Early 1900s, New York state. Simon Ziele has lost his fiancee and most of the use of one arm to a ferry disaster, his mother to disease, his father to gambling, and his sister to marriage.
I find that last part particularly amusing, because other characters are like, don’t you have any family left? And Ziele is all, naw, everyone’s dead, deserted, or married. Like just because his sister got hitched and left New York City, THEY CAN NEVER WRITE TO EACH OTHER AGAIN.
But I digress.
So Simon’s seriously emo, with good reason, and he leaves his job as a detective in New York City for one as…a detective. But this time in a small town! Where there are no really gross homicides! Because even though his fiancee died in an accident, not through violent crime, he associates the two! Because I guess that makes sense!
Anyway, it sucks to be Simon, because at the very beginning of the book, a young lady comes to visit her wealthy aunt in Simon’s sleepy little town and winds up getting brutally murdered.
See, Simon, here’s your REAL PROBLEM: you shouldn’t have left NYC for upstate New York. You should have left crime fiction for a Nicholas Sparks novel.
So this girl is dead, and almost immediately a professor from Columbia by the name of Alistair Sinclair shows up at Simon’s door and is all, “Hey–so your murder? Sounds like the work of my pet psychopath. I’ve been studying the way this guy’s brain works for a couple of years, and let me tell you, this murder is exactly like the sick shit I’ve been listening to all this time. PS: did I mention that I let him off the leash two weeks ago and haven’t seen him since?”
So then they decide to work together. Shenanigans ensue.
I had several problems with this book: to begin with, I obviously didn’t buy Simon’s PAIN. It’s not that his feelings are totally implausible–many people simply cannot cope with the death of a loved one and switch careers–but they feel…forced. Simon tells us about everything he feels; we never see any indication that he’s experiencing an emotion. This is mostly due to the writing style, which seems to be Pintoff’s attempt to ape the style of the times. But, um, it doesn’t really work. It makes the characters feel flat, and also? She has Simon say things like, “Little did I know then, but everything was about to abruptly go to shit.” DON’T DO THAT, AUTHORS. IT’S A CRIME NOVEL. DO NOT TELEGRAPH PLOT TWISTS LIKE THAT.
And speaking about telegraphing plot twists: I called the murderer from his introduction. Seriously. The minute he showed up, I was like, “BAM! That guy!” And that’s not the end of the world, but Pintoff never managed to shake my conviction about this character. Never. That’s unacceptable. Personally, I don’t read crime novels to feel smart; I read them to feel really, really stupid. I want to be tricked. I want the author to be two steps ahead of me and mooning me at all times. Pintoff never manages that, which is why I can’t forgive her poor characterization or her dreadful period style.
Recommended for: Only if you are deeply, inexplicably, and forever in love with The Alienist.