I love to be transported by a novel, both to foreign places and unfamiliar psychological spaces. Alexis Schaitkin’s Saint X does both. An affluent couple take their two daughters for a New Year’s vacation to a tropical island. The older girl, a Princeton first year, attracts the attention of many men, both locals and visitors to the resort. By week’s end, she has vanished.
If this sounds familiar, I don’t think that’s a coincidence. One of the novel’s themes is the casual exploitation that occurs when photogenic young women are murdered. The American press crassly profits from the tragedy and the island officials obfuscate so no one is ever charged. Schaitkin does a nice job showing the impact of both sensationalism and hagiography. As the person Alison really was is lost to speculation, her younger sister says, “I had to find a way to understand how truth and untruth make each other.”
In the present, the victim’s sister is in her twenties. She has changed her name to Emily and is living a strange double life. Working for a publisher, she becomes obsessed with her sister’s death. The lengths she goes to provide some of the best parts of the novel. Another strength is the vivid depiction of her Brooklyn neighborhood. I found myself Googling words like buss-up shut and accra to understand what she was eating. (They’re torn flat bread and fish fritters, respectively.)
There were other parts that didn’t work as well. I could have done without the occasional island dialect (“To hell with she. You don’t need no mum.”) and I think the frequent changes in perspective might confuse some readers. Overall, though, this was a good read. Much to appreciate.
Books Smitten 