Firstly, I want to thank BookShout and William Morrow for providing me with a galley copy of this fabulous debut novel, The Woman in the Window, by A.J. Finn.
Secondly, what a ripper of a read.
Arising out of the same oeuvre as the spate of “girl” books (Girl on the Train, Gone Girl etc), replete with their unreliable narrators, who are arch manipulators, alcoholics and liars etc., The Woman in the Window relies on many of the tropes these books used. However, not only is there a “woman” at the heart of the story, with a complex psychology and history, who happens to be a highly qualified child psychologist with a PhD but, importantly to the plot, structure and ambience of the novel, she’s also a black and white movie buff, her preferred genre being Hitchcockian thrillers. More on that shortly.
Dr Anna Fox is, for reasons that eventually emerge, housebound. Suffering from agoraphobia, she is also far too reliant and irresponsible with prescription drugs and wine and has poor personal hygiene. Separated from her husband and daughter, she is also without a support network, unless you can call her psychologist, occupational therapist, tenant in the basement and those she manages in an online group a support. When she’s not in her various chatrooms or playing chess online, Anna spends her days calling her husband and daughter or viewing her neighbourhood through her windows, camera in hand so she can use its powerful lens to really observe the goings on in the world she’s currently rejecting.
When she witnesses something terrible, the tight, closed domain she’s created starts to unravel and she begins to doubt – not only the life she’s created and the few people she’s allowed to enter it – but herself. But, as a fabulous line in the book declares, “It isn’t paranoia if it’s really happening….”
Or is it?
That’s the central question facing Anna and, in turn, the reader.
Though the core plot takes a while to kick off, this is not a dull book, nor does it have a slow start. Right from the outset, the reader is drawn to Anna and her claustrophobic environment. We learn to see the world and others the way she does before that too is overturned. Not only is Anna, a difficult, clever, self-depreciating woman who is at least honest with herself some of the time, eminently likeable, but you quickly root for her and feel a sense of protectiveness as her bland existence quickly becomes so very sinister.
Though the underlying notion of the book isn’t original, there’s no doubt the execution – and the characters that enact it – is. Superbly drawn though the various characters are, for me the use of old movies is what sets this novel apart. They function not only as a brilliant device that works as foreshadowing and even analepsis, but also to add flesh to the bones of specific scenes. References to fabulous old films like Rear Window, Rope, Birds and so many others, mean they too become characters in the novel, explicit scenes playing in the background or quotes from characters driving the narrative forward, adding to the building tension, making parts of the book almost gothic. There were times I was holding my breath while my heart knocked against my ribs, so well done was the atmosphere – the clever use of the movies and memories of those and their chilling soundtracks as well, adding a frisson.
Overall, once I really lost myself in Anna’s tale, I couldn’t put the book down.
I am not surprised it is being optioned as a film. Cinematic in execution and delivery, it’s crying out for the same treatment the films it plays such serious and celebratory homage to are given.
An outstanding book that readers of Girl on the Train, The Girl Before, Gone Girl, Girl Last Seen etc will devour, but also anyone who enjoys a good, well-written thriller and page-turner.
Yet, The Girl Before by J.P. Delaney manages to be so much more than simply “on trend” and, when the reveal at the end occurs, the title resonates in ways I didn’t expect. Despite criticisms that it doesn’t stack up to some of its predecessors, I think where it really succeeds is in the structure – where we have two primary narrative voices, both female, who are described simply as “Emma/Then” and “Jane/Now”. The interweaving of immediate past and present as the two women’s lives come together through the minimalist structure of One Folgate Street – the house both Emma and Jane live in, albeit at different times – is very well executed. Designed by an award-winning and quite mysterious architect, Edward, who suffers his own burdens, the house strikes different people in different ways – as does the man. From the opening pages, the house is as much a character as the people who dwell within its controlled, “perfect” white walls.
