When does a story end? I finished It could have been her, the new psychological thriller by Lisa Jewell, a few days ago, but have been mulling ever since about its sprawling nature and the three-stage ending. It’s all about boundaries. That is, if you can reduce kidnapping, multiple murders, abuse and addiction to a single concept. As usual with Jewell, we’re kept on our toes by messy, partly relatable characters who move through the novel such that almost every scene contains menace until there’s a double or triple twist that’s ambiguous and sends us back into the world a little more wary.
About three quarters of the way through the book, I find myself hoping that some implied murders haven’t happened, but I don’t trust anyone (apart from Hugo, the dog) and I am also aware and uneasy that my sympathy for at least one character who has been driven into an addiction is sorely lacking. Near the end, that is kind of wrapped up (but in the ambiguous way I’ve mentioned above) and a character mentions a vibe she’s picked up about another. I don’t agree with that interpretation so I’m slightly annoyed but then – bam! – she’s absolutely right. There will be some justice meted out to this second character but what kind of justice is appropriate we never consider. It is as though, like a virus, society tries to isolate an illness or a source of it. Everyone else runs for the nearest exit. It turns out that the ‘everyone else’ in the novel were probably trustworthy all along.
Jewell knows that we will all have questions, and there is no attempt made at answers. How did all this start anyway? What was the dynamic really like between Allen and Annie? Both of these characters are at the same time fascinating and not so. And – the murders themselves. Who did which? What was their motivation? (We’re told about the motivation for one of them but what if the narrator is unreliable? All Jewell’s narrators are unreliable.) How did each one change the dynamics in that house of cruelty?
None of this is explored and that’s probably quite right. The protagonists are Jane Trevally and to a lesser extent Stuart. But that means It could have been her is not the story of the women for whom it actually was. Again, that’s probably right. A book in which terrible, cruel, unspeakable things happen might become overwhelming. An ending that involves house sales and haircuts provides some closure, but not for everybody. In a Jewell book, there is never closure for everybody. She has too much respect for her readers.
And yet another twist comes to me afterwards, when someone points out that Jane Trevally appeared also in Don’t Let Him In, last year’s thriller. In some ways, it makes no difference which is why I can mention it here. But I might have reread Don’t Let Him In before starting It could have been her, as I missed Jewell’s development of Jane, who is in some ways too basic to be interesting but also extremely interesting for the same reason.
It could have been her is dark and sad. It shows desperate people doing desperate things. It’s a thriller with questions. Expect menace, bleakness, twists and story-telling that’s top notch. Do not expect answers.
Other Lisa Jewell novels reviewed on Cafethinking:
Cafethinking 