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    The Woman in the Library: A Novel
    The Woman in the Library: A Novel
    The Woman in the Library: A Novel
    Ebook392 pages6 hours

    The Woman in the Library: A Novel

    By Sulari Gentill

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    USA TODAY BESTSELLER * MARY HIGGINS CLARK AWARD NOMINEE * 2022 BOOKPAGE BEST MYSTERIES AND SUSPENSE * LIBRARY READS TOP 10 BOOKS OF 2022 * CRIME READS BEST NEW CRIME FICTION

    "Investigations are launched, fingers are pointed, potentially dangerous liaisons unfold and I was turning those pages like there was cake at the finish line." —Moira Macdonald, Seattle Times must-read books for summer 2022

    Ned Kelly award winning author Sulari Gentill sets this mystery-within-a-mystery in motion with a deceptively simple, Dear Hannah, What are you writing? pulling us into the ornate reading room at the Boston Public Library.

    In every person's story, there is something to hide...

    The tranquility is shattered by a woman's terrified scream. Security guards take charge immediately, instructing everyone inside to stay put until the threat is identified and contained. While they wait for the all-clear, four strangers, who'd happened to sit at the same table, pass the time in conversation and friendships are struck. Each has his or her own reasons for being in the reading room that morning—it just happens that one is a murderer.

    Sulari Gentill delivers a sharply thrilling read with The Woman in the Library, an unexpectedly twisty literary adventure that examines the complicated nature of friendship and shows us that words can be the most treacherous weapons of all.

    What readers are saying about The Woman in the Library:

    "I loved this intelligent, high tension, addictive, unputdownable book so much!"

    "I ABSOLUTELY LOVED IT!"

    "This is a smart, well-written whodunit with an interesting cast of characters and a well-developed plot."

    "A murder mystery that starts off in a crowded library full of book lovers? SIGN ME UP!"

    "What an outstanding job and literary work in the crime-fiction genre!"

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSourcebooks
    Release dateJun 7, 2022
    ISBN9781464215889
    The Woman in the Library: A Novel
    Author

    Sulari Gentill

    Sulari Gentill is the award-winning author of The Rowland Sinclair Mystery series, historical crime fiction novels set in the 1930s. She won the 2012 Davitt Award for Best Adult Crime Fiction and has been shortlisted for the Commonwealth Writers' Prize. After setting out to study astrophysics, graduating in law, and then abandoning her legal career to write books, she now grows French black truffles on her farm in the foothills of the Snowy Mountains of New South Wales.

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    Reviews for The Woman in the Library

    3.5/5

    257 ratings29 reviews

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    • 4/5
      This book was definitely confusing in the beginning especially on audio. It's a book within a book type story which took me a little time to get used to. But, once I got into it, I listened through most of the night to finish.
    • 3/5
      I had no idea what I was getting into when I started this mystery, and, listening to the audio ebook, I have to say I got more confused before it all started to make sense. Yes, it is a book within a book, but the publishing blurb doesn’t tell you that. The “book” characters are by far more compelling than the “real” characters. Readers will get caught up in this engrossing mystery, what is real, what isn’t, and just who IS the psycho killer, anyway?! My rating varied from a 2-star to a 4-star but I settled on a 3-star because of the peculiar conclusion. It is a fascinating tale, but don’t be surprised if you shake your head at times, wondering what in the world is going on.
    • 4/5
      Four strangers meet in the reading room of the Boston Public Library when they hear a scream. Frightened, they find out later that a woman has been murdered. One of the 4, Whit, worked with the woman on a publication. Marigold has an affection for Whit, Freddie (Winifred) is an Australian, working on writing a mystery novel, and finally Cain, a handsome man with a secret past. This is a story within a story, as the author writing the story of the woman in the library is an Australian author, Hannah, communicating with another writer, Leo. Leo provides editorial suggestions to Hannah. The story within a story is well done and the ending leaves you wondering! I enjoyed this book and look forward to reading more from this author, as she kept me guessing about who and why.
    • 3/5
      There is a scream that shatters the silence in the reading room at the Boston Public Library. A dead body of a woman has been discovered by a cleaning lady. This leads to four strangers, who just happen to be sitting at the same table, to become sleuths and fast friends.I enjoyed the setting of Boston and the Boston Public library. It is now on the bucket list. The story itself is just ok. I had trouble connecting to the characters. But, I did enjoy the mystery and the convoluted way the author gets you to the killer!The narrator, Katherine Littrell, did a pretty good job. She needs to work on her southern accent though.Need a good book in a good setting…THIS IS IT! Grab your copy today!I received this novel from the publisher for a honest review.
    • 3/5
      While this had lots of clever twists, and stories within a story, it was also confusing for that same reason. I liked it, but was also irritated by the twists and layers.
    • 3/5
      A book within a book within a book. Interesting premises that was new to me and in the beginning rather confusing but thankfully one book dropped off and just became something one of the characters was writing. Four strangers in the Boston Public Library hear a scream and begin discussing that they heard, from which a friendship begins as they see if they can solve the mystery. The friendship continues as do the murders with lots of twists and turns. Between every chapter is an email from Leo to the author of the four strangers book, Hannah, as she's writing it with feedback which gets increasingly weird with each email. Super quick read, characters were okay, but it was entertaining and kept me interested. Thank you to NetGalley and Poisoned Pen Press for providing me with a free copy of this book in exchange for my honest review.
    • 5/5
      Metafiction is a rare narrative technique, and often difficult to execute successfully, but The Woman in the Library by Sulari Gentill does so with ease, offering a clever and compelling mystery novel.In this story within a story (within a story), Australian author Hannah Tigone is writing a murder mystery, inspired in part by her correspondence with American aspiring author and fan, Leo Johnson. In Hannah’s developing manuscript, Australian author Winifred ‘Freddie’ Kincaid, is in Massachusetts on a writers’ scholarship, when she becomes embroiled in a murder mystery that takes place in the Boston Public Library. As Hannah completes each chapter, Leo provides feedback via emails, the tone of which grow more imperious, and disturbing, as the story develops in ways he doesn’t like.As Freddie, along with psychology student Marigold, law student Whit, and published author Cain whom she meets when a scream disturbs the quiet of the Boston Public Library Reading Room, tries to solve the murder of a young journalist, it’s testament to Gentill’s skill that I was invested in the story, and often forgot it’s place in the novel’s structure, in fact I occasionally resented the reminder when disrupted by Leo’s missives. With its air of a ‘locked room’ mystery, I was deftly led astray by Gentill’s misdirects, and found myself eager to discover who, how, and why the murder was committed.I feel I have to mention the adroit way in which Gentill navigated the world events of 2019/2020, the years in which this book was set, with the CoVid pandemic, the BLM protests in the US, and the fires that ravaged the Eastern coast of Australia, all acknowledged in interesting ways.Ingenious and intriguing The Woman in the Library is a terrific read.
    • 5/5
      Murder incredible!I’ll admit that I was unsure where this unusual murder mystery arose from and where it was heading. It’s definitely not a cosy mystery. It hangs around in the thriller zeitgeist.By the time I was into the second chapter I was still trying to build a picture of events, and who was who. Talk about needing bits of tape to join the pieces together! Reality and fiction became intertwined—despite it all being fiction. By this time I’d been neatly suckered in and there was no way I was leaving.So we begin with four unusual strangers hearing a woman’s scream in the Boston library. This single fact draws them together. The four Boston Library would-be-friends are amazing, somewhat weird, and all have secrets. I loved the whole crazy group encounter—built on a scream and held together by that event. I really enjoyed the plot. Australian writer Hannah, a Marriott Fellowship Holder who’s working on a novel about—Yup! You guessed it—a murder mystery involving an Aussie in the US. I laughed at the writer’s comments on Chocolate, Thanksgiving and Coffee. All so true.We also have our fictional author and our author both embedded in the novel with strange happenings occurring for both. I’m still unsure if this is fiction imitating life, or vice versa.I should add that Sulari Gentill is one of my fav writers, and this novel keeps her there!A Poisoned Pen Press ARC via NetGalley
    • 5/5
      Incredibly cool and creepy and metafictive, with two interlocking stories: the chapters of the mystery novel of the title, an interesting, expertly done mystery story itself, are interspersed with email feedback on each chapter from the "author's" beta reader, which themselves begin to form a horror/mystery story of their own...I enjoyed the well-crafted, familiarly titled "woman in the/girl on the/etc." core mystery, and as for the metafictive framing story, I thought it was absolutely terrifying, and just very, very cool. Couldn't put it down!
    • 5/5
      The joy of Sulari Gentill's The Woman in the Library is that it's a story within a story within a story, and each successive chapter reveals one or two more puzzle pieces for readers to ponder. I could compare the unfolding of the plot to peeling back the layers of an onion, but not only is that comparison worn out, but it also doesn't really fit. No, this story is a beauty, and much more like the slow but certain blossoming of a rose, petal by soft, scented petal. A series of emails from Australian writer Hannah Tigone to Leo Johnson tells readers that Hannah is in Australia writing a novel about a murder set in the Boston Public Library and Leo is her American contact who reads Hannah's manuscript and searches out locations and offers tips on clarification. But that's not the only thing going on with the Hannah and Leo layer. The Freddie/Cain/Marigold/Whit layer also blossoms with the steady infusion of kernels of information about each character. These stories play off each other beautifully.The Woman in the Library is one of those books that you can't talk about very much without giving something away, so I'll just say this: I decided right at the beginning to let myself become a leaf caught in a current in the river. This means that I didn't bring out my deerstalker hat and magnifying glass in order to solve the mystery before the characters in the book had a chance to. No, I simply went along for the ride and enjoyed every page. Once the rose that is The Woman in the Library has completely blossomed, there was nothing left to do but marvel at the story Gentill created. Wow! (Review copy courtesy of the publisher and Net Galley)
    • 4/5
      *E-book ARC received from the publisher through Edelweiss Plus - thank you!*The mystery of the woman in the library brings four people together - Cain, Whit, Marigold, and our narrator, Freddie (short for Winifred). They're sitting in the Boston Public Library's reading room when a scream pierces the quiet and, though they've never met before, they start talking and form a friendship before finding out that the woman who screamed was murdered. The frame of this, however, is letters being sent to the Australian author, Hannah, by aspiring writer Leo, who lives in Boston and helpfully sends recommendations, info about the city, and photos to help Hannah in her writing.The meta aspect of this book is at least as interesting as the mystery itself. Having Leo's letters between the chapters reminds us that we're reading fiction, but also played with my reading of the story as I figured out where I might agree or disagree about his interpretations, and exactly what was the purpose of his letters. It also brought in "real life" - mentions of the pandemic, for example, and comments on words or phrases that were particularly Australian and what would have been more common to say in the U.S. The mystery portion was also compelling, the tension building as the story went on. There were a few quibbles I had with Freddie - she falls in love awfully quickly, can be very naive and trusting, and calls Marigold and Whit young for being approximately four years younger than her if I did the math right. But it was a fun ride, and a book I'd recommend.
    • 4/5
      This mystery had some intriguing components, including three different people writing similar mystery novels (two of which were characters in the novel itself), and a character critiquing the novel itself. I was disappointed with the ending because the motivations of the final culprit's actions weren't fully explained. It was definitley a page-turner.
    • 4/5
      A story within a story alongside the notes from a beta reader. Great execution of telling the tales. Will look for more by this author. 2022 read.
    • 4/5
      The Woman in the Library is a story in a story making it difficult to describe but I’ll give it a go.Hannah is an Australia writer. She is writing a mystery story based in Boston. We learn very little about Hannah herself.We read the story as Hannah writes it. The main character in Hannah’s story is an Australian writer Winifred Kincaid (Freddie). She is in Boston after receiving a Marriott Scholarship. While visiting the library for inspiration three people share her table. She begins to write a story about them in her mind. They are:Marigold, a psychology student with tattoos who Freddie nicknames Freud Girl.Cain McLeod who is also an author with a secretive past. She refers to him as Handsome Man Whit Metters a law student and handsome sone of a powerful lawyer who she calls Heroic Chin.A scream pierces the silence in the room. The security people quickly lock down the library pending an investigation. While unable to leave the four of them begin to chat to each other and discuss what has just happened. When no body is found they move onto a coffee shop and begin to get to know each other, forming a friendship that leads into their own investigation.Each has their own story gradually revealed as the story progresses. Freddie falls in love with the mysterious Cain. As their stories are revealed another murder occurs. There is another murder, a mysterious disappearance and strange phone messages. It becomes apparent one of the four is a stalker and one is a murderer.As the main story unfolds Hannah sends each chapter to a fan, Leo, in Boston. This is the second story within the main story. We get to read Leo’s emails with his comments on the storyline and correction of Australian idioms not used in the US. Gradually his emails become stranger as he suggests major changes to the manuscript including sending photos of actual crimes. The author becomes concerned and contacts the authorities.It is complicated but very clever, well plotted, and easily followed.Thank you to Netgalley, Sourcebooks, Poisoned Pen Press, and Sulari Gentill for the opportunity to read this book.
    • 4/5
      Review of Advance Reader’s Edition eBookThe reading room of the Boston Public Library becomes the focal point for four people sitting at the same table in the ornate room. Winifred Kincaid, recipient of a Marriot Scholarship, has come to Boston from Australia. She is at the library to work on her manuscript.The woman seated beside her, arms covered with tattoos, reads a book by Freud. The young man sitting across the table wears a Harvard Law sweatshirt. Next to him sits a man working on his laptop. Freddie wonders about each of them as she considers the possibility of making each of them characters in her story. And then a terrifying scream interrupts the quiet. The four head for the Map Room, the closest place to get coffee. As the four ponder the reason for the blood-curdling scream, Marigold Anastas, Whit Metters, Cain MacLeod, and Freddie strike up a friendship. Soon they learn of the murder of a woman, Caroline Palfrey, in the Chavannes Gallery. As the newly-formed group of friends seeks answers to the murder, they will find danger awaits around every turn. Soon they will wonder if one of the four of them could be the murderer.=========This book has an interesting format. Australian writer Hannah Tigone converses with a colleague, Leo Johnson, in Boston about the novel she is writing. She sends him a completed chapter; he offers comments, provides appropriate facts, and does what he can to support her writing. The narrative, then, becomes a chapter of Hannah’s work, followed by Leo’s comments.The plot twists and turns as readers eventually realize the story about Freddie, Marigold, Whit, and Cain is Hannah’s manuscript. The story-within-a-story keeps the pages turning as readers try to determine the identity of the murderer in the library.As the unfolding narrative reveals Leo’s replies to Hannah’s chapters, readers realize the comments Leo makes have become increasingly critical as if he is seeking to change Hannah’s story. It definitely adds a strong creepy factor to the telling of the tale. The characters are well-drawn and believable; the twisty story complex and unpredictable. Guaranteed to entertain as it cleverly highlights the struggles of a writer, the evolving story is complex, creepy, and smart. One caveat . . . the author’s continual propensity to use exclamatory phrases that include the name of Jesus in a disrespectful manner becomes quite off-putting and is the sole reason for lowering the rating for the book.A reading group guide and a conversation with the author are also included in the book.Recommended.I received a free copy of this eBook from Poisoned Pen Press and NetGalley#TheWomanintheLibrary #NetGalley
    • 1/5
      Bailed at 54% when Cain's stepfather is intent on sodomizing him.
    • 5/5
      Adjectives are popping like fireworks in my mind! I can't pick only one! I just can't! I fell deep into the pages of a story within a story. It is a page-turning mystery with gripping peaks of suspense that held my rapt attention!An Australian author named Hannah is writing a mystery novel. The protagonist, Freddie, is an author too, and she is writing in the Boston Public Library. However, the quiet and peace of the Reading Room are transfixed when a woman's scream is heard.Feathered between this mystery are emails Hannah is receiving from a man named Leo, a fan that becomes Hannah's beta reader as her novel progresses.I have never heard a scream in a library, have you? There were moments I was reading this novel from a reader's perspective, moments as a librarian (retired), and moments as a beta reader. WoW! I was invested in multiple ways! There was not a moment of disappointment from any perspective. It was fascinating reading! A walk on the wild side in the presentation in various ways, and I loved it! I want to read more of this author's writing.
    • 3/5
      The Woman in the Library is a long book that does not seem to go any place at all. The characters are believable and their settings are believable. However, the story makes no sense. The worst part is that the book just came to an end. It is like the author should have hired another author to come up with an ending to the book because the author did not know how to end it. The book received three stars in this review.
    • 3/5
      This was ok - struggled to get through the first half. I found the characters were not that interesting and the plot to be choppy and lack the flow of a well-paced thriller. The Leo letter parts were a little confusing and seemed to be unnecessary until they were actually going to have an impact on the other characters. Not my favorite but the concept was interesting and I enjoyed the Boston setting. 2.5 starsThank you to Poisoned Pen Press and NetGalley for the ARC.
    • 4/5
      The core mystery was complex and well done. But overall, I found the book's structure confusing and distracting. It was setup as a story within a story: an author writing a story about an author writing a story with herself as one of the characters. Plus another character critiquing the author's story. The stories seemed to be set in summertime Austrailia (author 1) and autumn in Boston (author 2) which aburptly became sort of wintery. The originial setup for the murder was twisty and interesting at the same time that it setup the unique friendship of the four main characters.
    • 4/5
      This was almost like a locked room mystery because the author tells you almost immediately the killer is one of a finite group and you spend the rest of the book trying to figure out which one and I thought it was really fun. There is an added layer to the story because there is also a book within a book and that fictional author is sharing chapters with a fellow writer/fan that becomes increasingly creepy as you read. Completely unique idea and if you read the author's notes she tells you the hilarious way in which she came up with the idea. Many thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for allowing me to read an advanced copy and provide my honest opinion.
    • 5/5
      This is an extremely clever mystery about a woman writing a mystery and the character who is writing a mystery. The protagonists met in the Boston Public Library Reading Room when a woman screams somewhere nearby in the library. They form a friendship as they try to solve the mystery. One of them, however, is the killer,
    • 4/5
      This was a delicious book-within-a-book mystery. Four strangers are in the Reading Room of the Boston Public Library when a woman's scream shatters the silence. While security guards investigate the disturbance, the strangers strike up a conversation and become fast friends.As the mystery surrounding the woman and what happened to her lingers, the four new friends - Cain, Whit, Marigold, and Freddie - find themselves becoming more involved in figuring out the mystery. In so doing, they learn more about each other and realize that coincidences really aren't what they seem.Author Sulari Gentill does a great job of slowly revealing details and pieces of information about each character's past. The story is peeled back layer by layer, revealing more twists and complications. In fact, the best twist - in my opinion - actually takes place about halfway through the book and has nothing to do with the mystery about the woman in the library. How devilishly clever of Gentill! I did not see that one coming at all.This book was so close to earning 5 stars from me, but when I finished, I was not entirely satisfied. I guess I felt that the big reveal at the end happened too fast. Given that the overall pace of the book was steady in its measured revelations, the big reveal felt rushed and a little too pat. Nonetheless, I still found this book quite entertaining.
    • 4/5
      Many thanks to NetGalley, Poisoned Pen Press and Sulari Gentill for an ARC in exchange for an honest review. My thoughts and opinions are 100% my own and independent of receiving an advance copy.You know when you are sitting in the library, checking out the strangers at your table, trying to concentrate on your work that you are supposed to be doing and hear a blood curdling scream rips through air. Ya, I hate it when that happens. Well, that’s what happened to Freddie, an Aussie who is trying to write her sophomore book in the Boston Library. The scream serves as the impetus for the 4 people to begin talking “Freud Girl”, “Handsome Man” and “Heroic Chin” as she labels them all start to wonder what could have happened.Yes, it is a murder and the four of them join forces to try and solve the murder. It turns out someone knows the victim, at one point all of them are suspects and at least one love story happens along the way to solving the crime. However, Gentill doesn’t just give us a regular straightforward murder mystery. This is actually a story within a story. Hannah is an author who is writing the story of Freddie visiting Boston. Hannah has a pen pal Leo who lives in Boston who is helping her create a more realistic story by sending her details of Boston.What a great read! I finished it in one afternoon. You highly suspect one of the four are responsible for the murder but putting it together and the creep factor around Hannah and Leo certainly keep you entertained. It is well written and has solid character development. The lines become blurred between what is real and what is the story being written. Probably best to not think about it and go with the flow. Just let it happen - I promise it’ll be worth it!
    • 5/5
      I have found this novel very difficult to review without revealing too much of the plot. I would rather leave it so the reader can travel on the same journey that I have.So we have a cleverly constructed plot within a plot, a novel within a novel, a mystery within a mystery. I suspect that most readers, like me, will find this a challenging read.So I have written my thoughts in a section below, rather than here, with an appropriate spoiler warning, and still trying not to reveal too much of the novel.My rating: 4.5 About the AuthorAfter setting out to study astrophysics, graduating in law and then abandoning her legal career to write books, SULARI GENTILL now grows French black truffles on her farm in the foothills of the Snowy Mountains of Australia.Gentill's Rowland Sinclair mysteries have won and/or been shortlisted for the Davitt Award and the Commonwealth Writers' Prize, and her stand-alone metafiction thriller, After She Wrote Him won the Ned Kelly Award for Best Crime Novel in 2018. Her tenth Sinclair novel, A Testament of Character, was shortlisted for the Ned Kelly Best Crime Novel in 2021. --This text refers to the paperback edition. I've also read5.0, A FEW RIGHT THINKING MEN4.8, A DECLINE IN PROPHETS4.8, MILES OFF COURSE4.7, PAVING THE NEW ROADWarning: Might contain spoilers Celebrated Australian author Hanna Tigone is in Sydney writing in her latest novel which she sets in the Boston Public Library. Winfred (Freddie) is an Australian writer who has won a Sinclair writer in residence scholarship to live and write in Boston and is living with other scholarship winners in an apartment house at Carrington Square. Among the others living there is another writer in residence named Leo Johnson. So we have a cleverly constructed plot within a plot, a novel within a novel, a mystery within a mystery. I suspect that most readers, like me, will find this a challenging read. The story that Freddie is writing is based on a group of people united by a scream. Freddie reveals her story to the others she has met at the BPL and they react enthusiastically, seemingly not realising she will be basing her story on them.Hannah's novel also begins with the scream. As she completes her written segments she emails her novel off to a fan Leo, who, rather confusingly, is in Boston. Leo provides advice to Hannah about American customs and terminology. Leo talks about the need to give the novel a time frame, to say what colour/race the characters are and so on. He also keeps saying that he intends to come to Sydney to meet Hannah in person. The emails with Leo provide a third plot.At the end of the novel the author has provided a Reading Group Guide, a set of questions readers might discuss. In the next section A CONVERSATION WITH THE AUTHOR Sulari Gentill reveals some uncanny parallels with the plots of the novel and what was happening in her own life.I found the discussion between Freddie and the other characters about how she writes her story interesting: she likens the construction to a bus picking up passengers who then determine the direction the action takes. Whereas Cain plots his novel more conventionally, rather like a spider web.
    • 4/5
      An Australian author named Hannah shares chapters of her upcoming book with a fan named Leo who lives in the United States, who offers his opinion of the story and advises how to make the book more relatable to American readers. Set during the pandemic and amid travel restrictions, Leo helps the author by visiting various sites in Boston where her story takes place.'

      The chapters she shares with Leo surround 4 strangers who meet at the Boston Public Library. As they are busy doing their own work, there rings a woman's blood-curdling scream. It is later discovered that a young woman had been found dead in a banquet room in the library. Slowly the four strangers realize that not all of them were there by chance and that one of them is the murderer.

      Katherine Littrell was a natural choice as narrator. She did a wonderful job separating the different strong accents, of which there were approximately three, as well as the male and female characters. It was always easy to interpret which character she was portraying.

      This was a good, solid mystery for me. There were a few moments that shocked me and that I felt truly added to the theme of the story. I was enjoying the slow burn of this audio and loved getting lost in the story, the mystery, and the characters.
    • 5/5
      I confess. Not unbiased because I really geek the writings of Sulari Gentill. Even if it's not Rowley Sinclair in the story. And even if it's in the same town that Rowley was most recently staying. And besides, one of the *characters* is a library!This is a very unusual story within a story as well as a mystery within a friendship tale. The publisher's blurb is a little murky, but not bad as hooks go. Don't want to get long winded or give anything away, but I LOVED IT!I requested and received a free ebook copy from Poisoned Pen Press via NetGalley. Thank you!
    • 4/5
      4 stranger hear a women scheme in the Boston public library. They decide to search for the killer. As they become friends they find they have common interests, one is a murderer, two are writers and a spy student. There is also a letter written to the Australian grant winner author who like the Book Crime Story, writes hints and correction to the story.Good read.
    • 4/5
      I received a copy of this novel from the publisher via NetGalley.This purports to be chapters of a story set in Boston narrated by an Australian author and critiqued by an American fan. Initially I found it all a little 'meta' and tiresome, but it grew on me and by the end I was really enjoying it. It kept me guessing, and the references to Black Lives Matter and Covid were done with a light but thought-provoking touch.

    Book preview

    The Woman in the Library - Sulari Gentill

    CHAPTER ONE

    Writing in the Boston Public Library had been a mistake. It was too magnificent. One could spend hours just staring at the ceiling in the Reading Room. Very few books have been written with the writer’s eyes cast upwards. It judged you, that ceiling, looked down on you in every way. Mocked you with an architectural perfection that couldn’t be achieved by simply placing one word after another until a structure took shape. It made you want to start with grand arcs, to build a magnificent framework into which the artistic detail would be written—a thing of vision and symmetry and cohesion. But that, sadly, isn’t the way I write.

    I am a bricklayer without drawings, laying words into sentences, sentences into paragraphs, allowing my walls to twist and turn on whim. There is no framework, just bricks interlocked to support each other into a story. I have no idea what I’m actually building, or if it will stand.

    Perhaps I should be working on a bus. That would be more consistent with my process such as it is. I’m not totally without direction…there is a route of some sort, but who hops on and who gets off is determined by a balance of habit and timing and random chance. There’s always the possibility that the route will be altered at the last minute for weather or accident, some parade or marathon. There’s no symmetry, no plan, just the chaotic, unplotted bustle of human life.

    Still, ceilings have a wonderful lofty perspective that buses do not. These have gazed down on writers before. Do they see one now? Or just a woman in the library with a blank page before her?

    Maybe I should stop looking at the ceiling and write something.

    I force my gaze from its elevated angle. Green-shaded lamps cast soft ellipses of light that define boundaries of territory at the communal reading tables. Spread out, by all means, but stay within the light of your own lamp. I sit at the end of one of dozens of tables placed in precise rows within the room. My table is close enough to the centre of the hall that I can see green lamps and heads bent over books in all directions. The young woman next to me has divested her jacket to reveal full-sleeve tattoos on both arms. I’ve never been inked myself, but I’m fascinated. The story of her life etched on her skin… She’s like a walking book. Patterns and portraits and words. Mantras of love and power. I wonder how much of it is fiction. What story would I tell if I had to wear it on my body? The woman is reading Freud. It occurs to me that a psychology student would make an excellent protagonist for a thriller. A student, not an expert. Experts are less relatable, removed from the reader by virtue of their status. I write psychology student onto the blank page of my notebook and surround it with a box. And so I hop onto the bus. God knows where it’s going—I just grabbed the first one that came along.

    Beneath the box I make some notes about her tattoos, being careful not to make it obvious that I am reading her ink.

    Across from me sits a young man in a Harvard Law sweatshirt. He cuts a classic figure—broad shoulders, strong jaw, and a cleft chin—like he was drawn as the hero of an old cartoon. He’s been staring at the same page of the tome propped before him for at least ten minutes. Perhaps he’s committing it to memory…or perhaps he’s just trying to keep his eyes down and away from the young woman on my left. I wonder what they are to each other: lovers now estranged, or could it be that he is lovelorn and she indifferent? Or perhaps the other way round—is she stalking him? Watching him over the top of Freud? Might she suspect him of something? He certainly looks tormented… Guilt? He drops his eyes to check his watch—a Rolex, or perhaps a rip-off of the same.

    To the left of Heroic Chin is another man, still young but no longer boyish. He wears a sport coat over a collared shirt and jumper. I am more careful about looking at him than I am the others because he is so ludicrously handsome. Dark hair and eyes, strong upswept brows. If he catches my gaze he will assume that is the reason. And it isn’t…well, maybe a little. But mostly I am wondering what he might bring to a story.

    He’s working on a laptop, stopping every now and then to stare at the screen, and then he’s off again, typing at speed. Good Lord, could he be a writer?

    There are other people in the Reading Room, of course, but they are shadows. Unfocused as yet, while I try to pin a version of these three to my page. I write for a while…scenarios, mainly. How Freud Girl, Heroic Chin, and Handsome Man might be connected. Love triangles, business relationships, childhood friends. Perhaps Handsome Man is a movie star; Heroic Chin, a fan; and Freud Girl, his faithful bodyguard. I smile as the scenarios become increasingly ridiculous and, as I do, I look up to meet Handsome Man’s eyes. He looks startled and embarrassed, and I must, too, because that’s how I feel. I open my mouth to explain, to assure him that I’m a writer, not a leering harasser, but of course this is the Reading Room, and one does not conduct a defence while people are trying to read. I do attempt to let him know I’m only interested in him as the physical catalyst for a character I’m creating, but that’s too complex to convey in mime. He just ends up looking confused.

    Freud Girl laughs softly. Now Heroic Chin looks up too, and the four of us are looking at each other silently, unable to rebuke or apologize or explain, lest we incur the wrath of the Reading Room Police.

    And then there is a scream. Ragged and terrified. A beat of silence even after it stops, until we all seem to realise that the Reading Room Rules no longer apply.

    Fuck! What was that? Heroic Chin murmurs.

    Where did it come from? Freud Girl stands and looks around.

    People begin to pack up their belongings to leave. Two security guards stride in and ask everyone to remain calm and in their seats until the problem can be identified. Some idiot law student starts on about illegal detention and false imprisonment, but, for the most part, people sit down and wait.

    It was probably just a spider, Heroic Chin says. My roommate sounds just like that whenever he sees a spider.

    That was a woman, Freud Girl points out.

    Or a man who’s afraid of spiders… Heroic Chin looks about as if his arachnophobic friend might be lurking somewhere.

    I apologize if I was staring. Handsome Man addresses me tentatively. I have enough of an ear for American accents now to tell he’s not from Boston. My editor wants me to include more physical descriptions in my work. He grimaces. She says all the women in my manuscript are wearing the same thing, so I thought… Heck, that sounds creepy! I’m sorry. I was trying to describe your jacket.

    I smile, relieved. He’s volunteering to take the bullet. I’ll just be gracious. It’s a herringbone tweed, originally a man’s sport coat purchased at a vintage store and retailored so the wearer doesn’t look ridiculous. I meet his eye. I do hope you haven’t written down that I look ridiculous.

    For a moment, he’s flustered. No, I assure you— And then he seems to realise I’m kidding and laughs. It’s a nice laugh. Deep but not loud. Cain McLeod.

    After a second I register that he’s introduced himself. I should too.

    Winifred Kincaid…people call me Freddie.

    She’s a writer too. Freud Girl leans over and glances at my notebook. She’s been making notes on all of us.

    Damn!

    She grins. I like Freud Girl…I sound like an intellectual superhero. Better than Tattoo Arms or Nose Ring.

    I slam my notebook shut.

    Awesome! Heroic Chin turns to display his profile. I hope you described my good side and… he adds, flashing a smile, I have dimples.

    Handsome Man, apparently also known as Cain McLeod, is clearly amused. What are the chances? You two should be more careful who you sit next to.

    I’m Marigold Anastas, Freud Girl announces. For your acknowledgements. A-N-A-S-T-A-S.

    Not to be outdone, Heroic Chin discloses his name is Whit Metters and promises to sue if either Cain McLeod or I forget to mention his dimples.

    We’re all laughing when the security guards announce that people may leave if they wish.

    Did you find out who screamed? Cain asks.

    The security guard shrugs. Probably some asshole who thinks he’s a comedian.

    Whit nods smugly and mouths spider.

    Cain’s brow lifts. It was a convincing scream, he says quietly.

    He’s right. There was a ring of real mortal terror in the scream. But that’s possibly a writer’s fancy. Perhaps someone simply needed to expel a bit of stress. I need to find coffee.

    The Map Room Tea Lounge is the closest, Cain says. They make a decent coffee.

    Do you need more material? Marigold asks. With coat sleeves covering the ink which had held my attention, I notice that she has beautiful eyes, jewel green and sparkling in a frame of smoky kohl and mascara.

    Just coffee, I reply for both Cain and myself, because I’m not sure which one of us she was asking.

    Can I come?

    The childlike guilelessness of the question is disarming. Of course.

    Me too? Whit now. I don’t want to be alone. There’s a spider somewhere.

    And so we go to the Map Room to found a friendship, and I have my first coffee with a killer.

    Dear Hannah,

    Bravo! A sharp and intriguing opening. You have made art out of my complaints. The last line is chilling. An excellent hook. I fear that a publisher will ask you to make it the opening line to ensure you catch the first-page browsers. All I can say is: resist! It is perfect as it is.

    That line, though, is as brave as it is brilliant. Bear in mind that you’ve issued your readers a challenge, declared one of those three (Marigold, Whit, or Cain) will be the killer. They’ll watch them closely from now on, read into every passing nuance. It may make it more difficult to distract their attention from clues in the manuscript and keep them guessing. Still, it’s kind of delicious—particularly as they each seem so likeable. As I said, brave.

    Dare I hope that since your setting is Boston, you’ll make a research trip here sometime soon? It would be wonderful to suffer for our art face-to-face over martinis in some bar like real writers! In the meantime, I’d be delighted to assist you with sense of place and so forth. Consider me your scout, your eyes and ears in the U.S.

    A couple of points—Americans don’t use the term jumper (description of Handsome Man). You may want to switch that reference to sweater or pullover. It’s also much less common in the U.S. for women to be as heavily inked as women in Australia. I haven’t seen any full-sleeve tattoos on women, here. Of course, that doesn’t mean Marigold can’t have them—perhaps that’s why Winifred notices them particularly.

    I returned to the Reading Room after I received your email and chapter to check, and I’m afraid there’s no explicit rule against talking. It’s more a general civility. Easy to fix. Insert a disapproving shushing neighbour or two on the table and the pressure for silence won’t be lost. I had lunch in the Map Room, so if you need details, let me know. As an Australian, you’ll probably find the coffee appalling out of principle, but since Winifred is American, she is not likely to find it wanting.

    Do you need somewhere for Freddie to live? If money is no object, you could put her in Back Bay, right in the BPL neighborhood. Many of the apartments are converted Victorian brownstones, but Freddie would have to be an heiress of some sort to afford one! Is she a struggling hopeful, or an author of international renown? The former would probably live somewhere like Brighton or Alston. Let me know if you’d like me to check some buildings for you.

    I received my tenth rejection letter for the opus yesterday. It feels like something which should be marked. Perhaps I shall buy a cake. This one said my writing was elegant but that they felt I was working in the wrong genre…which I suppose is an indirect way of saying they want my protagonist to be a vampire and the climax to involve an alien invasion…and not the kind with which our President seems preoccupied!

    I know the repeated rejections are a rite of passage, Hannah, but, honestly, it hurts. I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this business. It must be wonderful to be at that stage where you’ve paid your dues, where you know that whatever you write now, it will at least be seriously considered. This stage just feels like a ritual humiliation.

    Yours somewhat despondently,

    Leo

    CHAPTER TWO

    I’m still a little in awe every time I step into the chequerboard foyer of Carrington Square. It’s one of those Victorian brownstones for which Back Bay is famous—a magnificent gabled exterior, renovated to perfection within. My one-bedroom apartment looks out over an internal courtyard featuring landscaped gardens and cast-iron fountains. It’s beautifully furnished and decorated—an address usually beyond the means of a humble writer. In the sitting room, on either side of the marble fireplace, are built-in bookcases in which are stored the works of each of the previous Sinclair scholarship winners who were writers in residence here. The collection is both inspiring and terrifying. Wonderful novels in almost every genre, crafted in the year during which the writer lived in this apartment. In the fifty or so years the scholarship has been running, the apartment has no doubt been refurbished and redecorated several times, but these bookcases remain untouched, sacrosanct. The heart and purpose of this place—sometimes I fancy I can hear it beating.

    Perhaps it was the bookcases that stilled my pen in the beginning. I had thought that the words would come easily here. A time and place to write—a dream bolstered by the endorsement of the award. And yet I’d felt unworthy, uncertain. I’d choked, and in the first month I’d deleted more than I wrote. But not today.

    Today I return from the library exhilarated. We had lingered in the Map Room for hours, Cain, Whit, Marigold, and I. It was bizarre, four strangers who seemed to recognize each other, like we’d been friends before in a life forgotten. We talked about all manner of things, laughed about most of it, and poked fun at each other without restraint. It felt like being at home, and I breathed out completely for the first time since I stepped on that flight from Sydney.

    Cain is a published writer—his first book was reviewed by the New York Times. He doesn’t tell me that last bit; I google him on the way home. The Washington Post called him one of America’s most promising young novelists, and his first book was something of a sensation. Marigold is in fact studying psychology at Harvard, and Whit is failing law. The failing part doesn’t seem to bother him. It is the only way, apparently, that he can avoid being absorbed into the family firm.

    And so my attention is initially elsewhere when Leo Johnson crosses my path on the stairs.

    Freddie! Hello.

    Leo is also a writer in residence at Carrington Square. He’s from Alabama originally, though I think he went to Harvard at some point. He holds a fellowship which seems to be the American equivalent of the Sinclair, and occupies an apartment a few doors away from mine. How was the library? he asks. He speaks with a gentle Southern pace that invites you to slow down and chat a while. Get much work done?

    How did you know I was at the library?

    Oh, I saw you at the Map Room. He pushes his glasses back up against the bridge of his nose. I dropped into the BPL to pick up a book I’d reserved, and then I needed coffee. I just happened to see you there. I waved, but I’m guessing you didn’t see me.

    Of course I didn’t, or I would have asked you to join us. Leo is the closest thing I have to a colleague. I tell him about the scream.

    He laughs. I expect it was some nutcase, or a club initiation of one sort or another. A number of the Harvard clubs are co-ed now.

    I raise my brow, uncertain what that has to do with it.

    It seems like the kind of prank that would be conceived in the brain of an adolescent male, he explains. But, of course, a woman would be required to execute it.

    I smile. You don’t think women might have planned it?

    I don’t think a woman would have found it that funny… A man, however, would be delighted with his extraordinary wit.

    Remember that you said that, not me. I glance up the stairs. Would you like to come in for a coffee?

    Leo shakes his head. No, ma’am. There’s a story-cooking gleam in your eyes. I’ll leave you alone to write. Let’s compare notes in the next couple of days.

    I agree, relieved. I do feel an urgency to write. And I like Leo even more for the fact that he understands.

    I open my laptop as soon as I get into the apartment, slipping off my shoes and nesting into the couch. I begin typing, using the monikers Handsome Man, Heroic Chin, and Freud Girl. They appear on my page like a rubbing taken from life, shape and dimension created with words. I’ll give them real names later; for now I don’t want to stem the ideas by trying to work out what to call them.

    I dwell on the scream. It, too, has a place in this story. The four of us had talked about it at length. How could something like that be unexplained? Someone must have screamed, someone must have had a reason to. Whit brought up spiders again. I think he must have some kind of phobia.

    We had all agreed to meet at the BPL tomorrow. Actually, Cain and I had agreed to meet, to form a writers’ group of sorts. Marigold and Whit had decided that any group should include them, regardless of its purpose.

    We can be sounding boards, Marigold insisted.

    And inspiration, Whit added. And so it was arranged.

    It is exciting to have plans, people to meet.

    I turn on the television, initially for background noise. I’m working, so it’s only sound. A murmur that connects me to the real world as I create one of my own, an anchor barely noticed. Until I hear the words Boston Public Library today.

    I look up. A reporter talking to a camera. …the body of a young woman was discovered by cleaning staff in the Boston Public Library.

    I close the laptop and turn up the volume, leaning forward towards the television. A body. My God, the scream! The reporter tells me nothing more of any use. I switch to another station, but the report is much the same. The body is not identified beyond being that of a young woman.

    My phone rings. It’s Marigold. The news! Did you see the news?

    Yes.

    That scream! Marigold sounds more excited than frightened. That must have been her.

    I wonder why they didn’t find her then.

    Maybe whoever killed her hid the body?

    I smile. They didn’t say anything about murder, Marigold. She might have screamed because she fell down the stairs.

    If she’d fallen down the stairs, someone would have found her straight away.

    That was true. Do you think they’ll close the library tomorrow?

    Maybe the room she was found in, but surely not the whole library. Marigold’s voice drops into a part whisper. It must have been close to Bates Hall.

    I did think that too.

    We might have passed him on the way out—the killer, I mean.

    I laugh, though it’s possible of course. If this were a book, we would have bumped into him at the very least.

    So we’re still meeting tomorrow?

    I don’t hesitate. The cleaner employed by the Sinclair Fellowship comes on Tuesdays, and I prefer to avoid the feeling that I’m in the way, or lazy or unclean, that is part and parcel of having someone clean up after you as an adult. I’ll be there. We’ll at least find out if the library is closing for any period of time.

    We talk for a while longer about other things. Marigold has a paper due on juvenile maternal separation anxiety, which she calls mommy’s boys and the women who create them. I’m laughing aloud by the time we arrange a place to meet in case we are not allowed into the BPL.

    But when the call is over, my mind returns to the scream, the fact that I’d heard it. I’d heard someone die, and however it occurred, I was in no doubt she had been in terror. The fact seems to have a weight of its own, and I feel that weight in the pit of my stomach.

    The news reports are now labelling the incident a murder. I’m not sure if they have more information or if it is simply an inevitable evolution of sensationalism.

    Turning up the television, I return to work, guilty that whatever I feel about this poor woman, it does not curtail or slow the words. They are coming quickly, swirling into sentences that are strong and rhythmic, that surprise me with their clarity. It feels a little indecent to write so well in the wake of tragedy. But I do. The story of strangers bonded by a scream.

    Dear Hannah,

    Well played, my friend, well played! The Sinclair Fellowship is a terrific idea. You can place Winifred in Back Bay without burdening her with vast wealth. And she can be Australian.

    And you put me in the story! With a Southern accent and my own fellowship. I am overwhelmed! You forgot to mention that Leo was tall and devastatingly attractive, but I suppose that’s a given. Not only that, you’ve introduced a sneaky 4th option into your declaration that the perpetrator was present when Freddie had coffee in the Map Room. Was that your intention?

    With respect to your first question, yes, I believe Bates Hall would be open the next day. Clearly the murder did not occur there but in one of the surrounding rooms or halls. There are plenty to choose from—I’ve listed a few suggestions below.

    With some of these you might need to consider the volume of the scream. If it was loud enough to be heard within Bates Hall, then it really would have to have occurred in one of the adjoining rooms. I will be intrigued to read how you are going to explain why a search revealed nothing.

    I did duck over to the BPL to see if I could spot anything of use. There are some vents that could possibly carry sound from a room farther away, but you would really need some sort of engineering or maintenance plan of the building to be sure. I’m a little wary of asking in case they decide I’m up to no good, but if I get a chance, I’ll see what I can find out.

    And now the other subject of your email… God, Hannah, thank you. I really did not expect you to offer to take my manuscript to your agent. I’m embarrassed that you might think that I was fishing for that. I assure you I wasn’t. And though I’m too proud to accept your help, I’m too desperate to turn it down.

    So, my manuscript is attached with the last of my dignity. Bear in mind that if you think it’s terrible and never pass it on, I’ll never know. And I’ll never ask because there must be a way for our friendship to survive my lack of talent. I’m expressing this badly…which I suppose does not bode well for my manuscript, but I am grateful and touched that you would want to help me.

    Anyway, I look forward to your next chapter, and I shall see if I can find anything that might be useful in placing your dead body in an appropriate place.

    Again, with my thanks and admiration,

    Leo

    CHAPTER THREE

    I spot Cain in the Newsfeed Café just inside the Johnson Building, where we’d arranged to meet, and wave. He smiles when he sees me, and I am reminded that he is very handsome. He’s buying coffee and signals madly to see if I want one. I nod, and when I reach him he hands me a macchiato.

    No sugar, right?

    I am impressed he remembered.

    We find a table at which to sip coffee and wait for Marigold and Whit. And, of course, we talk about the body found the night before.

    Where do you think they found her? I ask. I don’t really know the library that well. I’ve only been using it for a few days.

    That’s what I can’t figure out, he says. We heard her scream, so she had to be in one of the rooms around Bates Hall…but they were searched.

    Unless the scream had nothing, in fact, to do with the body.

    He frowns. True. The scream might have been what the crime writers call—he pauses for effect—a red herring.

    I smile. Still, a heck of a coincidence.

    They do occur in reality, even if they are a bad plot device. Cain rises and excuses himself as he notices a newspaper left on the next table. He returns with the Boston Globe and sits beside me holding the paper between us. The account of the body in the public library is plastered across the front page. We pore over it, shoulder to shoulder, sipping coffee while we read.

    We learn that the body was found in Chavannes Gallery, which was being prepared for an event the next day. That the woman’s name was Caroline Palfrey. The name means little to an Australian like me, of course, but Cain mutters, Brahmin.

    As in the cow? I ask, a little confused.

    As in the social class. He explains that the Palfreys are from a long line of Brahmins, members of Boston’s traditional upper echelons.

    They’re rich?

    It’s more than wealth, he says. The Brahmins were integral to the East Coast establishment. They’re a culture unto themselves. Surely Australians have their equivalent—old family names that are prestigious because they declare themselves to be so?

    I smile, remembering Margaret Winslow, from the board of directors of the Sinclair Fellowship, who was so proud of being a sixth-generation Australian. In the country of the oldest living civilisation in the world, some sixty thousand years of indigenous history, six generations had seemed a pallid boast. And yet she made it, waxing lyrical about the property near Wagga Wagga that her great-great-great-grandfather had claimed in the mid-nineteenth century, the country he’d cleared and cultivated. Country that belonged to the Wiradjuri.

    Probably, I reply. But I don’t move in those circles.

    I believe that’s the point of those circles.

    Does it say what was going to take place in the Chavannes Gallery? I ask as I scour the article myself for the answer.

    Not really. He points to the relevant sentence. She was found by a cleaner, so the gallery would probably have been otherwise empty.

    I wonder if Marigold or Whit knew her.

    Speak of devils, Cain says

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