“I watched people pass by, liked the way their voices filled the air, made everything feel whole, and I felt my lips turn a smile as birds jumped over and under tree branches. For a moment I thought of capturing them, placing them in my pigeon aviary in the barn. How lucky they’d be with me to look after them. I thought of Father, my stomach growled hunger and I went to the pail of water by the well, let my hands sink into the cool sip sip. I brought my hands to mouth and began drinking, lapping with my tongue. It was soft, delicate. Everything slowed down. I saw a dead pigeon laying gray and still in the yard and my stomach murmured. I looked into the sun. I thought of Father, tried to remember the last words I said to him. I took a pear from the arbor, walked back inside.”

Sarah Schmidt tiptoes through history with the twisted, grizzly, eerily detached tale of Lizzie Borden, that famous New England daughter who (allegedly) gruesomely murdered her father and stepmother in 1892. Through the perspectives of a few key players that fateful day, the reader revisits the crime scene, the investigation (such as it was), an unpacking of possible motive, and an exploration of potential suspects. Though this is an historical novel based on a seminal event, it is truly an exploration of character, particular the slightly deranged, unencumbered by rational thought character of Lizzie herself. The reader sees Lizzie’s rather lame performance during the immediate aftermath of her parents’ murder. Though she states shock and upset, she is deadpan, calm, even cheery.

          “I was lead back to my chair and told to wait. The clock on the mantel ticked ticked. Dr. Bowen slumped into the room. ‘The officer tells me you’re in pain, Lizzie.’
          I nodded. ‘The very worst kind.’
          He looked at me, tired eyes hazed, and I could feel him walk into my body, survey my insides and see all the things I was made of, jolly good things. I smiled. Dr. Bowen burrowed into his medical bag like a scavenger and took out the syringe, filled it with my favor. Into my arm it went. ‘There now, Lizzie. This will make it better for you.'”

Schmidt portrays Lizzie as that character who returns throughout time, one who is pathological, bloodless, and endlessly fascinating.

          “‘Can you tell me anything more about this morning?’
          Everything was lost inside my mind, all the jitter-jitter of the morning cutting away the things that made sense. I wanted Emma.
          Everything became to bright. Voices were pinpricks in the ear. My hands ached from resting under my knees. I pulled them out from underneath me, saw a small cut on one of my fingertips, blood dried around the openings. I put it in my mouth and I shifted in my seat.
          The officer looked at me with little eyes. ‘Now, did your mother …’
          ‘Stepmother,’ I told him.
          The officer held his pen in the air. ‘I thought…’
          ‘Mrs. Borden is Father’s second wife.’ Facts need to be stated. I smiled.

It’s an archetype which, quite honestly, tends to turn me off; I often rail at the book or film that features a character who is diabolical and cold. For some reason – perhaps the historical context of this reimagining – this particular iteration of the archetype worked better for me.

Sarah Schmidt was able to breathe life into an old horror story, to make these characters fascinating, the breadcrumbs fresh. I admire the work and acknowledge its successes, though I am doubtful that it will advance beyond the Women’s Prize for Fiction Longlist. Perhaps my doubt is all that is needed to guarantee it’s triumph.