REVIEW:

Instructions for a successful reading experience with Mrs. March, Virginia Feito’s moody debut novel:

Set this book aside to read the night after Christmas, once every last member of your dysfunctional family* has left, the insanity of the holiday has subsided, and you’re feeling you’ve lost your dang mind. Light a fire and pour yourself a giant glass of wine or whisky or whatever poison you prefer. Binge the book in one go so the next morning when you inevitably wake up thinking “WTF?!” you won’t be sure if it was the book, a dream, or your hangover.

Mrs. March is a divisive work of literary psychological suspense in which a woman obviously named Mrs. March descends into madness. A large chunk of the story takes place during the Christmas and New Year season, it’s set in the atmospheric upper-class society of New York, and the time period is pretty vague (though my guess is late ‘60s???). Mrs. March’s husband, Mr. March, is a famous author whose latest book features a main character some have suggested seems inspired by Mrs. March. Unfortunately the character is an unlikable whore, so clearly that’s quite offensive to Mrs. March and pretty much drives her insane.

Mrs. March will drive YOU insane if any of the following apply:

• You’re annoyed by the amount of times I’ve used “Mrs. March” in this review.

• Ambiguity does not appeal.

• Stories by Alfred Hitchcock, Patricia Highsmith, and/or Virginia Woolf aren’t your jam.

• A book with a planned movie adaptation that will probably be classified as horror is a hard pass. (I got serious Rosemary's Baby vibes, minus the whole demonic spawn of Satan aspect.)

Mrs. March has not worked for many readers given the reasons listed above, but I kinda loved it. If you follow my instructions, you might too.

*Oh, and to any of my family members reading this, it goes without saying that the holiday scenario described above is strictly hypothetical. ;)

PUBLISHER SYNOPSIS:

Who is Mrs. March?

A twenty-first-century Highsmith, Virginia Feito conjures the unforgettable Mrs. March, an Upper East Side housewife whose life is shattered by her husband’s latest novel.

In this astonishing debut, the venerable but gossipy New York literary scene is twisted into a claustrophobic fun house of paranoia, horror, and wickedly dark humor. George March’s latest novel is a smash. No one is prouder than Mrs. March, his doting wife. But one morning, the shopkeeper of her favorite patisserie suggests that his protagonist is based on Mrs. March herself: “But . . . ―isn't she . . .’ Mrs. March leaned in and in almost a whisper said, ‘a whore?” Clutching her ostrich-leather pocketbook, she flees, that one casual remark destroying her belief that she knew everything about her husband ― as well as herself. Suddenly, Mrs. March is hurled into a harrowing journey that builds to near psychosis, one that begins merely within the pages of a book but may uncover both a killer and the long-buried secrets of her past.