In the beginning, I fell passionately in love with Stuart Turton’s The 7 1/2 Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle. I can’t say much without ruining the book, but suffice to say it involves a trove of characters, a murder, and an ingenious set up. The main character is a kaleidoscope, and the characters that revolve around him similarly shift and change. As the characters race to find out who kills Evelyn Hardcastle, old histories and painful stories start to bubble to the surface. By the time the end comes, the reader is almost as wrung out as the characters.
The book’s concept, which I won’t give away here, is original, but the old fashioned scaffolding of a good murder mystery set amidst a sea of guests is familiar. There is a whiff of Agatha Christie, but it quickly goes off the rails in an exciting way. The book is packed with a million details and people, so if you don’t like labyrinth plots and twists, you won’t like this book.
Unfortunately, I was disappointed with the ending, although it was beautifully written. But there is a major, moral flaw that kept coming up as I finished the book, and it clouded over all the other clever, meaningful, and redemptive parts. I think many people will feel wholly satisfied by the book and the way it ends, but some things nagged at me, preventing a feeling of satisfaction. I wish I didn’t have to keep so much to myself so as not to spoil things, because I’m dying to talk about the book with someone who has read it! Which, now that I think of it, means it was in fact a good book. Anything that chews at me has a tail, and I confess that’s what I love most about reading.