Book Review: The Mystery Writer by Sulari Gentill

Sulari Gentill takes her keen eye for meta-textual literary mysteries and applies them to the conspiracy theory in this, her latest compelling novel. If you, like me, haven’t much patience for real-life conspiracy theories, that could make this book a bit of a challenge to enjoy, as the escapist fiction of its plot relies heavily on buying into, if not outright sympathizing with, various fictional conspiracies and their proponents. If, however, conspiracies are totally your jam, then I can’t recommend this novel highly enough!

Theo Browning has fled her law studies in Australia to crash with her brother Gus in Lawrence, Kansas, where he’s recently made partner in a respectable law firm. While the provisions of her late American grandfather’s trust would provide more than adequate funding for her to pursue a law degree in whichever country she chooses, what she really wants is to be a writer. 

After several months of living with Gus and writing in cafes, she strikes up a friendship with successful author Dan Murdoch. He encourages her work, but is somewhat reluctant to introduce her to his own agent, Veronica Cole. Theo learns why firsthand when Veronica later explains some of her agency’s requirements, in this case pertaining to their clients’ romantic relationships:

“Day Delos and Associates is a holistic agency. We manage our clients’ careers, not just their books, and careers can be destroyed by an unwise assignation. So when a client wishes to form an association, he or she sends the particulars to the agency. The agency then runs general checks…criminal history, public platforms–nothing particularly intrusive.”

 

Theo wasn’t quite sure what to say.

 

“Day Delos’s greatest asset is the reputations and careers of our writers. Naturally, we wish to protect them, and without exception our writers are very grateful. You’ll find it’s standard practice among the better agencies.”

 

“Really,” Theo replied. “It seems extreme. Writers are entitled to private lives, surely.”

Despite her hesitation at signing over her privacy in this way, Theo very much wants to be a published author. Her innocent dreams of achieving her ambitions are exploded, however, when she stumbles across Dan’s dead body. His death sets off an online firestorm, as it coincides with the disappearance of an underground leader known only as Primus, who had claimed to have privileged information regarding a terrible government plot to raise the dead. With both the police and Primus’ online followers zeroing in on Theo’s relationship with Dan and scrutinizing her every move, she soon begins to wonder if there isn’t some merit to Day Delos’ stringent contract requirements.

Things only get worse when another dead body turns up. The Lawrence police expand their net to investigate the few confidants Theo has in the area. Almost as bad is the intensity of the conspiracy theory weirdos’ attention, which is matched only by the media’s growing interest in the case. After being driven out of their home, Theo and Gus seek refuge in perhaps the least likely of places: the bosom of a doomsday prepper enclave. But when Gus’s life is put on the line, will Theo do the unthinkable in a desperate effort to save her beloved older brother?

The tangled plotlines of this novel certainly echo the labyrinthine motifs throughout, as naive young Theo is pulled hither and yon in the tides of forces far greater than even her imagination had ever dreamed. Despite my impatience with Theo’s eagerness to please, I appreciated how carefully Gentill laid the foundation for our protagonist’s personality, even down to her accent (while making an important point about Australians in general):

“What I can’t work out is how he knew you were Australian,” Gus added scowling. “It’s an unusual nationality to guess out of the blue…and, generally speaking, the world doesn’t realize that Australians come in all colors.”

 

Theo’s brow furrowed. Gus was right. She had taken after their father and was much darker than her brother. People had, in the past, asked her if she was Egyptian, Greek, even Peruvian, but no stranger had guessed Australian before. “The accent, I suppose,” she offered half-heartedly.

 

“Most Yanks can’t tell the difference between an Australian and a British accent…and your accent is pretty weak.”

Fast-paced and au courant with both political and literary trends, The Mystery Writer feels like an absorbing variation on Gentill’s already terrific body of work. The fact that it isn’t my favorite book of hers says far more about me and my interests than the quality of this entertaining novel.