The House on Buzzards Bay
Reads like a dream you’re not quite sure you’ve woken up from. A noir that hums with unease and foggy edges, Dwyer Murphy’s latest isn’t just a crime novel, it’s a ghost story masquerading as a legal thriller, a meditation on memory, and a lyrical descent into the uncanny ... From the first page, Murphy casts a spell. The prose is moody and precise, soaked in salt air and ambiguity ... Unfolds in waves ... Murphy doesn’t just tell a story — he conjures a mood. And long after the final page, you’re left wondering: Did I read that, or did I dream it?
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Extremely well-crafted—it’s not just the superb writing but also the structure of the story, which grabs the reader from the opening paragraphs and keeps them constantly on their toes, trying to figure out what’s going on, and becoming increasingly concerned for the safety of these beautifully constructed characters. Murphy outdoes himself here, spectacularly.
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Murphy demonstrates a knack for creating an uneasy mood. But in the end, what appears to be a calculated mystery proves to be merely meandering uncertainty ... A promising premise ... This atmosphere of confusion and the eerie little setpieces Murphy designs are definitely compelling — you’ll want to keep turning those pages to see how all these seemingly disconnected elements fit together. That’s the real mystery. How is he going to make it all work? The disappointing answer is: he doesn’t.
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