Little Deaths By Emma Flint
It’s the summer of 1965, and the streets of Queens, New York shimmer in a heatwave. One July morning, Ruth Malone wakes to find a bedroom window wide open and her two young children missing. After a desperate search, the police make a horrifying discovery. Noting Ruth’s perfectly made-up face and provocative clothing, the empty liquor bottles and love letters that litter her apartment, the detectives leap to convenient conclusions, fuelled by neighbourhood gossip and speculation. Sent to cover the case on his first major assignment, tabloid reporter Pete Wonicke at first can’t help but do the same. But the longer he spends watching Ruth, the more he learns about the darker workings of the police and the press. Soon, Pete begins to doubt everything he thought he knew. Ruth Malone is enthralling, challenging and secretive – is she really capable of murder? Haunting, intoxicating and heart-poundingly suspenseful, Little Deaths by Emma Flint is a gripping debut novel about love, morality and obsession, exploring the capacity for good and evil within us all.
Review By Becky Hinshelwood
So much has changed for women since the sixties: sexual emancipation, equality laws, maternity rights and increasing numbers of females in positions of power and influence.
So little has changed for women since the sixties: everyday sexism remains commonplace, the gender pay gap very real and, most relevant here, women are still routinely judged in the media and are heavily criticised for the choices they make and the image that they project.
With all this in mind, Little Deaths is so much more than a crime novel. It made me feel nauseated, deeply uneasy and furious in equal measure. The story is fictional but inspired by an actual case in 1960’s New York. Alice Crimmins (in Emma Flint’s novel, Ruth Malone) discovered her two children missing from their locked bedroom in the family’s apartment. They were later found dead and Alice subjected to intense scrutiny from the police and media based mainly on her appearance and sexuality rather than the evidence of the case, eventually being convicted of their murder. She was released on appeal and the crime is unsolved to this day.
The death of the children in this story is therefore no spoiler; it is clear from the title, the dust jacket and the first pages of the story that this will be a murder case. Despite that, the way that Emma Flint builds layer after layer of history, tension and social judgement into her storytelling makes each development of the plot come as a wrench.
Little Deaths is told in alternating voices of Ruth Malone and Pete Wonicke, the reporter who follows, and becomes entrenched in, the evolving events. The voices are kept at a distance, both being third person, which gives the book a certain tone of the movie theatre. Even the name ‘Ruth Malone’ has a ring of 1950’s detective noir. By constructing her narratives in this way, readers are allowed a deeper understanding of the motivations driving these two characters. For anyone who has ever done something and not quite known why, I’m sure you’d appreciate the thoughtful explanation of a floating author!
Understanding Ruth is key to appreciating the importance of her subjugation by the police and media. It is clear from Pete’s building obsession that she inspires strong reactions in the males with whom she comes into contact, and where news reports are shown in accurate format we can see exactly how the community have formed their opinion of her. Balanced with our insight into the torment inside Ruth’s head we are challenged with a massive contrast that is painful.
“They knew nothing of guilt. They were not mothers”, we hear in Ruth’s internal monologue. The disgusted gaze of the police and media are clearly designed to break her spirit; the men are brutal and harsh. Their contempt is held up against Ruth’s own self-hatred: a female guilt that exists as a result of the society of the time (which still exists around us, by the way). That guilt is based on the portrayal of unrealistic models of the ideal female. Lover. Wife. Mother. Idealised images that are impossible to maintain, and with no margin for difference all women become touched with failure.
Despite the inclination of society to abhor this way of representing a woman – the swearing, promiscuity and disdain, Ruth is an extremely sympathetic character. She is flawed and damaged but incapable of doing anything other than surviving and I was rooting for her throughout.
Again and again our media places mothers in the spotlight and seeks to destroy them. From the tabloids who, in reporting the disappearance of Madeline McCann, claimed that her mother Kate was not distressed enough to the recent furore in the entertainment press about Victoria Beckham kissing her daughter Harper on the lips. As you read Little Deaths, these real life echoes of a world that should know better feed your discomfort.
Little Deaths is utterly readable; I struggled to put it down at the same time as I almost couldn’t bear to read another word. At its core it poses a question about the judgement of women by those around them; by men, by the media and, most worrying of all, by other women.
If Becky’s review has inspired you to read more then you can buy your copy HERE for £9.79 (RRP £12.99) + free UK delivery