Jed Rubenfeld - The Interpretation of Murder (2006)
Novel – 530 pages – my copy (paperback; 2007) borrowed
- 2 nods out of 5 -
The Interpretation of Murder is a fictional-fact novel – yes, one of those which have come into great fashion in recent years – set in the New York of 1909. A murder happens which leads to Younger, the chief protagonist, using his psychiatry skills in helping catch the killer. Helping him in this pursuit is Sigmund Freud - prominently noted in the book’s blurb -who counsels Younger to clarity and giving him the strength of his convictions.
Novel – 530 pages – my copy (paperback; 2007) borrowed
- 2 nods out of 5 -
The Interpretation of Murder is a fictional-fact novel – yes, one of those which have come into great fashion in recent years – set in the New York of 1909. A murder happens which leads to Younger, the chief protagonist, using his psychiatry skills in helping catch the killer. Helping him in this pursuit is Sigmund Freud - prominently noted in the book’s blurb -who counsels Younger to clarity and giving him the strength of his convictions.
All of which sounds quite splendid; however, that is not quite the case. Simply put, there are too many characters, too many murders (and attempted murders) and too many plots being discussed in the book’s 500 pages (again, far too many). For instance, the reader is pitted with two characters in the hero role, various love interests, and various villains. As the saying goes, ‘Too many cooks spoil the broth.’ The impression the Worm took away from this novel was that of two stories meshed into one, as if Younger’s story (written in first perspective) wasn’t juicy enough for Rubenfeld’s publishers, thus prompting him to include a few grizzly murders and dead females stuffed in baskets (written, complexingly, in third perspective). Due to this, the book fails in its chief concerns: to continually build suspense. Rather, it ebbs and flows, beyond the author’s control.
This is not to say the author’s intrusion is not found; it fills every page and is inescapable. Rubenfeld’s background holds the key: a student of law, with the result being a prose as stifled and stilted as that found in parliamentary acts. Furthermore, all of his previous study – in the fields of Freud and Shakespeare – are dumped into the novel (for instance, Shakespeare’s Hamlet is continuously, unconvincingly and monotonously debated, much to the Worm’s chagrin).
And what of the sentences themselves? His description leaves much to be desired: ‘Jimmy Littlemore wasn’t bad-looking, but he wasn’t quite good-looking either’ (p.34). Whilst there is the constant authorial interference, breaking up the story as a drunk would in a pub conversation: ‘Among the various sounds one can hear indoors in the nighttime, some are instantly recognizable. There is, for example, the unmistakable pattering of a small animal…’ (p.177). What is Rubenfeld trying to accomplish here, exactly? Surely the story itself should do all the talking for him.
The book’s redeeming feature is the inclusion of Freud, whilst his attempt to collate fiction and fact are admirable, even if never wholly successful. A more adventurous and capable writer would have involved Freud to a greater extent. As it stands, The Interpretation of Murder remains a book with many flaws, yet a novel for the psychologist enthusiast.
