Oof. I have no idea how to rate this.

On one hand, the narrative is well-structured and driven and made me want to finish the book so I could unmask the killer and uncover the mystery. (I audibly gasped at the end of a few chapters.) The fact that Chris Whitaker is able to cover so many decades in such a compelling way is a testament to his skill--it's a slow read, but not a laborious one. (It does drag in the middle, but not enough to detract from the pace at which I was reading.)

On the other hand, I...feel like Whitaker doesn't know how to write women. Or, rather, is too good at writing selfish men who cater to their own needs and sacrifice those of the women around them. While I haven't read his other books, that's exactly what he does here. I became so angry reading about Patch, about his obsession with Grace and how it consumed his life, and how much Saint sacrifices to help him. But maybe that's the point.

Again, I'm feeling conflicted. Maybe I'll leave it unrated, or maybe I'll have a flash of clarity today, tomorrow, or weeks from now and assign one.