Here's another Jaime Jo Wright book, because she's churning them out nowadays; but I don't see any reduction in quality. In fact, this one tackles a few deeper issues than the norm and they're an integral part of the book. A couple of details aside, this was a successful aspect that I hope to see more of in future books. That's not to say that there haven't been serious elements to her others, with 'The Vanishing at Castle Moreau' standing tall as one with a strong message, but this book is happier to put some things front and centre that I get the feeling Wright hasn't been particularly comfortable with doing in the past.

As always, there are two separate stories led by female characters that eventually merge into one greater one. One takes place in the past and the other in the present day, but they both share the same location. This is Wright's formula and she's stuck to it across the four books that I've read so far from her. Hey, it works! Why ditch something proven to work?

We're in rural Wisconsin this time out, at the Müllerian Manor. That's because the past time this time is the early twenties, which means Prohibition. The Arnold family are brewers, but Marian's father is dead now and his business along with him, because America doesn't want beer any more, at least not officially. And, given that they're of German stock, Marian's mother being German by birth, they're not particularly welcome in the wake of World War I. There's a strong feeling as this book starts out that we're in the countryside because it's the safest place to be for Marian. Really, it's because all she has left of an inheritance is the Müllerian Manor, their old summer house.

If being of German stock and brewery stock isn't enough, we soon learn that Marian sees things. It manifests quickly, because she sees a maid who apparently isn't there, not least because the staff is rather minimal. Frederick Dale manages the house and his wife is the housekeeper. And there's their son, Felix, who's returned from the war but left a leg behind. Mrs. Dale is also German, even with an English name, and it only matters to the world at large that Felix is disabled, not why. This is a powerful setup that resonates all the more at a time when hate is being normalised and many subsets of the population are being demonised.

A century on, the house is now owned by Elton Floyd, a biographer, who's gradually moved on from famous subjects to less famous but just as interesting ones. He's now working on Marian Arnold's biography, looking not only at her mysterious life but also how she might be connected to a serial killer called the Butterfly Butcher of Pickeral County who claimed three victims in her era.

Our focus in the present day is his new research assistant, Remy Crenshaw, who's a week into her position and still not quite sure why she was hired. She's able enough and she's willing as well, but her experience isn't pertinent and Floyd drops weird hints as to why he chose her. For instance, he believes Marian is still there and she whispers to him. She gets on well enough with Floyd, but not the new addition to the ensemble, Tate Arnold, who barges his way in and claims to be the last of the Arnolds, Marian's great-grandson.

It might not seem immediately obvious, but the household in the present day isn't far adrift from the one a century earlier in how easily they can be seen poorly. Floyd is respectable enough, even if he thinks he's listening to ghosts, but he's also partially disabled by age. He's an old man, so has a live-in nurse, Aimee Prentiss, along with a housekeeper, Flora Flemming, and a groundskeeper, Charleton Boggart, who's been there forever.

Remy is an orphan, who lost her only relatives, her parents, in a house fire at the age of four and was then shifted through fourteen different foster families in the years since. She's experienced a lot of prejudice so, while she misses many comforts of the city, enjoys the seclusion of the manor. Like Felix, Tate is a veteran who came back broken; in his case, it's not with a physical injury but a mental one: he suffers from PTSD.

It's fantastic to see Wright focus so deeply on the marginalised and to factor into her story a lot of what it means to be marginalised, especially those who are mentally ill, for whatever reason. That proves to be an integral part of the story and, for the most part, it's handled very well. It's also an easy, but not cheap, way for her to layer mystery onto what is already mysterious.

For instance, it's one thing to introduce a serial killer to the equation. Marian's mother is buried in a crypt in the butterfly house at the Müllerian Manor, the glass house of the title. We're in the company of Marian when she visits it and discovers the body of the milkman, Percy Holm, hanging above it, a host of dead butterflies spread out beneath him on the crypt. Yes, he's the first victim of the Butcher, but how much can we trust of what Marian sees, given that she sees things that we know aren't there? Is she a reliable witness and, if she isn't, is she a reliable narrator?

Given that the timeframe is a little later than usual, the twenties being twentieth-century rather than nineteenth, it's good to see that there are still plenty of gothic elements to the story. After all, it's no hardship to think of the Arnolds in 1921 as living in the past. The country has moved on. Therefore, it's entirely appropriate to throw in slightly more modern touches to old chestnuts like curses, secrets and madness. Family is always important in gothics. Death is a gimme. The manor is reminiscent at points of the Winchester House, whose extravagant construction began before and continued after the turn of the century. Poetry, genealogy and butterflies also work across a variety of timeframes.

Whatever the details, these stories have to live or die on their mysteries and this one does well on that front. It isn't only about figuring out the identity of Butterfly Butcher. It's figuring out what happened to Marian, who doesn't seem to have had kids but somehow has a great-grandson. The present day has its mysteries too. Remy isn't Floyd's first research assistant and her predecessor, Jack, vanished without notice. There's a young lady at the local coffee shop Remy buys from that knew him, but he vanished from her life too. I didn't see the answers to any of these coming, but I don't have any problem with how they all played out.

Really, everything's a success in this one. It's a darker read than usual, which isn't a bad thing, and I thoroughly appreciate the focus on the marginalised, whether that's because of a mental illness or a physical disability, an ethnic or business heritage or legitimacy as descendant or foster child. The only negative I'd raise is that there's a little more God in this one. He's not everywhere and I have no problem with a character or two needing His guidance, but the cop joining in felt notably out of place. But hey, that's it. This isn't my favourite Jaime Jo Wright thus far, but it may well be the best of the four I've read. ~~ Hal C F Astell

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