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A review by moreadsbooks
The Lonely Witness by William Boyle
4.0
"No way was it wrong to chase a feeling, to be unhinged, to act out of fear and fascination. How did she lose that knowledge? Whatever she'd gained had led to so much lost."
For my entire life I've been telling people that fall is my favorite season because it's when the light changes, everything dies off, and as such it's incredibly goth. In reality, however, fall makes me endlessly anxious and depressed and is the start of the nightmare season of winter and every year I get to about November and I'm over it. What I really crave as a person is natural light until nine at night, warmth, and no enforced bedtimes for my child, so I am boldly proclaiming my truth: summer is really where it's at, especially the beginning of June. And this is exactly the type of kick in the pants book that I needed to start off my summer, the type where you pick up, read the first few pages, and then moments later it's been three hours and you're 2/3s of the way through. Amy Falconetti wears sensible pants now instead of swing capris and sugar skull flats and she takes communion to the housebound ladies in her church instead of tending bar, but that doesn't stop her from making an escalating series of terrible choices after witnessing a murder. This is filled with perfectly drawn neighborhood characters like lonely, chatty landlord Mr. Pezzolanti, heartbroken Diane Marchetti, little Mrs. Epifanio, Connie Giacchino, Monsignor Riccardi, and Mrs. Mescolotto, who yells things like, "You call the cops, and I'll have this fucking place blown up with you inside. You know my father, Jimmy Longabardi? You know that name?" This is smooth and quick and beautifully written and the last thirty or so pages are masterful, just impeccably-realized scenes that had me fanning myself because they were so great. Summer, come get me.
For my entire life I've been telling people that fall is my favorite season because it's when the light changes, everything dies off, and as such it's incredibly goth. In reality, however, fall makes me endlessly anxious and depressed and is the start of the nightmare season of winter and every year I get to about November and I'm over it. What I really crave as a person is natural light until nine at night, warmth, and no enforced bedtimes for my child, so I am boldly proclaiming my truth: summer is really where it's at, especially the beginning of June. And this is exactly the type of kick in the pants book that I needed to start off my summer, the type where you pick up, read the first few pages, and then moments later it's been three hours and you're 2/3s of the way through. Amy Falconetti wears sensible pants now instead of swing capris and sugar skull flats and she takes communion to the housebound ladies in her church instead of tending bar, but that doesn't stop her from making an escalating series of terrible choices after witnessing a murder. This is filled with perfectly drawn neighborhood characters like lonely, chatty landlord Mr. Pezzolanti, heartbroken Diane Marchetti, little Mrs. Epifanio, Connie Giacchino, Monsignor Riccardi, and Mrs. Mescolotto, who yells things like, "You call the cops, and I'll have this fucking place blown up with you inside. You know my father, Jimmy Longabardi? You know that name?" This is smooth and quick and beautifully written and the last thirty or so pages are masterful, just impeccably-realized scenes that had me fanning myself because they were so great. Summer, come get me.