A Snake in the Raspberry Patch

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.

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WHAT'S A SNAKE IN THE RASPBERRY PATCH ABOUT?

It bothers me that for the second book in a row, I'm taking the easy way out and using Publisher's Description here, but the draft I just deleted was too cumbersome and long to bother you with.

It is the summer of 1971 and Liz takes care of her four sisters while waiting to meet the sixth Murphy child: a boy. And yet, something is not right. Adults tensely whisper in small groups, heads shaking. Her younger sister, Rose seems more annoying, always flashing her camera and jotting notes in her notepad. The truth is worse than anyone could imagine: an entire family slaughtered in their home nearby, even the children. The small rural community reels in the aftermath. No one seems to know who did it or why. For Liz, these events complicate her already tiring life. Keeping Rose in line already feels like a full time job, and if Rose gets it in her head that she can solve a murder… The killer must be someone just passing through, a random horror. It almost begs the question: where do murderers live?

THE SETTING

A Saskatchewan farm town in the 1970s is not a likely setting for a novel about a murder—much less several murders. A 1980s Hawkins, Indiana is a more likely setting for a pan-dimensional showdown, really. I mean, Canada is unlikely enough for a murder mystery*, but rural Canada in the Seventies?

* Yes, I'm aware that even Canadians are murderers/the victims of murders. But c'mon, who thinks about it when it comes to fictional crime? Ireland, Scotland, England? Sure. The U.S.? Of course. Even Scandi Noir is a thing. But no one's ever thought about Great White North Noir.

This setting was particularly effective—there's an isolation to the community, it's tight-knit, and there's a self-reliance that it displays as well. The police/RCMP are referred to, but not really seen—this is a town that has no need for police, and even when there is one, you can't tell. I kept slipping into thinking that the town was smaller than it must've been—but even there, that works. You get the atmosphere where everyone knows everyone else's business, yet they don't know (cannot believe) anyone who would kill anyone else—particularly a woman and her children. They know what family needs help dealing with a death or birth without having to be asked, but they don't know who might murder anyone.

That setting seems like it's just as likely there that a smart girl with a camera and an unhealthy interest in crime would solve the crime before anyone else would. Maybe even more likely.

THE MURDERER'S IDENTITY AND THE REVEAL

Jackson provides plenty of clues to the killer's identity early on and keeps leaving them in the open—she doesn't care if the reader guesses or not—and by the end she might as well have written a Brontë-esque, "Reader, ____ murdered them." Because that's not important.

Well, it's important, but that's not what she was writing about.

We're supposed to lock in on Liz and Rose. What they're dealing with during and following that summer. The clues they inadvertently or intentionally collect. And how they put the pieces together and their reaction to the solution (and their family's reaction, too). I thought it was a good novel all along, but in the last couple of chapters—the Reveal—my estimation rose significantly.

SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT A SNAKE IN THE RASPBERRY PATCH?

I'm not sure how important this is, but I thought I should mention it. Just because the would-be sleuth is a juvenile, it'd be a mistake to think this was a YA or MG novel—I think it could be read by an older MG reader or a YA reader, but it's not targeted at that audience.

I've already mentioned a few of the ways that this is an atypical mystery novel, there are a few others, too. This is more about growing up in the shadow of a crime—and other trauma—rather than it is a mystery novel. It's more Ordinary Grace than The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie (although Rose would love Flavia de Luce (either as a fictional character or a co-belligerent). But in the closing pages, it feels more like a murder mystery than some sort of "non-genre" work. And the mystery aspects of the novel here are far more effective than anything Krueger did in Ordinary Grace (I enjoyed the whole novel more, too)

There's a starkness to this world and novel that makes everything a bit more haunting—that's the Saskatchewan farm town as well as Liz's outlook.

There's one line of dialogue—it's after the climactic events that leads to the reveal. That line sets up the reveal, actually. (I'm trying to be vague here) My gut tells me that a reader's reaction to this one line is going to determine what they think of the book. I've gone back and forth about it in the last couple of days—it's either a perfectly worded setup, or it's too on-the-nose. As I write this, I'm leaning towards both—it's necessary, and the on-the-nose-ness is the most economical way of accomplishing what it does. I'm likely spending more time on that sentence than is called for.

It took me a little bit to "get" this novel, but the more I read, the more the situation and characters burrowed into my mind, and at this point, I think they're going to linger in my mind longer than usual. And I'm okay with that. This'll haunt you, folks, in a good way. Give it a shot.