This spring, Tana French published her tenth novel, The Keeper. 

I read my first Tana French novel almost 20 years ago. It was her debut, In the Woods, that would become part of a series of six murder mysteries—the Dublin murder squad. I picked it up off a table at Flyleaf Books in Chapel Hill as my children whirled about me, whining ever more loudly that the store was boring. I bought it so I wouldn’t leave the store empty-handed and defeated. I’m not generally a murder mystery person, but the Dublin connection intrigued me. Instantly, I was hooked. I loved recognizing the Dublin street scenes, I was surprised by the folksy wisdom of the characters, and enthralled by the fast-paced murder mystery plot set amidst the otherwise banal existence of everyday life of ordinary people. The cosmic fatality of it felt oddly like a Thomas Hardy novel, the kind of story that clings to you and gnaws at you in ways that unfold over time. All her books have this quality. They have a parable quality as a set of cautionary tales of what happens when we lose sight of the importance of the virtues in some way. 

One of my favorite quotes from In the Woods is “Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.”  I have used this quote a hundred times in lectures and conversations with students as I try to explain the importance of “non-findings” in social scientific research. It is probably the quote I have invoked more than any other in all my years of teaching. 

Nine books later, I just finished reading The Keeper. The Keeper is the final book in her Cal Hooper trilogy (Note: my favorite French novel is The Witch Elm, her only standalone novel). I never really appreciated the introduction of this new series featuring an American detective from Chicago living in the rural West of Ireland. The entire premise of this series, with a new detective and a new location, had me initially hesitant. But I was quickly won over. In this finale, in the fictitious town of Ardnakelty, the lovely and recently engaged Rachel Holohan is found drowned. Like all of her previous novels, I devoured The Keeper in less than a day, riveted by the storyline, the relationships, and the compelling dialogue: people at their worst, people at their best. The New York Times called this latest novel an exciting excursion. And it surely is. As in so many of her novels, a seemingly small mistake, a momentary lapse in judgment, a minor human weakness, a secret kept with good intentions over time festers, grows, and/or is mismanaged. A little practical wisdom would have gone quite a long way for the characters in this novel.

I used to think that literature traditionally conceived as the great books of humankind—from Dante to Kafka to Faulkner to Toni Morrison— could be a transformational experience and a critical lesson about character. I was tempted to believe that the more impenetrable or challenging the text, the more I was apt to glean. The harder, longer, the more serious they were, the more they would stick with me, affect me, change me. There are quotes, passages, or scenes from most great books that have stuck with me over the decades. But so too do many aspects of French’s novels. I call upon them often when I puzzle through a challenge. And unlike many great books, they are an energizing, delightful read. Always. The Keeper is no exception. Who knew character work could be such an exciting excursion?