Written by Abigail Dean, The Death of Us is a thriller, except it’s more of a heartbreaking story than a scary psycho suspense. Written in two different points of view, the author gives us an overview of what a traumatic event can do to people.
Who is Who?
In first person POV is Isabel Nolan. Through her, you learn about the past, as Isabel narrates in a conversational manner to her assailant. She details her life before and after the event, and how it had led to a different path in her life.
For the present timeline, the third person POV is Isabel’s ex- husband Edward Hennesy. In Edward’s eyes, it is the event that altered his trajectory. It shows how people handle trauma differently. He didn’t want to talk about it and also did not want to acknowledge the pain Isabel was feeling. Despite all the avoidance, he has to face it once they caught the perpetrator.
The South London Invader is the serial killer who had taunted the Met and the couple for years until he was caught. For Isabel, the story started in 1993; for Edward, the day Nigel was caught and had to face court.
The Death of Us
This novel is a slow burn, and it was too slow for my liking. Abigail Dean rewards you with its depth and precision if you are willing to slough through it. There are powerful, filled with sharply observed moments that make Edward and Isabel’s pain—and hope—achingly real.
If you want to understand the emotions that swirl around a trauma victim, this is it.
Rather than making you trudge through the fear of the moment, The Death of Us shifts the focus to those left in the wake of violence, showing how trauma reshapes lives long after the headlines fade.
Except for Isabel and Edward, the headline never fades.
There were support groups, constant updates by the law. Then they have to come face to face with the man who did it to them, trying to make him face justice decades after he had hurt them to the core.
Verdict
I will freely admit that it’s not for me. Yes, sometimes the event is confronting and really visually eviscerating. When it’s slow, it drags. Even though the alternating timelines and points of view is to create a rhythm, like a wave pulling back before rushing towards the shore, repeat it too often and it becomes normal.
The novel is unflinching in its portrayal of grief, resilience, and the desperate search for closure. Yet, despite its darkness, it also carries a whisper of hope—of healing. Better yet, sometimes moving forward doesn’t mean moving forward together.
While I might not be a huge fan, I think it is for slow-burn psychological thriller fans that prioritise character depth over plot twists.
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