Little Deaths by Emma Flint
‘When tragedy strikes, there’s a tendency to assume that someone is different. Special. That there’s something about them that makes them the kind of person bad things happen to. Because the alternative – that bad things can happen to anyone, at any time – is unthinkable.’
New York, 1965. One morning, Ruth Malone wakes to find her two young children missing. After a desperate search, the police make a horrifying discovery. It’s every mother’s worst nightmare. But Ruth Malone is not like other mothers. Noting Ruth’s perfect make-up and provocative clothing, the empty bottles of alcohol and love letters that litter her apartment, the detectives leap to convenient conclusions. But is Ruth really capable of murder?
I was really intrigued by this book, having heard some great things about it. But, overall, the execution failed to live up to the promise of the idea.
The pace of the book was the main element that threw me off. We learn early on that Ruth is in prison, so throughout the investigation and trial there is no suspense about what is going to happen. I didn’t realise that this is partly a police procedural novel (a genre I am not particularly fond of) and that at least half the chapters are focused on a journalist named Pete who is investigating the story of the missing children, and in the process becomes obsessed with Ruth.
The writing is good, but lacks the flashes of brilliance that would have elevated this book to a truly great read. Some of the themes are really interesting and I found Ruth a sympathetic and well-written character. She cares deeply for her children but she becomes easily exasperated by them. Her life hasn’t turned out anything like she thought it would and her disappointment is, in the eyes of the media, enough to mark her out as a bad person – and possibly a murderer.
Even set in the 1960s, this book bears poignant relevance to our world today. Ruth might not be talked about and judged on social media, but in the claustrophobic working class environment where she lives, there’s always someone peeking through a net curtain and gossiping about the woman who comes home late.
If the focus had been entirely on Ruth, I think I would have enjoyed this book a lot more. Unfortunately, much of the story is focused on journalist Pete Wonicke. He is an entirely unmemorable character who quickly becomes exasperating with his unrealistic actions. I wanted to know more about Ruth, and I wanted Flint to delve further into the themes she just begins to pick at, especially the way female criminals are judged by the media.
I was also extremely disappointed by the ending. It seemed completely unconvincing and came out of the blue, and after that I was glad to put the book down.
This book definitely disappointed me, but fans of crime fiction will still find things to enjoy here. Just don’t expect it to blow your socks off.