Read Me

June 1, 2018
A stalker insinuates himself into the life of his target, with horrific results.When he first appears, the narrator of this novel seems polite and even self-deprecating. "I have only tried to live by simple principles with doggedness and honesty, and with an open mind," he says; it's a simple code, and one that seems innocent enough. Quickly, however, his actions demonstrate that he has a much more sinister agenda in mind: watching a young woman as she sleeps, his movements quiet so as not to wake her. Over the course of the following pages, the narrator reveals that, due to an inheritance, he's become independently wealthy and that he has a penchant for stalking women. It's Frances who draws him in the most--and, gradually, Benedictus (The Afterparty, 2011) shows both how the narrator monitors her and how his efforts to disrupt her life turn a successful career into something that disrupts her psychological well-being. The contrast between the narrator's tone and the unsettling nature of his actions creates a host of tension, and in its best moments this novel suggests a reimagining of John Fowles' The Collector for an age of social media, constant surveillance, and toxic masculinity. Unfortunately, in the novel's second half, its narrator engages in a series of even more horrific acts, turning a work of psychological suspense into something more visceral. And while the narrator's self-deluded solemnity makes for a number of creepy jolts throughout, having the book written from his perspective has the effect of marginalizing Frances--making the conclusion feel flat rather than chilling.When Benedictus' thriller clicks, it does so vividly--but it never entirely explores the full weight of its resonant themes.

COPYRIGHT(2018) Kirkus Reviews, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

June 18, 2018
In this chilling yet disappointing psychological thriller from Benedictus (The Afterparty), an unnamed narrator keeps a written record of his unusual hobby: stalking. When his aunt dies and leaves him a fortune, the narrator is given all the free time he needs to indulge in the stalking of random women in an unspecified city, spying on them via webcams and hidden microphones, as well as simply overhearing conversations. His one rule is not to become personally involved with any of his victims—but he breaks that rule when he spots Frances, a beautiful young woman who works for a consulting firm. Frances has just been suspended because of an anonymous email accusing her of fraud and other misdeeds. The narrator takes it upon himself to mete out justice (or vengeance) on Frances’s behalf where he thinks it necessary. Switching back and forth between the first and third persons, the narrative feels unnecessarily complicated. The narrator is appropriately a cipher, but Frances is so bland that it is difficult to understand the narrator’s obsession with her. In the end, hampered by long-winded philosophical asides by the narrator, the novel doesn’t work up enough suspense to be worthy of its premise.

July 1, 2019

An extreme entry in the "stalker" subgenre, this work features Narrator (N), who at first appears to be genial, chatty, and convinced that his behaviors are research oriented, not creepy. But when he encounters Frances, his resolution not to interfere with his "subjects" vanishes. Soon Fran's employers receive an anonymous and unsubstantiated email alleging professional perfidy. Suspended, Fran believes the source of her troubles to be team-leader Will--it isn't, but Will soon finds himself shoved in front of a subway train, N's first murder victim. His second is Patrick, one-night lover of Fran; his demise is bloodily gruesome, and readers who want to jump ship around page 190 will be excused. That said, Benedictus (The Afterparty) offers a lot of "experimentation" with narrative voice. The opening first-person voice shifts to omniscient, and the reader doesn't know if this is N imagining Fran's doings and thoughts or an altogether new voice. The second person is also used a lot, sometimes addressed to the reader, sometimes to a nonpresent Fran, sometimes to N himself. The novel ends in medias res, where books are supposed to start, with N descending from temporary quarters in Fran's attic to join her in bed for a cup of tea. VERDICT For hardened veteran fans of this subgenre.--Robert E. Brown, Oswego, NY

Copyright 2019 Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.