Review by New York Times Review
EARLY IN LEO BENEDICTUS'S Creepily thought-provoking novel "Read Me," the unnamed narrator - a London man who has made an unpaid vocation out of stalking strangers, mostly women - asks, "Did I really find my new life on the first day of looking? Much easier to believe it was already somewhere in me.... Have I been someone all my life who would do what I've done? Or am I just somebody who did?" It's the rhetorical use of philosophical questions like these that make the novel self-reflective. The narrator, who is the supposed "author" of the book before us - a memoir of his deeds as a stalker - befriends us. He invites us to engage with his inner dialogue. He is not overly charming, but still intelligent and warm enough that it can be easy to forget that he is a sociopath. At times he is profoundly good at rationalizing some very disturbing behavior. At other moments his manipulations are so cruel, his acts of violence so vile, that it feels profoundly disconcerting to have ever been seduced by him. His eerie shadowing begins when he unexpectedly inherits a large fortune from his aunt. The sum changes his life in an uncomfortable way. Rather than being "set free" by the money, he finds that the newfound freedom it gives him is actually much greater a burden than was the daily struggle for fiscal survival. To quell his anxiety, he rides city buses. He becomes an observer of others - an activity that quickly escalates from simply watching to stalking. The novel centers largely on his pursuit of Frances, a young woman with a blossoming corporate career, and the ways he dismantles and destroys her life. In meddling in her affairs, the narrator must break one of his own rules, namely not making contact with or intervening in the lives of his subjects. His interest in Frances is born out of jealousy, of both the existential and misogynistic varieties. When he first spots her, it's through the window of a neighboring office building where he's carrying out a different stalking mission. She is leading what appears to be a successful presentation on a new, "flexible working structure." In this moment, Frances is happy. There is much cheering and she is clearly beloved. The name of the new software? "Consent." The reader watches as the narrator turns Frances' life to chaos, imposing on her his own perception of the fleeting nature of human relationships, and of meaning itself. The more he controls every detail of his surveillance - from emailing her coworkers damaging misinformation to bugging her home with cameras and parking outside it in a van - the less she controls any aspect of her life. "Read Me" is constructed not as a linear tale but rather in layers, sometimes recounting what the narrator actually sees and at others deploying an assumed omniscience. At times it's unclear whether the narrator is simply imagining Frances' life or whether what he describes is actually occurring. This is especially true when it comes to her thoughts, an effect that underscores some of the novel's most important questions regarding the limits of genuine connection and empathy. Is it possible to ever truly know another person from within the prism of one's own story? Is philosophical knowledge merely a projection of our fantasies onto others? In the midst of the book's most gruesome scene, the narrator quotes Epicurus in an attempt to engage his victim: "Whatever causes no distress when it is present, gives pain to no purpose when it is anticipated." Yet his victim is in pain, and so the words are no salve. Unable to connect, the narrator dryly observes, "All he does is bleed." MELISSA broder is the author, most recently, of the novel "The Pisces."
Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [August 23, 2019]
Review by Booklist Review
In confessional mode, the unnamed narrator explains his peculiar occupation. After inheriting a fortune relieving him of the need for work, he picks out his subjects, mostly women, and follows them, with little to no interaction, using myriad forms of technology to observe them inconspicuously from a distance. Much like any sociopath, he is seductive in his rationales. All is, for this well-spoken antihero, fairly routine before the introduction of Frances, who caught his eye randomly. She could have been missed as another passerby, but when a reflection cast light on her, his obsession followed. A marketing consultant, Frances is in a precarious moment in her life, as it appears someone within the company is trying to sabotage her career. Benedictus (The Afterparty, 2011) misdirects the action of this thriller as the narrative is steered in a direction that leads the reader to question the reliability of the speaker when he does decide to become involved with his new subject. Read Me offers a salacious, disturbing, and increasingly focused look into the mind of a stalker.--Michael Ruzicka Copyright 2018 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
In this chilling yet disappointing psychological thriller from Benedictus (The Afterparty), an unnamed narrator keeps a written record of his unusual hobby: stalking. When his aunt dies and leaves him a fortune, the narrator is given all the free time he needs to indulge in the stalking of random women in an unspecified city, spying on them via webcams and hidden microphones, as well as simply overhearing conversations. His one rule is not to become personally involved with any of his victims-but he breaks that rule when he spots Frances, a beautiful young woman who works for a consulting firm. Frances has just been suspended because of an anonymous email accusing her of fraud and other misdeeds. The narrator takes it upon himself to mete out justice (or vengeance) on Frances's behalf where he thinks it necessary. Switching back and forth between the first and third persons, the narrative feels unnecessarily complicated. The narrator is appropriately a cipher, but Frances is so bland that it is difficult to understand the narrator's obsession with her. In the end, hampered by long-winded philosophical asides by the narrator, the novel doesn't work up enough suspense to be worthy of its premise. (Aug.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review
An extreme entry in the "stalker" subgenre, this work features Narrator (N), who at first appears to be genial, chatty, and convinced that his behaviors are research oriented, not creepy. But when he encounters Frances, his resolution not to interfere with his "subjects" vanishes. Soon Fran's employers receive an anonymous and unsubstantiated email alleging professional perfidy. Suspended, Fran believes the source of her troubles to be team-leader Will--it isn't, but Will soon finds himself shoved in front of a subway train, N's first murder victim. His second is Patrick, one-night lover of Fran; his demise is bloodily gruesome, and readers who want to jump ship around page 190 will be excused. That said, Benedictus (The Afterparty) offers a lot of "experimentation" with narrative voice. The opening first-person voice shifts to omniscient, and the reader doesn't know if this is N imagining Fran's doings and thoughts or an altogether new voice. The second person is also used a lot, sometimes addressed to the reader, sometimes to a nonpresent Fran, sometimes to N himself. The novel ends in medias res, where books are supposed to start, with N descending from temporary quarters in Fran's attic to join her in bed for a cup of tea. VERDICT For hardened veteran fans of this subgenre.--Robert E. Brown, Oswego, NY
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Review by Kirkus Book Review
A stalker insinuates himself into the life of his target, with horrific results.When he first appears, the narrator of this novel seems polite and even self-deprecating. "I have only tried to live by simple principles with doggedness and honesty, and with an open mind," he says; it's a simple code, and one that seems innocent enough. Quickly, however, his actions demonstrate that he has a much more sinister agenda in mind: watching a young woman as she sleeps, his movements quiet so as not to wake her. Over the course of the following pages, the narrator reveals that, due to an inheritance, he's become independently wealthy and that he has a penchant for stalking women. It's Frances who draws him in the mostand, gradually, Benedictus (The Afterparty, 2011) shows both how the narrator monitors her and how his efforts to disrupt her life turn a successful career into something that disrupts her psychological well-being. The contrast between the narrator's tone and the unsettling nature of his actions creates a host of tension, and in its best moments this novel suggests a reimagining of John Fowles' The Collector for an age of social media, constant surveillance, and toxic masculinity. Unfortunately, in the novel's second half, its narrator engages in a series of even more horrific acts, turning a work of psychological suspense into something more visceral. And while the narrator's self-deluded solemnity makes for a number of creepy jolts throughout, having the book written from his perspective has the effect of marginalizing Francesmaking the conclusion feel flat rather than chilling.When Benedictus' thriller clicks, it does so vividlybut it never entirely explores the full weight of its resonant themes. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
