Davis' latest is a sexually violent, brutal, and disturbing psychological thriller that lays bare the twisted soul of a psychopathic killer. The anger, pain, and helplessness David Frate felt as an abused child have turned into burning hatred. His darker self is a tormented sexual predator who only finds relief in killing his victims. But his "other" self has married Jeanette, a meek, colorless woman devoted to her husband. David has convinced Jeanette that his nightly forays to find new victims are spent meeting contacts in the music business. After four years of acquiescing to David's domineering personality, Jeanette meets Wanda, who convinces her to attend an assertiveness class. There Jeanette gradually realizes that her meek acceptance of David's behavior has helped isolate her from the truth: something is horribly wrong with her husband, and she is the only one who can uncover whatever dark secrets he is hiding. A searing, potent, unsettling story reminiscent of Ruth Rendell at her darkest.
Emily Melton
From Kirkus Reviews
Davis really seems to have a thing for the kinds of sociopathic heroes (Shrouded, 1997) who would send most womenor most everyonescreaming away. Her second specimen is David Frate, who dreams of success as a songwriter while he's stocking the shelves of an Edinburgh health food store. Despite his sleek good looks, David doesn't appear to be up to much, even to his adoring wife Jeanette. But David, who must have read The Collector at an impressionable age, has unsuspected depths. He sleeps apart from Jeanette but enjoys hard-core pornography, phone sex, and, eventually, kidnaping and torturing women, who, despite what would be a mounting wave of disappearances in your hometown, unfailingly get into his car and find themselves in his secret house slated for unspeakable terrors. The grim round of torments is enlivened by Davis's sharp eye for (1) the unblushingly utopian nature of David's fantasies (his victims obligingly tremble, cower, and accede to his every violation while remaining immaculately groomed); (2) his sullen rage when his actual victims fail to perform like his fantasy women; and (3) the blackly comic ignorance of his dull mouse of a wife, who, not realizing she's in an unusually explicit shocker, keeps manufacturing innocent explanations for her lamb's behavior and then being shocked even by those innocent imaginings. It's the humor, finally, that lifts the tale above the clinical study it so chillingly resembles. --
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