Book Review: Actually, I’m A Murderer by Terry Deary
When I stumbled upon Actually, I’m A Murderer, I was intrigued not only by the title but also by the fact that it was penned by Terry Deary, the mastermind behind the beloved Horrible Histories series. My curiosity was piqued, and I dove in with no preconceptions—a rare treat in today’s hype-driven literary world. Set against the backdrop of a 1970s rail journey from London to Sunderland, this cozy mystery promises an engaging exploration of dark themes and quirky characters sharing a confined space.
The premise alone is captivating: four strangers traveling together in a railway compartment, exchanging stories until one, John, cryptically claims, “actually, I’m a murderer.” At first, it’s brushed off as a joke, but as the narrative unfolds, the tension grows, revealing layers of personality and hidden motives. Deary’s decision to present the story through the first-person perspectives of Tony, Aline, and John adds a rich dimension to the storytelling. However, while these multiple viewpoints enhance engagement, they also reveal some of the book’s shortcomings.
Set in the 1970s, the setting is one of the highlights for me. The atmospherics evoked a nostalgic sense of old-world charm. But there’s a weight to the narrative that’s tougher to digest—particularly the casual sexism woven into the characters’ interactions, a reminder of how far we’ve come, yet how much remains to be done. It’s a gritty realism that, while uncomfortable, makes the characters and their situations feel plausible.
Speaking of characters, I found it challenging to connect with any of them. They were filled with quirks but lacked depth, making it tough to root for—or even care about—their fates. The narrative feels quite heteronormative at times, and while that reflects the era, it can be jarring. And here’s where I bump into a recurrent theme in literature: why do expert characters frequently behave like rookies? John, despite being the titular murderer, seems to stumble through his own story arc, contrived by the tale rather than steering it.
Deary’s pacing also left a bit to be desired. The first quarter trudged along, making it a challenge to stay immersed. It isn’t until a few chapters in that the rhythm picks up, and the twists begin to unfold. Crucially, I appreciated that I managed to predict some plot twists—that’s a sign of a well-structured arc rather than whimsical shock factors that so often plague mystery novels today. Yet, a certain plot development felt odd but ultimately made sense when viewed through the characters’ convoluted motivations.
In summation, Actually, I’m A Murderer can be described as a cozy mystery with a unique blend of dark themes and oddball humor, albeit featuring mostly unlikable characters. It left me pondering who its ideal audience might be—perhaps fans of traditional mysteries or those with a penchant for historical context in their narratives might find it more appealing.
For a book that dabbles in such dark waters, it’s an odd reading experience—one that I’m not sure I would readily recommend to all. However, I appreciate it for the conversational exploration it provides and the reflections it stirred within me about character development and narrative authenticity. Thanks to NetGalley and Little, Brown Book Group UK (Constable) for the eARC!
Have you read any books that challenged your expectations recently? I’d love to hear your thoughts!
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