As they move in and out of narrator Nick Framingham’s life, the other characters in Now You See Him possess the page with surges of the ugliest emotions: envy and contempt, open hatred, lusts both bold and rotten. Now You See Him is about puzzling out identities: Who would expect, among this small New York state crowd, a killer? Who is the best at swallowing their horrible truth? And who finds themselves soured by what their introspections peel away? All said and done, this novel, in places beautifully written, creates something like a shredded collage of identity - an image wholly manufactured, and destroyed in an explosion of faces and memories and beliefs at the deaths of writer Rob Castor and his wife.

I am surprised to find such strong things to say about these characters because while reading them they seemed as familiar, understandable, even as noble as you could hope for families never forced to confront themselves. And that may be the best thing about this literary thriller: that you come away unsettled, with a strange urge to dig out the seed of your own identity, examine it, and decide if it has grown as healthy as you thought.