The simple guilt occasioned by this act is compounded by a complex guilt born from the trauma of victimhood and slavery. Edna O’Brien, with her “long iceberg of guilt” is the mother of Irish female guilt fiction, but where O’Brien dips an elegant toe, McBride dives right in. Lipstick on a collar, a reappearing bloodstain – the physical evidence of a guilty act has turned many a plot. “The guilt, the fears – the terror bred into my bones!” Framed as a monologue to his psychoanalyst, this is guilt unzipped, with a memorable protagonist who is still outrageous today. “The guilt didn’t come.” Highsmith insinuates us into the point of view of the killer and implicates us in his actions.

Source: The Guardian June 08, 2016 12:41 UTC