The unspoken thing in the woods
Laura Lippman, a former Baltimore newspaper reporter, has distinguished herself as a mystery writer with strong writing chops, creating original characters and unpredictable scenarios that leave the reader with something to think about. Her newest book, The Most Dangerous Thing, stays true to her strengths.
nolead begins By Laura Lippman
William Morrow.
352 pp. $25.99
nolead ends nolead begins
Reviewed by Mia Geiger
Laura Lippman, a former Baltimore newspaper reporter, has distinguished herself as a mystery writer with strong writing chops, creating original characters and unpredictable scenarios that leave the reader with something to think about. Her newest book,
The Most Dangerous Thing
, stays true to her strengths.
This time around, Lippman weaves a mystery through a tapestry of childhood friendships and adult regrets. The story centers on five friends who form a tight bond one summer. Thirty years later, after one of the members dies, the remaining group members reunite and must revisit a mystery from their past - a never-spoken-of event that occurred one day while they played in the woods.
The Most Dangerous Thing is Lippman's 17th novel, including 11 books in her Tess Monaghan detective series. As in her previous novels, Dangerous is set in Baltimore, this time in Lippman's hometown of Dickeyville. The heavily forested Leakin Park figures prominently.
Shifting from the late 1970s to three decades later, the tale is told from different characters' perspectives: the three Halloran brothers and best girlfriends Gwen Robison and Mickey Wickham.
In less skilled hands the numerous characters would be confusing, but here, each is distinct. The "good girl" is Gwen, or Gwennie as she was known as a chubby youngster. The bad girl is Mickey, an instantly unlikable girl whose antics are unsettling. The good boy is Sean, perfect-looking, perfect-speaking, perfect at everything. The oldest brother is Tim, insecure about not measuring up.
The bad boy is the youngest brother, Gordon, nicknamed "Go-Go," for always wanting to tag along. Clearly something is not right with Go-Go. But what is it? His strange, unpredictable behavior hints at a possible mental deficiency. Or is he just a little boy with energy to spare?
Unlike most mystery novels, in which a murder, kidnapping, or other horrific event takes place either as a prologue or within the first few chapters, in The Most Dangerous Thing, it takes a while for the usual "bad thing" to happen. It might feel a little disconcerting to devout mystery readers, but then, almost without warning, Lippman slips in a single line of ominous foreshadowing - and then you know it's on.
Lippman uses the "bad thing" as a way to delve into the characters' psyches. The technique works; you want to know why they do what they do. You keep reading to find out the answer to the mystery, but you also want to know what happens to these kids-and-then-grown-ups.
Like most kids in the '70s, the five group members are on their own during the day - free to play in the neighborhood without adult supervision. Even though they've heard the warnings about the woods, such as not to play in the polluted stream and not to eat the poisonous berries, they hear the call of adventure deep within the forest of nearby Leakin Park. Lippman writes:
The fact is, our parents didn't want to look too closely at how we spent our days because then they would have to be responsible for us.
With the kids outside every day, coming home only in time for dinner, the story prompts questions: How much should we supervise our children? Do we need to know where they are and what they are doing at all times? And to what lengths should we go to protect them?
As in her earlier books, particularly Every Secret Thing and By a Spider's Thread, Lippman shows a keen awareness of children's feelings and motivations, both male and female. Her characters are studies in issues relating to appearance, vulnerability, and jealousy between family members and friends.
The parents are fully drawn, with secrets of their own. Lippman uses the adults to explore the themes of personal choices and consequences. Gwen's mother, Tally Robison, who married a much older man at 19 and had her first of three children at 20, struggles with both:
She felt ancient. She adores Gwen, who has turned out to be a most satisfactory child. But having Gwen - finally, an accident, not that she regrets it - meant postponing her next stage. What if she had started painting in her twenties? Where would she be now?
In a few instances in the book, Lippman, a former journalist, gives a winking nod to the profession: Gwen as an adult is editor of a city magazine frowned upon by Sean as being fluffy, rather than a serious publication. Later on, Tim worries: "What if Gwen decides to write about this, for God's sake? Writers have so few boundaries."
Besides being funny in an insiderly way, the line about boundaries reveals something about the award-winning author. In her stand-alone novels, which are at times disturbing and dark, she dares to cross boundaries, giving voice to people's fears and flaws and the harm one person can inflict on another. But she also captures the flip side: people's desires simply to be accepted, cared for, and safe. Can't wait to see which boundaries Lippman chooses to cross next.
