Bodie Kane, a film professor and co-host of a popular Old Hollywood podcast, returns to the campus of the boarding school she graduated from over two decades ago to guest lecture a couple of classes. When one of her students reveals an obsession with a murder that occurred while Bodie was a student, she reluctantly agrees to help her investigate the case. Thalia Keith, whom Bodie briefly roomed with, was killed after the opening night of a school production of Camelot. Her skull was bashed in and she was left to drown in the school swimming pool while her castmates and friends were drinking in the woods. The school’s head athletic trainer was arrested, tried and convicted and has been in jail ever since.
Bodie was a bit of an outcast at school, her background of poverty and family tragedy made it hard for her to relate to most of her classmates. She didn’t dress the right way, she didn’t know the things they knew, she didn’t ski. She’s made a lot of progress since then, with a rewarding career and two children she loves. But going back to Grandy precipitates a personal crisis as her memories of that time come flooding back and she begins to question everything she thought she knew about her classmates, her teachers, and the way the world works. Some of this is a result of real world events. The MeToo movement has recontextualized a lot of the “jokes” and “teasing” she endured from both the boys and girls in her class. And like many others, she’s learned to be more skeptical of the police when they say they’ve got their man, especially when he’s one of the few Black men in town.
The book is written in the first-person from Brodie’s perspective. She has a very specific reader in mind, someone she can see looking back was behaving inappropriately around Thalia. This direct address can be very effective, as it allows Makkai to put Bodie’s fury directly on the page. The book is tied to the real world by her constant references to the seemingly endless news stories about young women being subjected to violence at the hands of men. There are times when the reader might wish she would move on and get back to the narrative, but the weight of all these cases eventually has the desired effect. It’s exhausting, and that’s precisely the point.
Something I really came to appreciate about Makkai’s writing is that she refuses to valorize or glamorize Bodie. She’s frequently selfish and short-sighted, quick to make assumptions about others and a bit reckless at times as well. In a subplot that I wasn’t initially sold on but came to appreciate, Bodie’s husband is subject to a “cancellation” attempt and her reaction to that is regrettable but very recognizably human. Also recognizable is her struggle to connect with the students in her class, who have grown up in a very different world and have different expectations as a result. Bodie’s appreciation clashed with resentment felt real.
Makkai really captures the feel of the much-maligned true crime genre. She manages the neat trick of criticizing the tawdriness of our obsession with the death of pretty, white young women while also writing seriously about the death of a pretty, white young woman. Her plot has the familiar beats of the genre paced in such a way to keep the reader desperate for the next big reveal while still retaining a high degree of specificity and originality. She wrangles a huge cast of characters with wildly divergent perspectives and memories with astonishing ease.
I Have Some Questions For You is a rare accomplishment. A truly literary thriller, balancing a captivating plot with a high degree of artistic merit. As I raced toward its conclusion I worried that Makkai wouldn’t land on a conclusion that would reflect the book’s dual intentions of satisfying the reader and reflecting the reality of our world. I need not have been concerned. Rebecca Makkai has pulled off something major here.
