By Tana French; Viking, October 2018
In her 2012 blog post entitled, “Why Teaching Equality Hurts Men,” author Roz Meadows made this entirely prescient statement: “Never having experienced inequality…the majority of straight white men will be absolutely oblivious to their own advantages—not because they must necessarily be insensitive, sexist, racist, homophobic or unaware of the principles of equality; but because they have been told, over and over again, that there is no inequality left for them—or anyone else—to experience, and everything they have experienced up to that point will only have proved them right.” It is this concept of oblivious privilege—both having it and losing it—that Tana French explores in her newest novel, The Witch Elm.
Toby Hennessy, our narrator, views himself as a “lucky” person: lucky to grow up in a well-off, supportive, two-parent household with a large, loving extended family; lucky to be upwardly mobile, good-looking and popular; lucky to have his devoted girlfriend, Melissa; lucky to have a good job doing PR with a “fairly prestigious” art gallery…you get the picture. Basically, Toby is a walking, talking advertisement for white/straight/male privilege, and totally clueless of this fact. Unfortunately for Toby, his “luck” can’t protect him when he decides to confront burglars in his home. Robbed and beaten nearly to death, Toby faces permanent injuries and a long convalescence—but even here the blow is cushioned. The residual effects of his injuries are not debilitating or life-threatening; he has excellent insurance, full support from his family and girlfriend, a sympathetic employer, even savings to fall back on. It almost feels convenient when Toby finds out, shortly afterwards, that his beloved bachelor uncle, Hugo, is dying, because this means Toby and Melissa join Hugo at Ivy House, the historic family home and Toby’s idyllic childhood retreat.
When a body is found in the titular tree on the family’s property, it’s almost a relief; Toby has become an irritant, a bug you desperately want to squish. But instead of providing immediate gratification, French shows the skill honed over her last six novels by using the discovery to gradually reveal, layer by layer, how Toby’s easy and oblivious life has affected others; discoveries that end up altering not only his key relationships, but Toby himself in inevitable and (in one twist) shocking ways. For her first foray away from her amazing Dublin Murder Squad series, French has done an incredible job. The Witch Elm doesn’t end the way you expect, but the end is hardly surprising. It’s an astute story, and sadly apropos in our current social climate.
