It’s the time of year when you can’t move for summer book recommendations. Usually the list will include a Jane Austen, a Robert Caro, the latest thoughtful non-fiction sensation and a blink-and-you’re-done thriller. Speaking of the latter, The Serial Killer’s Party, by Amy Cunningham, has all the voom and the vim to keep you engrossed in one or two sittings. There’s an air of menace, a well-formed cast of potential suspects, and 90 mile an hour energy.

Amelia Spencer is a barrister in London. Her slacker sister, Rose, has gone missing, and Amelia is determined to find her. She finds a clue that suggests that Rose was to attend an exclusive annual party in Norway, held by a reclusive billionaire. She drops out of her job and adapts a false persona with the aim of attending the next one. But once she’s made it to Norway, there are deaths and disappearances, and Amelia finds herself in the middle of an almighty power struggle.

When I put it like that, it feels a bit ridiculous. But Cunningham pulls it off using some simple but compelling story-telling techniques. First, she strips it right down. We have one narrator and a single time-line. You’re not jumping forward and back and that means that, just like Amelia, we’re in the moment.

Second, Amelia is an excellent protagonist. She tries to think strategically but she acts quickly and usually (but, thankfully, not always) effectively. She’s a bit of a superwoman – she keeps telling us she’s trained for a year to be at peak fitness – but her opposition are at the top of their game too.

Third, the backdrop is pretty cinematic. At times, you’re reminded of Working Girl, The Great Gatsby, Lord of the Flies and Glass Onion. On one level, it’s incredibly vivid. But the scene is secondary to the characters. 

I wrote earlier that the cast is well-formed, but it’s an ensemble. With the exception of two or three  characters who are drawn in a detailed-enough way to show ambiguities, the majority are interesting less for their attributes than for the tensions between each other. The novel draws on – though it could explore further – the petty snobberies and insecurities that overshadow this corner of the supposed elite. Their confidence comes from wealth and not from character and deep down they know it. Ford, Amelia’s boyfriend, is related to this family of billionaires. His family think Amelia is common; they acknowledge Ford as one of them. Almost. Ford doesn’t have a problem that the family think his girlfriend is ‘common’, nor that they say it to her face. He has a problem with the word ‘almost’. I enjoy it when Cunningham plays with these tensions, and I could do with more of them, but it’s not that kind of book. Amelia’s not there as a commentator on class, she’s there to find Rose and there are too many people who seem to have their own reasons to get in the way.

There are a number of twists, none of which is preposterous, one of which I actually managed to predict! Cunningham is generous with the clues, even when Amelia doesn’t recognise the significance. We get sent down some cul-de-sacs for good measure. The result is a taut and at times terrifying thriller with the ability to surprise the reader. Great summer fare.

Thanks to Penguin books for the review copy and to Anne Cater for the blog tour invitation.