Since We Fell

On a Tuesday in May, in her thirty-seventh year, Rachel shot her husband dead.' Who wouldn't want to keep reading Since We Fell after a throat-grabbing opening line like that? And the novel will take us back to this point, eventually, but not before we learn exactly how Rachel got there.

This is how long I have been reading Dennis Lehane: I remember where I was, to the day and location, when I bought his 2001 masterpiece, Mystic River, in my opinion one of the best crime novels of this century. He continued to produce standout novels like  Shutter Island and The Given Day, and be the source of terrific motion pictures like Gone, Baby, Gone and The Drop. Lehane messes with your mind with puzzles, breaks your heart with complicated characters, and shines a light on the epic sweep of American crime history. He knows when to pull back and take his time with the story, and when to up the tension and white-knuckle it to the finish.

Since We Fell is not quite as gritty (or, frankly, as dude-ish) as Mystic River, but it’s about time Lehane gave a female protagonist her own enthralling story. Raised by a cold, neglectful mother, an improbable star in the world of self-help nonfiction, Rachel comes of age by searching for the absent father her mother does not want her to find. What she finds, and loses, along the way forms her very essence and nearly upends her life. Layer by layer, Lehane unspools Rachel's fears and anxieties with exacting skill, so that by the time she opens herself up to love'”and is betrayed, again and again by doing so'”we are with her, hoping she will overcome unspeakable physical and emotional injury.

Since We Fell is the embodiment of the 'œliterary thriller.' The plot twists as fast and as sharp as your favorite roller coaster, but not until we've gone far inside Rachel Childs's mind to fully know and care about her. Savor the book first, then be prepared to keep pace at the end.