Black Widow by Christopher Brookmyre: EW Review

On the surface, Christopher Brookmyre’s novel Black Widow is a murder mystery: a thriller set on uncovering the identity of one Peter Elphinstone’s killer. Intent on leading readers off course in their suspicions, Brookmyre deliberately takes us down a dark and winding road with multiple turnoffs to keep our attention rapt with every increasingly-quick flip of the page. Add in the prevalent themes of sexism in the medical profession, gender pigeonholing, and internet trolling, and we’re delving into a tense and provocative read. But the compulsion to discover how Peter ended up presumed dead at the bottom of a river is eclipsed by the far more compelling narrative of dysfunctional human relationships and their dissolutions.

Revealed as the author of a scathing blog that exposes the double standards and injustice in the treatment imposed on women in medicine, Dr. Diana Jager, an accomplished and unmarried surgeon, is forced to move from her job in a Liverpool hospital to one in Northern Scotland. Despite the geographical distance, her reputation as cold and spiteful man-hater precedes her and it proves difficult for her to shrug the nickname “Bitchblade.”

Professionally fulfilled, if not emotionally, at 40 years old, Diana has more or less accepted that love is not in her future — until an IT specialist walks into her office to fix her computer. Peter, an attentive and driven individual who is completely taken with, yet not intimidated by, Diana’s success, is seemingly unaware of her past (she had made heavy digs towards IT workers on her blog, hence the hacking). A whirlwind romance leads to marriage after just six months and a further six months later we find ourselves at a court trial investigating Peter’s disappearance after his car skids off an icy road and lands in a river.

But it’s what comes in between the wedding and the crash that gives Black Widow its impactful substance. After their wedding, Peter reveals himself as a completely different person. It’s not that he’s some psychotic, abusive monster (though darker aspects of his character do emerge later); it’s mostly just that he’s a crappy, disinterested and lazy husband. Brookmyre’s portrayal of Diana’s heartbreaking disappointment in realizing that she didn’t know him at all displays keen and sensitive insight. Additionally, Brookmyre’s exploration of the female tendency to allow self-doubt to infiltrate and concede fault when we know it isn’t warranted is as gripping and harrowing as any tale of murder. It’s later revealed that there’s a greater driving force behind Peter’s actions than a general inaptitude for cohabitation and commitment. However, the initial depiction of the doomed marriage, and the psychological and emotional turmoil it evokes, gives the story its weight because this isn’t a tale that belongs solely in the world of fiction. People marry the wrong people all the time.

Part of the brilliance lies in use of multiple narrators. Diana, a supremely intelligent surgeon who is suspected of killing her husband, is also our primary narrator. When we hear from Diana’s point of view, we empathize. When we hear from the other characters that come in contact with her, we worry we’re being duped. Is she so clever a psychopath that drawing in the reader is just part of her ploy (one we’ve fallen for before in Gone Girl) and perhaps she did kill her letdown of a husband.

So, did she do it? Does it matter? By the last few pages, the resolution of the homicide case matters less than the conclusion of the tumultuous relationship, which is emotionally exhausting to read — never mind experience.