Book Review: Dark Places

Dark Places by Gillian Flynn (Random House, 2009)

I like to fancy myself a very well-read person, and to think that I stay attuned to events in the publishing world.  But I have to wonder about the rock I've been living under for the past few years, because I can't fathom how I missed out on Gillian Flynn's debut novel (Sharp Objects), let alone her follow-up Dark Places--an instant classic of American Gothic fiction.

The book--centering on the brutal murder of a family inside a Kansas farmhouse--is obviously influenced by Truman Capote's In Cold Blood (Flynn even references the town of Holcomb at one point), but quickly stakes out its own dark territory.  At age seven, Libby Day emerged (though hardly unscathed, physically or emotionally) as the only survivor of her family's bizarre massacre (by shotgun blast, axe blade, and strangulation).  She never actually witnessed the crimes taking place, but her testimony helped convict her allegedly devil-worshiping brother Ben of the murders.  For twenty-five years Libby has tried to put that awful night behind her, but now finding herself verging on destitution, she gets involved with the Kill Club, an offbeat group obsessed with sensational crimes.  At first the flawed Libby (who's snarky and quirky as a Chuck Palahniuk protagonist--she numbers kleptomania amongst her foibles) figures she'll make a quick buck by pawning of family memorabilia to the Kill Club.  But she soon discovers that many of these devotees believe her brother is innocent and accordingly want her to help clear up the mystery surrounding that fateful January night back in 1985.  She reluctantly agrees, and her subsequent detective work forces her to confront the dark places lurking both within her own psyche and out in the world of the American Midwest.

Dark Places is ingeniously structured, its chapters alternating between Libby's first-person narration (as she embarks on her present-day quest for answers) and flashbacks (presented in the third-person viewpoint of Libby's brother Ben or their mom Patty) to the day leading up to the shocking bloodbath.  Such plotting allows Flynn to parcel out information about the crimes and clues to their solutions.  Moreover, it creates a heap of suspense as the novel builds toward a climax reminiscent of Silence of the Lambs (as the investigating Libby walks unsuspectingly into the killer's very lair).

Flynn's powerful novel fires on every cylinder imaginable.  The 
settings are brought to life by fantastic bits of description 
(e.g.  "Doors [in Ben's prison, which Libby finally visits] opened and shut, opened and shut, as I walked through a series of them, each shifting in size, like a metal Wonderland.  The floors stank of bleach and the air smelled beefy and humid.").  The imagery ("they fell on her bed, stuffed animals bouncing to lemming deaths on either side") is precise, the similes ("Lyle's tiny ears turned red like angry embryos") wonderfully original.  Characterization, though, is the book's strongest suit; even minor figures are memorably depicted (via details of appearance and action).  Flynn delves deep inside major players like Ben and Patty, expertly conveying their inner conflicts, their anguish.  Most unforgettable of all is Libby, a damaged, unambitious, yet ultimately admirable protagonist.  Her voice mesmerizes, even when dealing with unpleasant subject matter.  Consider, for instance, this frankly unflattering self-portrait that Libby paints at the start of the novel:

I have a meanness inside me, real as an organ.  Slit me at my belly and it might slide out, meaty and dark, drop on the floor so you could stomp on it.  It's the Day blood.  Something's wrong with it.  I was never a good little girl, and I got worse after the murders.  Little Orphan Libby grew up sullen and boneless, shuffled around a group of lesser relatives--second cousins and great-aunts and friends of friends--stuck in a series of mobile homes or rotting ranch houses all across Kansas.  Me going to school in my dead sisters' hand-me-downs: Shirts with mustardy armpits.  Pants with baggy bottoms, comically loose, held on with a raggedy belt cinched to the farthest hole.  In class photos my hair was always crooked--barrettes hanging loosely from strands, as if they were airborne objects caught in the tangles--and I always had bulging pockets under my eyes, drunk-landlady eyes.  Maybe a grudging curve of the lip where a smile should be.  Maybe.

I was not a lovable child, and I'd grown into a deeply unlovable adult.  Draw a picture of my soul, and it'd be a scribble with fangs.

Flynn has written an engrossing murder mystery, a highly-literate page-turner.  Readers will tear through the narrative (compelled to find out who really killed the Day family); other writers will pore over it (trying to study the author's craft).  Dark Places is an utterly brilliant book, and proves that two novels into her young career, Flynn is already one of the most talented writers working in America.