A psychological thriller that
does NOT slowly build up to a crescendo, I got hit in Chapter One, page one
with Alicia Berenson, an artist/painter who shoots her husband point-blank in the
face. She attempts suicide by slashing her wrists and it takes three police
officers to stop her. She never speaks again but, when under house arrest, she
picks up her brushes and paint, and starts a naked self-portrait of herself.
It is entitled Alcestis, only one word in Greek lettering written on the canvas. Is this her sole communication, her testimony to her crime?
Six years later, a
forensic psychotherapist, Theo Faber arrives at the Grove, hell-bent to help
the unreachable Alicia when others have failed. He is brave to insist on
talking with her one-to-one; no response at the start, then a challenge in her
look, a smile, a stare. The novel juxtaposes the complicated past lives of Theo
and Alicia with their present interactions in the institution.
I found the novel riveting.
The inclusion of family and friends, all with skeletons in their closets forced
me to rethink countless of times as I tried to unravel the mystery. The novel was
a good read not because it was The #1 New York Times Bestseller, but because it led
me on a guessing game of “why did Alicia do it or did Alicia do it?”
I read all my books on
Kindle, a birthday present from Gizmo man.
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