Don't call it a cult The shocking story of Keith Raniere and the women of NXIVM

In the midst of the #MeToo movement, a peculiar cult story captured the nation's attention. Women came forward to share their stories of being blackmailed and branded under the guise of empowerment. They had joined NXIVM, a corny but seemingly harmless self-improvement organization, in order to become the best versions of themselves and help others. Little did they know that the group's infectious positivity belied founder Keith Raniere's sinister intentions and a secret sorority of slaves. The scandal's attachment to B-list celebrities and conventionally attractive women made it inescapable in the media. NXIVM has been the subject of multiple docuseries and podcasts, but investigative journalist Berman's account is a standout. With astute research, court testimonies, and firsthand narratives from inner-circle NXIVM members, she traces the downfall of NXIVM from its roots in Raniere's first failed multi-level marketing company to the trials of each ringleader. Berman demonstrates the tactics cults use to manipulate and control without casting judgment or blame on the victims. Truly gripping, this is the definitive book on NXIVM.

Investigative journalist Berman debuts with the definitive look at the NXIVM cult, which victimized dozens of women for more than a decade at its headquarters in Albany, N.Y. Berman uses her access to former NXIVM members to detail the organization's crimes, which included the sexual abuse of teenagers, slavery, and the branding of members with the initials of its sadistic leader, Keith Raniere. Raniere founded NXIVM as a self-help resource in 1998, promising those who joined its program happiness and purpose; his pitch ensnared such prominent people as heirs to the Bronfman fortune, a future U.S. surgeon general, and executives at Warner Music and Black Entertainment Television. Eventually, law enforcement learned of the disturbing secret side of Raniere's operation and the multiple victims traumatized and brainwashed by Raniere and his enablers. In 2019, Raniere was convicted in federal court of sex trafficking, racketeering, and fraud, and in 2020 received a sentence of 120 years in prison. Berman's rigorously sourced narrative brings this über-creepy story to life, and by waiting to publish until after the conclusion of Raniere's trial, Berman has produced a more comprehensive account of the case than previous studies. This deep dive behind the headlines isn't to be missed. Agent: Carolyn Forde, Transatlantic Literary (Canada). (Apr.)

How a treacherous cult amassed a following under the guise of self-improvement. Vancouver-based investigative journalist Berman front-loads her startling, comprehensive exposé on the NXIVM group with key information on how the association became popular yet remained elusive to law enforcement. She shares interview material from several members of a large cast of characters, including Clare and Sara Bronfman, heirs to the Seagram's fortune who funded the organization for years (Clare is currently in prison). Berman tracks NXIVM "Vanguard" Keith Raniere's history as an Amway distributor--turned--pyramid-sales executive. In the 1980s, he joined forces with former nurse Nancy Salzman (known as "Prefect"), and the duo promoted training and coaching programs geared toward women's empowerment. Using a philosophical playbook influenced by Scientology and other similar groups, NXIVM began amassing members, each of whom was charged with recruiting others via classes called "intensives." Bankrolled by the Bronfman sisters, who were cunningly exploited for their exorbitant wealth and strained familial relationships, the increasingly "dangerous mafia-like" society steamrolled its way into the lives of vulnerable, unsuspecting people, employing blackmail, extortion, forced confinement, and even sex trafficking. Raniere then created offshoots like the particularly insidious Dominus Obsequious Sororium. "By the time of his arrest," writes Berman about DOS, "at least 102 women had been initiated into Raniere's secret society. Not all of them had been branded, and not all of them had been coerced into sex, but court records and testimony would show that he considered all of them to be his slaves." Not for the easily rattled, the author's engrossing reportage meticulously reveals the tumultuous rise and fall of NXIVM after numerous criminal indictments and prosecutions. The author incorporates critical narratives from former members, laying bare their awful experiences. Her research, which eventually caused her to fear for her own personal safety, informs a vital cautionary tale about how "power, consent, and women's agency" can be weaponized. File this alongside Lawrence Wright's Going Clear and Jeff Guinn's The Road to Jonestown. An incendiary, serpentine report on criminal manipulation of staggering proportions. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Keith Raniere needed sleep, that much was clear. How much sleep? Well, for decades before his arrest on March 26, 2018, that was a point of debate. Some thought he slept only one or two hours a night. But women close to him knew he was more of a day sleeper, and that day in March, in an upstairs bedroom of a $10,000-a-week vacation rental north of Puerto Vallarta, Raniere was napping. According to testimony at Raniere's trial, actors Nicki Clyne and Allison Mack were lounging outside on a patio overlooking an infinity pool when Mexican federal agents in bulletproof vests pulled up the cobblestone driveway. Armed with a warrant from the Eastern District of New York for sex trafficking and forced labour, the officers surrounded the property. Some of them appeared to be wearing masks and holding machine guns. It was a big deal for Clyne and Mack--celebrities and recent subjects of relentless online gossip--to be staying so close to Raniere. Five months earlier, he had been accused in the New York Times of masterminding a strange blackmail scheme, and allegations that Raniere had sexually abused young girls were resurfacing online with a vengeance. The US Federal Bureau of Investigations wasn't quiet about its interest in NXIVM, the secretive self-help company Raniere had founded in 1998. The feds had left business cards with NXIVM associates in the US and Mexico, asking for Raniere to get in touch. Despite all this, Clyne and Mack had come to Mexico to show their commitment to Raniere, a man they'd often called the most ethical man they'd ever met. Raniere was technically a fugitive, but his hideout in Mexico resembled an expensive corporate retreat. A team of fixers had been buzzing around him, first in Punta Mita, and now at their current location, the remote beach town Chacala. Neighbours said they went on long walks, ordered expensive butter-infused coffees from a tourist bar, and communicated through prepaid disposable phones. Mack and Clyne had been invited to participate in a "recommitment ceremony." The plan was to show loyalty to Raniere in the most vulnerable way possible, which might have included group sex, had cops not shown up that day. Under her clothes, each actor wore a scar in the shape of Raniere's initials, burned into her skin with a cauterizing pen more than a year earlier. It symbolized her lifelong commitment to obey Raniere's every request. Before getting caught up in NXIVM headlines, Clyne was best known for her role as Cally on the sci-fi hit Battlestar Galactica , while Mack lit up TV screens as Chloe Sullivan, best friend to Superman in the CW show Smallville . Those roles had become less interesting to the women as they grew more committed to changing the world with Raniere. Through thousands of hours of coursework and mentorship, Clyne and Mack had learned to break out of "self-limiting" thoughts. NXIVM students compared this process to Keanu Reeves taking the red pill in The Matrix ; no aspect of their lives was exempt from constant study, reflection, and redefinition. Raniere taught that everything was an opportunity for personal growth--even a face-off with federal agents. But as police moved inside, at least one of Raniere's disciples was feeling some doubts. For Lauren Salzman, the daughter of NXIVM's president and cofounder Nancy Salzman, Raniere's arrest punctured the bubble of secrecy and deception that protected his reputation as someone of the highest ethical standards. Salzman was in a bedroom with Raniere when cops came upstairs to take him into custody. As Salzman later recalled at Raniere's trial, Raniere hid in a walk-in closet, leaving her to face the police. "They were banging on the door," she testified. "The whole time, I was thinking they could just shoot through the door." As the door rattled in its frame, Salzman asked to see a warrant. "Open the door and I'll show it to you," an agent replied. Salzman didn't open the door. The cops kicked it open and pinned Salzman to the ground. With guns pointed at her, she yelped out Raniere's name. The man known to acolytes as Vanguard, Master, and Grandmaster was cuffed on the floor and taken downstairs. For Salzman, Raniere's arrest left a small but significant crack in the edifice he had built. "I chose what I believed we had been training for this entire time, which was to choose love over everything--including the possibility of losing my life," she later testified. "There was no need to send me to shield him or negotiate with them; he could have just protected all of us and just gone." For months Salzman felt guilty for not doing more to protect Raniere. It would take the better part of a year for her to realize the flaw she saw in him that day went much deeper. "It never occurred to me that I would choose Keith, and Keith would choose Keith," she said. Excerpted from Don't Call It a Cult: The Shocking Story of Keith Raniere and the Women of NXIVM by Sarah Berman All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.