{shortcode-ca41206a43e98b58da0fc16a308453f68cfadd40}

In the vein of other female-authored mystery thrillers like “Gone Girl” or “The Girl on a Train,” Tanen Jones’ debut novel “The Better Liar” focuses on a troubled, suburban wife searching for answers. Though thrillers have long since exhausted the trope of a housewife on the verge of a nervous breakdown, this latest novel seeks to bring more depth to the genre by sensitively exploring stigmatized issues regarding mental health and depression. Jones uses her carefully crafted narrators to bring her characters alive in an enthralling new mystery.

Accountant Leslie Voigt Flore anchors the novel. She lives with her husband Dave and young son Eli in Albuquerque, and she has been desperately trying to track down her younger sister, Robin Voigt, to no avail. This is not surprising considering that Robin, the family’s wild child, ran away from home ten years ago at the tender age of 16.

Though the two shared a strained relationship, Leslie embarks on this mission in order to collect a large sum from her father’s estate. Under the terms of his will, both siblings must be present in order for them to receive their inheritance — a clause introduced in the hopes of making the two women reconnect. While following a lead in Nevada, Leslie comes upon Mary, a waitress and wannabe-actress with an uncanny resemblance to her missing sister. Mary agrees to return to New Mexico with Leslie and pose as Robin so the two can con their way into collecting the Voigt inheritance. Events become more complicated when Robin’s dead body is found at her apartment in Las Vegas.

The narration shifts between the point of views of the three women — Leslie, Mary, and Robin — moving through their different perspectives and time shifts almost imperceptibly. Jones is an adept writer who imbues each woman with her own voice and carefully crafted desires: She makes a real effort at creating women of complexity who are both vulnerable and worthy of empathy.

From the start, the book ruminates on what it means to be a young woman who perishes in unseemly circumstances. In the prologue, a deceased Robin suggests that it is only the ones who really loved you who can keep your memory alive: “I mean the ones who saw your disgusting insides and loved you anyway … I only had one person like that. Leslie, my sister.”

Robin’s voice is particularly noteworthy given that she narrates with an unhinged candor and grit that veers towards uncomfortable truths. She remarks that she left home with an earnest desire to escape her family: “I was sixteen and so beautiful that taking my body into the world was like ferrying around a stolen luxury car: just the having of it implied action.” Her self-recognition suggests unsavory truths of what it means to grow up too quickly as a beautiful girl in the American southwest.

Jones writes best when focusing on the characterizations of these women. For example, by diving into Leslie’s complicated relationship with her mentally ill mother, Jones simultaneously unpacks Leslie’s unstable relationship with Eli. Jones’ depiction of Leslie’s marriage to Dave, likewise, is handled carefully. She avoids the trope of overwrought psychoanalytic thinking in favor of a more profound exploration. The ultimate reasons for their troubles aren't revealed until the end, and until then Jones does an excellent job of leaving red herrings along the way.

At times, it can be difficult to grasp some of the characters’ motivations. Jones portrays each character thoroughly, such that it becomes difficult to unsee Leslie or Mary in the way they were originally presented. For example, Mary’s willingness to help Leslie appears almost incompatible with how quickly she is willing to suspect Leslie’s intentions and begin investigating them. Though this incongruity is explained in the ending, the feeling of unharmoniousness is hard to shake.

Ultimately this imbalance has less to do with the characters than with the plot itself. Jones carefully leaves a trail of breadcrumbs along the way, but when all the pieces come together they are rather inconclusive.

That said, the numerous twists — and I do mean numerous — unspool beautifully and shockingly. The resulting novel is absolutely gripping. Jones knows exactly when to drop background information to carefully build up the reader’s expectations in a certain way. In her hands, suspense is not merely a byproduct of the novel, but a dominant force. Her plot is carefully organized such that the suspense never stops building.

Surprisingly, Jones succeeds in creating a mystery that is poignant, a feat owed to the themes revolving around it rather than just the puzzle itself. By the end, her characterization makes us wonder if we have ever really known anyone properly. As Robin remarks rather darkly towards the end of the novel: “The more you know someone, the more someones you know. They kaleidoscope outward before your eyes.” As readers of “The Better Liar” will find out, Robin's words turn out to be painfully true.

—Staff writer Aline G. Damas can be reached at aline.damas@thecrimson.com.