Dark Places tells the horrific tale of Libby Day, the sole survivor of her murdered family. Libby was only a child when her mother and two sisters were slaughtered, and she was the key witness who testified that her troubled brother Ben was the murderer. Why did Libby, and the rest of her small town, believe Ben could be guilty of such a brutal crime? Well, he dyed his hair black. He liked heavy metal music. He doodled upside-down crosses in his diary. Satanic panic was gripping the town and Ben fit the narrative perfectly.
The novel begins with Libby as an adult, and her past becomes the focus of a murder club that obsesses over high-profile cases. I was shocked when I realised Flynn wrote this novel in 2010, because it felt so ahead of its time. Nowadays it seems everyone is a casual true crime enthusiast, with this subculture often traced back to the 2014 podcast Serial and then reaching a fever pitch in 2018 with the Netflix series Making a Murderer. It feels as though Flynn recognised these thriving true crime communities years before they went mainstream, and she captures the archetype well.
It is at this point that Libby begins to question her childhood memories. Did she really see Ben hacking and slashing her family apart with an axe? Was she, a young child at the time, potentially coached by police and a child psychiatrist? Was the life sentence her brother was serving deserved, or was there more to the story?
Spoiler alert. There was a lot more to the story.
As Libby traces the past, the novel moves back and forth, giving readers insight into her mother and brother across that fateful day. The pacing is spot on, building tension and dropping breadcrumbs with skill.
My only other exposure to Flynn is the film adaptation of her novel Gone Girl, which I found similarly addictive and engaging. As you might expect, there are some very dark themes in Dark Places that may be difficult for some readers, so proceed with caution.
I will give this one 4 porcelain toilet bunnies out of 5.
