The Likeness

The Likeness is a deliciously claustrophobic mystery that skirts up against being a ghost story. It's haunting and lyrical. It got under my skin such that I couldn't think about anything else when I wasn't reading it, and then I couldn't sleep for thinking about it. It's rare that a novel leaks into the rest of my life the way this one did, and I absolutely loved it for it.

The premise requires a significant suspension of disbelief. Detective Cassie Maddox, lately of the Murder Squard but currently working Domestic Violence began her career as an undercover agent. During that time she created the persona of Lexie Madison to infiltrate a drug ring on a college campus. When she was stabbed, she got pulled out, but the identity was left live in case they needed her again. So imagine her surprise when, several years later, Lexie Madison turns up dead. With no leads, Cassie agrees to go undercover again, under very different circumstances this time.

So yeah, that intro is a lot to get your mind around, a lot to accept for a murder mystery, where doppelgangers aren't exactly common fare. But if you can make that leap, the rest of the novel is so completely worth it. Cassie starts losing herself in Lexie, who's lifelooks pretty good on the surface. Cassie's own life is in shatters, and there's a part of her that just wants to disappear into this alternate identity, leave everything behind and start over.

It's not long before Cassie heads into a tailspin. Watching her screw things up almost willfully adds a layer of paranoia to the book. What's she missing? Will she solve this case or will it eat her whole? Is she going to recover in time to pick up the scraps of her life, or is she throwing everything away like her former partner did? The answer to that last question is actually in In the Woods, and I remembered it before I hit the end of this book. But it was still captivating to watch Cassie fumble through trying to salvage what scraps she can.

This was an incredible psychological thriller and my only regret is that I didn't wait to read it until October, when the mood would have been more fitting. Good thing I've got another of French's books sitting on my shelf.

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