spies, and le Carré—a former secret agent himself—is a writer in complete command of the spy genre. In the aftermath of 9/11, his spies have made a seamless transition into the modern world. They are just as devious, just as two-faced and, thanks to their creator, just as riveting a collection of characters as he brought us when writing about the Cold War and MI6 operative George Smiley.

A Most Wanted Man opens with a slender young man in a dark coat named Issa (a Persian name for Jesus) following a Turkish mother and son on a dark street at night in Hamburg, Germany. The young man is a devout Muslim and asks for shelter in their home. This sets off a chain of events that involves an unlikely trio of central characters—Issa, whose real background is that of a Russian aristocrat; Annabel Richter, a young idealistic lawyer who acts as Issa’s attorney; and Tommy Brue, a retiring wealthy British banker. Issa has been smuggled into Hamburg to retrieve a huge sum of money held for years by Tommy Brue’s bank. But Issa wants nothing to do with what he considers a tainted fortune, given that it originated with his father, Col. Karpov of the Red Army.

Where le Carré excels, perhaps better than anyone, is in the gray areas of plot and characterization. This is a complex and multi-layered work with a roll call of memorable characters that still manages to distill the theme into Western thought versus Islamist philosophy.

At 77 years of age, le Carré (né David Cornwell) shows no signs of slowing down. You’re never in for a breezy read with him, but as in the works of most master craftsman, the demands put upon the reader are small compared to the intense and lasting rewards.

Michael Lee is a member of the National Book Critics Circle.

This complex and multi-layered work features a roll call of memorable characters and a dynamic setting.
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With The Girl on the Train, British author Paula Hawkins has written one of those books with a plot so delicious, you wonder why you didn’t think of it yourself. 

Rachel Watson takes a commuter train from her slightly grubby suburb into London every day. It used to be to get to work. After she gets fired for drinking on the job, Rachel still takes the train so her roommate won’t know just how far she has fallen.

Often on those train rides, Rachel catches a glimpse of a couple sitting on their back terrace, a “perfect, golden couple” whom she names Jason and Jess. She is sure they are blissfully happy, just as she used to be when married to Tom, before he cheated on her (which she found out about by reading his email, “the modern-day lipstick on the collar”).

Rachel is an exasperating mess, and she makes for a wonderfully unreliable narrator. She drinks on the train—a little Chenin Blanc, or gin and tonic in a can. She calls Tom late at night when she’s blackout drunk, annoying his new wife and waking up their baby. She builds a whole story around Jason and Jess based on her view from the train, imbuing in them all the things she misses about her own marriage. So it’s no wonder she’s outraged when, on one sunny morning, she sees Jess kissing another man in her garden.

“I am furious, nails digging into my palms, tears stinging my eyes,” Rachel says. “I feel a flash of intense anger. I feel as though something has been taken away from me. How could she? How could Jess do this? What is wrong with her? Look at the life they have, look at how beautiful it is! I have never understood how people can blithely disregard the damage they do by following their hearts.” 

Rachel only learns that her Jason and Jess are actually Scott and Megan Hipwell when Megan goes missing. When Rachel realizes she was in their neighborhood the night Megan disappeared, she frantically tries to retrace her drunken steps and finds herself drawn into Scott’s life and, in the strangest of ways, her own past.

The Girl on the Train is the kind of slippery, thrilling read that only comes around every few years (see Gone Girl). Hawkins, a former financial journalist, has written a couple of other books under a pseudonym, but this is her first crime novel.

“[My books] got sort of darker and darker, and the characters got more complex,” Hawkins says by phone from her London home. “I’ve always read crime fiction, and it’s always been in my head as something I wanted to do.”

The voyeuristic roots of The Girl on the Train came from Hawkins’ own commuting days.

“I used to commute when I was a journalist, from the edges of London,” she says. “I loved looking into people’s houses. The train went really close by apartments, so you could see in. I never saw anything shocking, but I wondered, if you saw anything out of the ordinary, an act of violence, who would you tell and would anyone believe you? I had a germ of it in my brain for ages. The voyeuristic aspects of commuting, everyone has. Even if you commute by car, you look into other cars.”

In Rachel, Hawkins has created a complex, heartbreaking character whose penchant for self-sabotage is breathtaking. She’s lost everything that mattered to her and can’t quite find a way forward.

Like 'Gone Girl,' Hawkins’ novel hinges on a late-in-the-game twist, and this one is a doozy. As you might expect, this sleight of hand is not easy to pull off.

“I feel more affection than most people will toward her,” Hawkins admits. “She was living this normal life and then had this incredibly rapid fall from grace. She’s obviously gotten herself into a mess with the drinking. She’s teetering on the edge, but could get back on track. I understand she’s a really frustrating character. You just want to shake her and say snap out of it.”

Like Gone Girl, Hawkins’ novel hinges on a late-in-the-game twist, and this one is a doozy. As you might expect, this sleight of hand is not easy to pull off.

“It’s a really tricky thing to do, actually,” Hawkins says. “It’s all about feeding tiny pieces of information, but hopefully keeping them slightly ambivalent. You have to have different people see different things in different ways, and hold back particular pieces of information.”

Her book has been optioned for film by DreamWorks, something that Hawkins is trying to take in stride.

“It’s very exciting, yet I’m trying to not be too excited,” she says. “These things take a really long time. It could be years, it may not happen. It feels unreal. I haven’t cast Rachel. Possibly because she’s not beautiful, and it’s impossible to find not-beautiful actors.”

(She has pondered Michelle Williams as Megan, with her “slightly dreamy, lovely blond prettiness.”)

A longtime London resident, Hawkins wrote about financial issues for a variety of publications for 15 years. She’s lived in Paris, Oxford and Brussels, and was born and raised in Zimbabwe.

“My parents still live there, actually,” she says. “It was a very lovely upbringing. When I was a child, it was a white-only government, effectively an apartheid system, although they didn’t call it that. As a 5-year-old, it didn’t really hit home. It was a nice place for me to grow up, but I am aware that the pleasantness of my childhood was bought at a high price.”

Now a full-time novelist, Hawkins is working on a follow-up while awaiting whatever comes her way with the hotly anticipated release of The Girl on the Train.

 

This article was originally published in the January 2015 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

With The Girl on the Train, British author Paula Hawkins has written one of those books with a plot so delicious, you wonder why you didn’t think of it yourself.
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International thriller writer Christopher Reich admits his new standalone nail-biter, Invasion of Privacy, lacks the globetrotting savoir faire of his bestsellers Numbered Account, The Patriot’s Club and The Prince of Risk. But what it so deliciously serves up instead is a visceral fear feast centered on a simple premise: What if your iPhone turned against you?

Forty miles west of Austin on the dusty doorstep of the Texas Hill Country, FBI special agent Joe Grant is gunned down along with an informant in a shootout with parties unknown. Minutes before his wife, Mary, becomes a widow, she receives a cryptic voicemail from Joe that will lead her to question the FBI’s version of his death. To vindicate her husband, she’ll ultimately be forced to confront Ian Prince, the ruthless telecom billionaire behind a terrifying top-secret surveillance system every bit as plausible in our hyper-connected age as George Orwell’s Big Brother was during his.

Reich hatched the premise for Invasion of Privacy while watching news coverage of British media mogul Rupert Murdoch’s celebrity phone-hacking scandal. The topic hit close to home for the father of two teenage girls whose hands are rarely free of a phone, tablet or laptop.

“It’s a completely different kind of book for me—more of a family-oriented, inside-the-home thriller,” Reich says. “I wanted to write this David and Goliath story to show that it’s still personal grit and family love that ends up overcoming sheer megalomania and greed.”

To dial up the domestic dynamics, Reich set his tale in Austin, where his daughters were born and where he earned his MBA at the University of Texas. However, his research into the lexicon and subtleties of computer surveillance and phone hacking, which included meeting with an electronic payments expert, friends in the FBI and a reporter for Wired, was specifically intended to spare his readers geek overload.

“Once a story starts getting all technical and cyber-geeky, I just shut the book,” Reich admits.

He didn’t have to search far for a prototype of mega-mogul Ian Prince, however.

“He’s an amalgam of the leading brains and business personalities in Silicon Valley and around the world,” he says. “Apple’s founder Steve Jobs was elevated to this position of something more than a man but less than a god, and we all worshipped this guy and absolutely forgave all of his failings because he was able to design an amazing iPod and iPhones. We worshiped him, but when you get down to nuts and bolts, he was not the nicest human being to his family. I think on any other scorecard, he would get very low marks.”

For an additional twist, Reich places Ian and the National Security Agency on the verge of a lucrative, game-changing partnership with chilling implications for privacy in America. The reader is left guessing as to whose side the FBI is on until the final pages.

“How much would our nation allow some of these leading tech companies to get away with in the interest of furthering our own national security?” he wonders. “We live in an era where we’re made to be so afraid of even the slightest risk that we allow the government to take extraordinary measures regarding our privacy in the name of national security.”

The more he learned about cutting-edge surveillance technology, the less convinced Reich became that lawmakers can effectively restrict its use.

“The NSA, with their computers, are just being spies, and the whole point of spying is to collect information. You don’t tell a spy, ‘Only get half of the information you can.’ You tell them, ‘Get everything you can!’ That’s the whole point of having a spy agency.”

Ultimately, Reich came to a very Orwellian conclusion about the intrusion of cyber-surveillance into the American home.

“I’m a big believer in what President Dwight Eisenhower said in his farewell speech: ‘Beware the military-industrial complex.’ This is a whole sector of society that needs adversaries, needs conflict, and really requires even armed conflict in wars to drive their bottom line and become successful,” he says. “I don’t really think that the issues they’re screaming about are as life-threatening or endangering to our national security as they say. The more I research the various government military and intelligence sectors, I feel we really don’t need to be so heavily involved in a lot of these areas.”

To inject a little levity, Reich borrowed one of his daughters’ favorite pastimes: watching pet videos on YouTube.

“My daughters were always looking at a video about this sloth trying to pull itself out of a cradle, so as I was writing the book, it worked into kind of a MacGuffin [plot twist] in the book,” he recalls.

Invasion of Privacy marks the start of a busy year ahead for Reich, a one-time Swiss banker and watch company CEO who launched his writing career with the million-selling 1998 debut Numbered Account (and an assist from James Patterson, an enthusiastic early reader of the manuscript).

Reich’s Rules of Deception series featuring mountaineering surgeon Dr. Jonathan Ransom has been optioned for three 12-episode seasons by Paramount Television and Skydance Productions (Terminator, Mission: Impossible); he’s halfway through writing a fourth book in that series. And next summer, he’ll launch a new series called The Amateur’s Hour, about a cynical government contractor whose predictions about upcoming world events prove a little too close for some people’s comfort.

“I’ll be doing the David Baldacci two-books-a-year thing,” quips Reich. “I’m a little bit scared, but I’m happy to have that problem!”

Does the author fear his own phone may be hacked in the near future?

“I don’t really feel so vulnerable, because I don’t think I’m interesting enough for someone to want to look into what I’m doing,” he chuckles. 

But he does worry about consumers who share so freely on social media. 

“Most Americans put more stuff about themselves on Facebook than they would probably tell anybody. They don’t realize that that information is so readily accessible. We’re already very open with our information in this society. It’s all right out there,” he says.

As for the reception of Invasion of Privacy, the author says he’s already won over two very important new readers.

“This is the first one of my books that both of my daughters have read, and they both just loved it; they just disappeared into it with the teenage characters and the mom,” he says proudly. “Having tried to give my kids my other books, they would go, ‘This is so boring!’ When I saw my daughter disappear and read my book for four hours straight, that was like, OK, I wrote a good book.”

 

This article was originally published in the July 2015 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

International thriller writer Christopher Reich admits his new standalone nail-biter, Invasion of Privacy, lacks the globetrotting savoir faire of his bestsellers Numbered Account, The Patriot’s Club and The Prince of Risk. But what it so deliciously serves up instead is a visceral fear feast centered on a simple premise: What if your iPhone turned against you?
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Debut thrillers tend to fall into two categories: the perfectly plotted handshake that introduces us to the promise of a series to follow and, very rarely, the unexpected high dive that turns convention on its head, dazzling us with its sheer audacity.

Count Gina Wohlsdorf’s Security among the high-board thrillers, both for its narrative daring and successful weaving of horror, humor and Fifty Shades of Grey hotness into one unforgettable reading experience.

We enter the luxurious 20-story Manderley Resort in Santa Barbara less than 24 hours before its grand opening. Tessa, the general manager, rides roughshod over housekeeping, front desk and food & bev on the lower 19. The 20th floor remains off-limits to all but the resort’s elite security team, which monitors a state-of-the-art security system specifically designed to protect the world’s one-percenters.

But behind this behind-the-scenes, pre-grand opening frenzy lurks a masked killer who is systematically retiring the help, one by one, in gruesome ways.

Why the carnage? And who’s narrating this grim tale? Wohlsdorf offers clues in the chapter headings, which simply consist of security camera numbers. Then, less than 20 pages in, she doubles the intrigue by splitting the descriptive narrative briefly into two columns. Then three. Then four.

Wohlsdorf breaks into laughter when I admit my first reaction was, “Oh God, no!”

“Yeah, this could go so wrong!” she admits during a call to her home in Denver. “I was aware that it was a really, really sensitive device, and I didn’t want it to come across like a device. Whenever the head of security was seeing two or three things at once, I split the page. But I was aware of it as an instrument to sometimes get something across thematically, like splitting the page between a very graphic sex scene and also a staff member’s flight—this duality of sex and death, which is classic to the slasher genre.”

And she would know. Growing up in Bismarck, North Dakota, Wohlsdorf dealt with her own preadolescent anxiety by immersing herself in the big-screen mayhem of such cinema slashers as Halloween’s Michael Myers, Friday the 13th’s Jason Voorhees and Nightmare on Elm Street’s Freddy Krueger. Little did she realize that life would soon nudge her into exploring horror from a whole new perspective: her own.

“When I was 13, I got hit by a car going a good 30 miles per hour; it whacked me into the gutter and broke my upper arm clean in half. I looked up from the gutter and just started screaming, and people came to help,” she recalls. “As I was lying there, I suddenly realized: This is what you’ve been afraid of your whole life. You might die here, but you’re OK; it’s a beautiful day, the sun is out, birds are singing and that’s awesome. Lying in the gutter, I realized, you know, it’s really ridiculous how much time you’ve wasted being scared when this is it—you’re here and you’re fine.”

Several years later, she took her first stab at writing a slasher novel.

“I loved Stephen King, read everything by Stephen King and loved reading horror, but there was no ‘slasher’ novel,” she says. “So I sat down and tried to write one, and I was like, ‘Well, that’s why; that’s awful!’ It didn’t work at all. It just read wretchedly, and I kind of gave up.”

“As a kid, I was always wondering what Michael Myers was doing when he wasn’t on screen. Does he snack? Does he make phone calls or do laundry?”

To her surprise, her page and screen influences—including the Daphne du Maurier classic Rebecca (set in part in the Cornish estate of Manderley) and Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining (with its creepy deserted hotel)—combined to inspire a new horror novel idea. But where to set it?

“I’m notoriously spatially challenged; you turn me in a circle and I get lost, even in places that I’m very, very familiar with,” Wohlsdorf admits. “So when I had the initial idea for Security, I sat down and drew a very simple schematic of the hotel. I knew there were 20 floors and an external pool and a glass cover. So I had a really good grasp of the grounds.”

She knew from experience that her killer would have to be three-dimensional to carry off such a locked-room mystery. She fashioned hers after one of her screen favorites.

“As a kid, I was always wondering what Michael Myers was doing when he wasn’t on screen. Does he snack? Does he make phone calls or do laundry?” she says. “So in my book, the killer is kind of the most human character, because you see him do all of those things. He’s human; he makes mistakes and he’s funny. He drags a liver along the floor like a tin can. Come on, that’s funny! You almost like him. You almost want to hang out.”

Recent public concerns over privacy and security, including Fox Sports reporter Erin Andrews’ hotel stalking lawsuit, provide the powerful subtext that drives Security. And once again, Wohlsdorf’s personal experience helped bring the security fears to life.

“I had this boss I once worked for who was bugging her breakroom. And we tested it, as workers will, and it was very strange to know that she could be listening at any time to our conversations, which she did quite often,” Wohlsdorf recalls. “Why would she need that? I’m sure that her rationalization was, that’s when you’re safe, when you just know everything that goes on. But that’s also when you’re so vulnerable, because that’s when your megalomania can really hobble your relationships. You see that in Security as well.”

For Wohlsdorf, whose works-in-progress include a father-daughter thriller and a “zombie romance,” facing some of life’s darkest fears has opened up more than just literary possibilities. “It’s life possibilities, too,” she says. “Writing’s scary, and trying to make a living is akin to suicide! Being fearless helps a lot.”

 

This article was originally published in the July 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.


It’s Private Eye July at BookPage! All month long, we’re celebrating the sinister side of fiction with the year’s best mysteries and thrillers. Look for the Private Eye July magnifying glass for a daily dose of murder, espionage and all those creepy neighbors with even creepier secrets.

Debut thrillers tend to fall into two categories: the perfectly plotted handshake that introduces us to the promise of a series to follow and, very rarely, the unexpected high dive that turns convention on its head, dazzling us with its sheer audacity.

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