White Bodies: An Addictive Psychological Thriller

By Jane Robins

A Good Housekeeping “Great Read”

This “deliciously creepy psychological thriller” (Publishers Weekly)—think Strangers on a Train for the modern age—explores the dark side of love and the unbreakable ties that bind two sisters together.

Felix and Tilda seem like the perfect couple: young and in love, a financier and a beautiful up-and-coming starlet. But behind their flawless façade, not everything is as it seems.

Callie, Tilda’s unassuming twin, has watched her sister visibly shrink under Felix’s domineering love. She has looked on silently as Tilda stopped working, nearly stopped eating, and turned into a neat freak, with mugs wrapped in Saran Wrap and suspicious syringes hidden in the bathroom trash. She knows about Felix’s uncontrollable rages, and has seen the bruises on the white skin of her sister’s arms.

Worried about the psychological hold that Felix seems to have over Tilda, Callie joins an internet support group for victims of abuse and their friends. However, things spiral out of control and she starts to doubt her own judgment when one of her new acquaintances is killed by an abusive man. And then suddenly Felix dies—or was he murdered?

A page-turning work of suspense that announces a stunning new voice in fiction, White Bodies will change the way you think about obsession, love, and the violence we inflict on one another—and ourselves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Atria Books
• Release date: Sep 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9781501165108

Jane Robins

Jane Robins began her career as a journalist with The Economist, The Independent, and the BBC. She has made a specialty of writing historical true crime and has a particular interest in the history of forensics. She has published three books of nonfiction in the UK, Rebel Queen (Simon & Schuster, 2006), The Magnificent Spilsbury (John Murray, 2010), and The Curious Habits of Doctor Adams (John Murray, 2013). More recently, she has been a Fellow at the Royal Literary Fund.

Book preview

Autumn 2017

The evidence suggests that Felix showered. Beyond that, I know practically nothing about his final hours on this earth. All I have is the odd scrap of information and the patchy impressions of the bystanders, and it’s like I’m at the theater, looking at the stage and seeing only the supporting cast, the scenery and the arrangement of shadows. All the important elements are missing. There are no principal actors, no stage directions and no script.

The receptionist said this—that Felix’s last morning was fresh and cold, that there was a frost on the lawn outside the hotel and a mist in the distance, where the woods are. She’d watched Felix sprinting out of the hotel, down the gravel drive, then turning left at the gate. I was arriving for work and I called out ‘good morning!’ she said. But he didn’t reply; he just kept running.

Forty minutes later, he was back, dropping his head to catch his breath, panting and sweating. He straightened up and, now noticing the receptionist, said that he’d sprinted all the way to the golf course, running the perimeter and the long path through the woods back to the hotel. He thought that the sun glancing through the trees had been magical, as though life was just beginning (how extraordinary that he should say such a thing!). Then he took the stairs up to his room, two at a time.

He didn’t come down to breakfast or order anything to be sent up, not even the continental breakfast that was included in the room rate. His colleague, Julio, said he was surprised when Felix failed to attend the first session of the conference. At the midmorning break, Julio carried a cup of coffee and a biscuit up to the room, but found the DO NOT DISTURB sign hanging on the door. He thought Felix was unwell, sleeping maybe, so he drank the coffee himself and ate the biscuit. We missed him at lunch, he said, and again in the afternoon session. By three o’clock I was calling his phone many times, but my calls went to voice mail. Julio felt uneasy. It was so unlike Felix to be unreliable; so he went upstairs one more time to hammer on the door, then he summoned the hotel manager, who arrived with a key.

The two men were struck by the unnatural stillness of the room, its air of unreality; Julio said it seemed considered, or planned, like a tableau vivant with Felix as the centerpiece, lying on his back on the bed in a strange balletic pose, right arm cast out across the duvet, left leg bent, bathrobe open like a cape, gray eyes gazing at the ceiling. His left arm was dangling down the side of the bed, fingers suspended above the floor, and the hotel manager, who had a degree in the history of art, was reminded of the Pre-Raphaelite painting of the suicide of Thomas Chatterton. Except this didn’t look like suicide, there were no pill bottles or razor blades or other signs.

Dr. Patel arrived, and the receptionist stood by the door while the doctor conducted her examination. Her professional opinion was that Felix had suffered a heart attack or had some sort of seizure after his morning run. She left, and the receptionist took photographs of Felix and of the room—the bedside table, the pristine bathroom, the opened shower door, the view from the window and, finally, the untouched hospitality tray. I know that was weird, she said. But it felt like the right thing to do, to make a record. Maybe she thought her photos might become important, that they’d suggest that something about the scene was wrong. No one else had that sense, though. When the results of the postmortem came through, they were in agreement with Dr. Patel—Felix’s death was due to heart disease.

As simple as that, he had collapsed and was gone—and for a while it seemed that he’d simply vanished. The world had swept over him like the tide coming in.

But then the funeral happened. I trekked out of London that day to a pretty Berkshire village with a Norman church sitting amongst gravestones and windblown copper-colored leaves. When I saw it, I thought that Felix, who was born and raised in America, was having a very English final moment, though the mourners who were arriving in small solemn groups were from his international life. Solid men in sharply cut suits; flimsy, elegant women in heels. I watched them from a distance, in fact from a broken bench set against the churchyard wall, where I was trying to calm down. Eventually, I slipped into the church and stood at the back.

My sister, Tilda, was the person on show, and she walked slowly up the aisle like a melancholy bride. I tried hard, really hard, to get inside her head at that moment, and I conjured up a spectacular array of emotions—from profound grief and loss, to exhilarating release and relief. But nothing felt right. As always, I found her confusing, and I was reduced to noticing her expensive clothes. The black silk dress, the tailored jacket, doubtless costing a thousand pounds or more. And I watched her take a place in the empty front pew. On her right, in front of the altar, was Felix’s coffin, under a cascade of white lilies; and to her left, on a wooden stand, a giant photo of his smiling face. A few minutes later, Felix’s mother and father slipped in beside Tilda, and then his brother, Lucas. There was the slightest of nods towards my sister, who sat perfectly still, gazing at the floor.

The first hymn was a thin rendition of The Lord Is My Shepherd—but I found that I couldn’t sing. Instead I slumped against the back wall, feeling faint and nauseous, overwhelmed by the occasion. Not that I was mourning Felix, although the sight of his hunched-up, grieving family was upsetting. It was more that I was sick with knowing too much. On the day of his death, I’d waited for the police to turn up at my flat or at the bookshop. It was the same on the morning of the postmortem. And now, at the funeral, it seemed certain that police officers were waiting for me outside the church, stamping their feet to keep warm, sneaking an illicit cigarette, and that as soon as I stepped out of the gloom into the autumn sun I would hear my name. Callie Farrow? Do you have a minute?

1

Spring 2017

The branches outside my window are spindly and bare, and Tilda stands across the room looking like a waif woman, saying: How can you stand it? All those broken fingers tapping at the glass. She’s opening the door, is halfway out: "Anyhow, I want you to come to Curzon Street this evening. I’m ordering Thai food and a DVD. Strangers on a Train. It’s an Alfred Hitchcock."

I know that.

Come about eight. There’ll be someone else too. Someone I want you to meet.

The invitation sounds innocuous, but it isn’t. For a start, Tilda always comes to my flat for movie nights. Also, it’s unknown for her to introduce me to her friends. In fact, she rarely even talks about her friends. I can name only two, and those are girls she’s known since childhood. Paige Mooney and Kimberley Dwyer. I’d be surprised if she saw them more than once a year; so I’m curious and am about to say, Who? but she’s leaving as she’s speaking, disappearing down the communal stairs.

• • •

At Curzon Street, I’m clutching my bottle of cider, knowing full well that Tilda won’t have cider. And I’ve brought brownies.

She’s waiting on the second floor, at the open door of her flat. Then she’s greeting me with uncharacteristic enthusiasm, kissing my cheeks, saying brightly, Callie! Behind her, a tall fair-haired man is in the kitchen area, sleeves rolled up, busying himself with things in cupboards. He comes to say hello, holding out a thin hand, and from the way he stands, so firmly inhabiting his space, I realize that he’s accustomed to being there. Tilda gazes at him proprietorially, glancing at his hair, his shoulders, his bare forearms. She says, Callie meet Felix. Felix Nordberg.

I’m opening a bottle of white, he says. Will you have some?

No, I’m fine with cider. I hold up the Strongbow bottle for inspection and take it to the kitchen counter, thinking that Felix seems to be in command of things. The kitchen, the wine. Then he starts asking me polite questions in a soft, moneyed voice that makes me think of super yachts and private islands. Where do I live? Do I enjoy my work at the bookshop? I ask him about his work, which is for a Mayfair hedge fund.

I don’t even know what that means. Except that it’s a sort of gambling.

He laughs. You’re right, Callie. But our clients prefer to call it investing, so we humor them.

I sense that he’s humoring me too, and I watch him pouring our drinks with precision, examining the label of a French Chablis, checking that the wine reaches the perfect level in the glass. And he’s careful with my cider, treating it like precious nectar, even though it’s in a plastic bottle with a gigantic red sticker that reads £3.30. He hands Tilda her wine, and she flashes him a half smile as their hands touch. Then Felix gets back to the kitchen cupboards, taking out plates and bowls, wiping them with a cloth and sorting them into piles, at the same time telling me how to short a market.

Think of it like this, I’ll sell you this plate for the current price of ten dollars, agreeing to deliver it to you in three months’ time. Then, just before the three months is up, I’ll buy in a plate for nine dollars. You see? I’m betting that the plate market will go down and I’ll make a profit of a dollar.

That’s an expensive plate.

Felix likes expensive things, Tilda offers from her position at the end of the sofa. She’s decoratively arranged, her feet tucked up, hugging a velvet cushion with one hand, holding her glass with the other, and she’s observing us, wondering how we’re getting along.

I look at Felix, to see if he’ll say That’s why I like your sister, but he doesn’t. He just grins as if to say, Got me there! and opens the cutlery drawer, taking out the knives and forks and polishing them. I don’t comment. Instead I ask Felix where he comes from, and how long he’s been in London. His family is from Sweden, he says, but he grew up in Boston, USA, and considers himself to be a citizen of the world. I snigger at the phrase, and he tells us that he’s trying to get to grips with England and London.

What, queuing and minding-the-gap and apologizing all the time, that sort of thing?

Yes, all that. And the self-deprecation, and the way you guys make a joke of all situations, and find it difficult to accept compliments . . . Did you know, Callie, that those dark eyes of yours are enigmatic, soulful even?

Feigning a serious expression, he looks right into my face and I feel embarrassed because he’s so handsome and so close to me. But I feel he’s including me in the joke, not laughing at me.

Whatever.

I move away, hot-cheeked, and as I pour myself more cider, I think that he’s intelligent and funny and I like him.

Tilda says, Come and watch the DVD, so I pick up my glass and head for the other end of the sofa, intending to re-create the movie nights at my flat, when we sit like that, at each end, passing brownies back and forth and making little comments like Keanu Reeves looks sad in this, or Look at the rain outside, it’s going sideways. Nothing that amounts to conversation, but enough to make things seem companionable, like we’re children again. But I’m too slow. Before I can establish myself, Felix has taken the space next to Tilda, making it obvious that I should be banished to the old armchair. So I flop down and put my feet up on the coffee table, while Tilda presses the start button on the remote.

Felix and I haven’t seen Strangers on a Train before, but we both like it, the chilling effect of the black-and-white, the clipped 1950s voices and mannerisms, and we all have comments to make as the drama unfolds; but Tilda, being an actress, and some sort of expert on Hitchcock, chips in more than Felix and me. Hitchcock put his evil characters on the left-hand side of the screen, she tells us, and good characters on the right. I laugh. So I’m evil, because I’m sitting over here, and you’re good, Tilda.

Except, silly, on-screen that would be reversed. So I’m bad and you’re good.

I’m the most interesting, Felix says. I’m in the middle and can go either way. Who knows what I’ll do?

Oh, look at Ruth Roman! Tilda’s suddenly distracted. The way her lips are slightly parted, it’s so suggestive.

I say Hmm in a skeptical way, pouting, and Felix raises an eyebrow. But Tilda isn’t put off.

And Robert Walker is incredible as a psychopath. He does that clever thing with his eyes—looking so calculating. Did you know he died just after this movie, because he was drunk and his doctor injected him with barbiturates?

The other guy is using his wrists, I offer. He’s doing wrist acting. Tilda laughs.

I like the plot, I say.

Patricia Highsmith . . . She wrote the novel that the film is based on.

The idea is that two strangers on a train could swap murders. The psychopath with the calculating eyes offers to murder the estranged wife of the wrist guy, if, in return, the wrist guy will murder the psychopath’s hated father. The police will never solve the crimes because neither murderer would have any connection to his victim. There would be no discernible motive.

It’s a brilliant idea for a film, I say, but it wouldn’t work in practice. I mean, if you were plotting a murder and wanted to do it that way.

What do you mean? Tilda is nestling into Felix.

Well, you’d have to travel on trains the whole time, planning to fall into conversation with another person who also wants someone murdered. It’s not going to happen.

"Oh, everyone wants someone murdered," she says.

Felix rearranges Tilda so that her legs lie over his lap, his hands resting on her skinny knees, and I notice that they are beautiful people, with their fine bones, smooth, translucent skin, and shiny blond hair, looking like they are the twins. They pause the movie to open another bottle of the same French wine and Felix says, Of course you’re right, Callie, about the murder plot, but these days you wouldn’t have to travel on trains to meet another murderer, you could just find someone on the internet, in a forum or a chat room.

I’ll bear that in mind.

I suppose it’s true, says Tilda. The internet is where psychos find each other.

• • •

We watch the final scenes, and afterwards I say I need to get home, but I’ll go to the bathroom first. It’s an excuse; I don’t really need a pee. Instead, once I’ve locked the door, I ferret around and find that there are two toothbrushes in a plastic tumbler, and a man’s shaving gear in the cupboard over the sink. Also, the bin is full of detritus: empty shampoo bottles, little nodules of old soap, wads of cotton wool, used razors, half-used pots of lotion. I realize that Felix has been tidying up Tilda’s bathroom mess, just as he was organizing the kitchen; and I’m happy that someone’s looking after her, sorting her out. I reach farther into the bin, and pull out a plastic bag wound around something hard. Sitting on the toilet, I unwrap it expecting something ordinary, an old nail polish or lipstick maybe. Instead I extract a small used syringe, with a fine needle, and I’m so shocked, so perplexed, that I head straight back into the sitting room, brandishing it, saying, What the hell is this? Felix and Tilda look at each other, faces suggesting mild embarrassment, a shared joke, and Tilda says, You’ve discovered our secret. We’ve been having vitamin B12 injections—they help us stay on top of things. Intensive lives and all that.

What? That’s crazy. I’m incredulous, and am still holding the syringe in the air, defiantly.

Welcome to the world of high finance, says Felix.

Really! Tilda starts laughing at my stunned face. Really. There’s nothing to be alarmed about. Lots of successful people do it. Actors do it. . . . Bankers do it. . . . Google it if you don’t believe me.

Then she adds, Hang on—why the fuck are you going through my bin?

I can’t think of an answer, so I shrug helplessly. Tilda gives me a wonky face that says You’re incorrigible!, and then she says I’d better be getting home. She fetches my coat.

Felix says he hopes to see me again soon, and as I leave he gives me a quick affable hug, the sort that big rugby-playing men give to nephews and nieces.

• • •

At home, I open up my laptop and start googling vitamin injections. Tilda’s right, it turns out, and I’m amazed at the weird things professional people do in the name of achieving your life goals. I decide to let it go and to accept that Tilda and Felix live in a different world from me. Then I start to make notes on both of them, working in the file I call my dossier. It’s a habit that I’ve had since childhood—monitoring Tilda, observing her, checking that she’s okay. I write: Felix seems like a special person. He has a way of making you feel like you’re in a conspiracy with him, sharing a joke about the rest of humanity. I’m astonished that she let me meet him, and, now that I have, I’m pleased that she’s met her match and that he is looking after her so well.

2

On Wednesday, my sister phones and invites me to supper. I’m surprised because I thought she might be angry about the bathroom bin incident; but she doesn’t mention it, and on my return to Curzon Street, I discover that Felix has made venison stew with juniper berries and red wine, and also a lemon tart.

You’re a genius! I say, and he rewards me with a sexy Get me! grin.

Felix did the pastry himself, Tilda says. He has pastry-making fingers, long and cold.

He flutters his fingers while we assure him that we’ve never attempted pastry in our lives, that we always buy ready-made. I notice that Felix has a knack for cleaning up the kitchen as he works, so that when I go to help out after the meal, there’s nothing to do. The surfaces are clearer and cleaner than I’ve ever seen them—all the pots and pans dealt with and back in the cupboards. How do you do that? I ask. It’s like magic.

It comes naturally. . . . Now Callie, forget about cleaning, and tell Tilda that it would be a romantic idea to take a boat down the Thames on Sunday. Up towards Windsor and Bray, where the swans are.

What sort of boat?

Something simple and wooden. Kinda English.

It’s okay, says Tilda. I’m sold.

She’s looking at him upwards through her hair, a soft dewy gaze, and I feel a stab of pain, realizing that she’s totally in love with him. She notices me watching her and says, You should come too, Callie. Won’t it be lovely? This sort of sentimentality is entirely unlike her, and I can’t help making fun of her as I reply, Oh yes, it will be very lovely . . . very lovely lovely.

• • •

Felix hires a sporty red Peugeot, and on Sunday we pack a picnic to take to Berkshire. It’s not far, an hour’s drive, and when we arrive we’re in another world—the river so wide and brooding, the tangled woodland coming alive with buds and the first tiny leaves of spring. The boat is just as Felix wanted, a little wooden tub, chipped red paint on the outside, all open, with a motor on the back. It’s perfect, I say, admiring the way it’s bobbing on its rope, checking out the three benches, the emergency oars. We clamber in and chug along the river, turning our faces to the sun, and it’s glorious to feel the fragile warmth. One minute a golden caress, then gone again. I lean over the side, trailing my fingers in the black water, and shiver, God that’s cold!

We pass by open fields and then Windsor Castle, by whitewashed suburban mansions with lawns that run down to the water, and I spot a heron on the far bank.

Felix is steering from the back, and he says, Let’s swim. We’re on a wide part of the river now, dense woodland on one side, a flat, empty field on the other. I look around, for people, but there’s no one.

It’s too cold! I protest. And not safe. Don’t people drown in the Thames?

But Felix and Tilda aren’t listening. Instead Felix ties the boat to an overhanging branch, and the two of them are ripping off their clothes, frantically, like they’re in a race. Then they’re standing up, totally naked, the boat rocking madly as they position themselves to jump out. Two spindly white bodies, Tilda gripping Felix’s arm and screeching, I’m bloody freezing already! I can’t do it!

Oh yes you can!

In a sweeping move, he scoops up my sister, holding her across his chest in his arms, which I now notice are muscular and strong. She yells No! No! and scissor kicks as he flings her overboard, into the water, then leaps in himself. For the briefest, heart-stopping moment, they both vanish into the black; then they are swimming and splashing about, Tilda screaming, and I can’t tell whether she’s exhilarated or furious. But she calls out, Come on in, Callie! It’s amazing.

You know you want to! Felix reaches up, pulls the side of the boat down into the water, as though he’s a monster coming to get me, grabbing at my ankle.

I won’t!

My mind is racing, though, trying to figure out what to do. I don’t want to strip off my clothes in front of them—I’m embarrassed about my roundish pinkish body, and afraid that they’ll laugh at me. At the same time, I’m thinking how wonderful it would be to sink to the bottom of the river, swallowed up by the icy water. Also, I’m intoxicated by the compliment of being included, and, for some reason that I don’t quite understand, I want to impress Felix. So I sit on one of the benches and take off my parka coat and my sweatshirt and jeans and socks. Then I jump in wearing a T-shirt, bra and knickers, sinking down, just as I had wanted, shocked, numb and frozen, unable to think because my head is pounding. My feet touch the bottom, a thick slime with hard edges jutting out. I flinch, and float to the top, where I find that Felix is standing next to me, water up to his chest, and he leans into me, his hands gripping my waist. I have you in my power, he says, raising me out of the water, while I pretend to struggle, my hands on his shoulders. Then he throws me backwards; in again, and under, right down to the bottom. When I emerge, I find myself screaming and laughing just as Tilda had done. I want to say, Do it again! Do it again! like a child would.

But Felix has turned to Tilda, and I see that he can lift her thin body much higher than mine, and can throw her into the water much harder. Then, when her head appears, it takes only a swift push with one hand to force her back down, so cleanly that she has no chance to protest, and there is no sign of her, no arms flailing, no disturbance in the water, and I worry that he’s holding her down at the bottom far too long, forcing her into the hazardous mud. Stop it! It’s too much, I yell.

He releases his grip so that she comes up limp and choking, her shoulders heaving. This time he takes her gently in his arms and carries her back to the boat. You shouldn’t have done that . . . , she says, coughing out the words so weakly that I can barely hear, her head resting on his chest, her arm dangling lifelessly at her side.

Felix flops her over the side, into the bottom of the boat. You’re fine. Now let’s get dressed and have some food.

I swim to the boat and heave myself up to look inside, to check that she’s okay. Her eyes meet mine and she’s blinking slowly, looking startled and empty. There’s something insect-like in the way she is folded into herself in the corner, something maimed. I’m about to screech with concern but she changes her expression, so swiftly that it’s like a magic trick, and she’s laughing and telling us to get into the boat before we freeze to death.

We take it in turns to use a linen picnic cloth as a towel, and as I watch Tilda drying herself I think I detect that she’s still shaken, but it’s hard to be sure.

Soon we’re huddled in our dry clothes, eating sandwiches, and drinking black coffee from a flask that we pass around. Tilda’s smiling as she says to me, This is what it’s like being with Felix—amazing! And I’m so pleased you joined us. Felix says that he too is pleased I came, and he leans across the boat to touch my bare ankle, just for a second. At that moment, everything

Reviews for White Bodies

[jfe16 · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

Callie Farrow’s actress-sister, Tilda, is in love with Felix, a man Callie believes is abusing her sister. Hoping for a better understanding of the hold Felix seems to have over Tilda, Callie joins an internet support group for women in abusive or controlling relationships. But as she becomes more and more involved with some of the women in the group, she soon finds herself in an untenable position. Will Callie find a way out of her problems with the group? And exactly what is the truth about the relationship between Tilda and Felix? There’s nothing complex or compelling about either twin in this eerie narrative; both are completely unlikable and each, in her own way, is twisted and demented. Desperate and neurotic, Cassie’s obsessiveness is cringeworthy. Narcissistic Tilda has her own warped agenda. As with so many other “twin tales,” the central characters in this dark, disagreeable story are “totally opposite” twins. The turning of twinness into the ludicrous repulsiveness found in these pages serves no particular purpose other than to offend any twins who happen upon this relentlessly unpalatable tale. Fortunately, the brisk pacing of this creepy narrative makes it a quick read. However, unexpected reveals lead to a rather unsatisfactory denouement while the constant inclusion of a particularly offensive expletive in almost every conversation quickly becomes vexatious and has the unfortunate tendency of offending the reader even further.

[swibells · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Oh my God, White Bodies was one of the most thrilling and suspenseful books I've read in a while.

I found Callie to be interesting and caring, but more often than not she came off as a creepy stalker who's obsessed with her twin sister.

The plotline was absolutely amazing, and the author kept the suspense building till the end, and it was a goosebumps raising experience.

White Bodies was an unputdownable read and I finished it in approximately 5 hours, I just HAD to know what happens.

So yeah, all in all, White Bodies was a perfect novel that had me on the edge all through it. Till the end.

[twink_2 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

2.5 White Bodies is Jane Robins's first fiction work.Callie and Tilda are twin sisters, but very different in their personality and lives. Callie is an outgoing actress, married to Felix. Tilda is reserved and single. When Tilda begins to notice changes in Callie's behaviour, appearance and demeanor - not working, not eating, with bruises on her body, she is sure it is Felix's doing as he has a temper. In an attempt to understand what might be happening to her sister, Tilda goes online and joins a support group for abuse victims and their friends and families. She makes the acquaintance of a woman who agrees to take things a step further....think Strangers on a Train.I loved Robins's premise - there are so many possibilities. Especially with twins. But the focus of White Bodies is more on relationships - that between the sisters takes center stage.In an interview, Robins uses the words intense, eccentric and twisty to describe White Bodies. Its the eccentric that stands out for me. I found the behaviour of both sisters decidedly odd and frankly quite off putting early on. Callie eats her sister's hair and drinks her urine. Yes, she eats things belonging to others to feel close to them. Uh huh. Gagworthy for me. Tilda is not the only one with mental issues. We do get some background into the sisters' past with background chapters. But for me, there were no likable characters in White Bodies.Yes, there's a nice twisty bit at the end, but overall White Bodies was a miss for me. I chose to listen to White Bodies. The reader was Camilla Arfwedson. Her performance was excellent, as always. Her voice is clear, well enunciated and pleasant to listen to. She interprets Robins' work well.

[tooterkins · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Started out a little slow, but for the most part this book had me captivated; I couldn't stop flipping the pages of this book! The build-up for the plot was nice, the character development was very interesting too. The plot twists definitely caught me off guard. Highly recommended!

[bnbookgirl · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

An intriguing story about twins Callie and Tilda are sisters and twins. They could not be more different. When Callie assumes Tilda is marrying a domineering, wife abuser she takes action by joining an online support groups for victims of abuse and their friends. There things turn into "Stranger on a Train" with dire consequences. A good read that will keep the reader guessing. What's up with the title?? - Has nothing to do with the book.

[kathl33n-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

When I started reading this I noticed a blurb that it was being compared to Strangers on a Train and I was super bummed. I thought the plot line was completely blown. But I was wrong. This book is super twisty and really kept me guessing throughout to figure out who was telling the truth and who was lying. It's one of those books that makes you constantly second guess yourself, where you are going back and re-reading sections to make sure you didn't miss something or you are realizing you made assumptions that weren't accurate at all. That's one of my favorite reads. Thanks to the publisher and NetGalley for providing me with a copy in exchange for an honest review.

[susan.macura · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This book starts off by describing the death of Felix. I was hooked right away. I then met the wife, Tilda, and her younger sister Callie. Callie and Tilda had a complex relationship that carried on into adulthood. Callie found herself obsessed with her sister's life - as an aspiring actress and half of the perfect couple. Callie became so obsessed that she met other women online who were also being abused. However, not everything is as it seems, and when Callie finally discovers the truth, others have died, something Callie learns to live with. The action and suspense built up, then crashed. I was not happy with the ending.

[beamis12 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Two strange sisters, twins, Tilda supposedly the brilliant, intense one. Callie, enthralled with her twin, unusual habits, to get closer to understanding her, wanting to be her, consume her essense. In my opinion both of these girls could have used mental health intervention when they were younger. Now grown, Tilda is said to be a well known actress, in a new relationship with a fabulous man. Callie, just biding time, still hanging on her sisters coattails, but now worried about her too, concerned about the controlling nature of her sisters new man. Secrets, schemes, websites and in the end a death.I sometimes think I expect too much of these psychological thrillers. Yes, this was twisty, and yes there are surprises, but after the middle of the book I could see where this was going. It was a easy story to get caught up in, the pace quick with constant revelations, detours, making me wonder if I was right. The sisters though, seemed one dimensional, really wish they had been fleshed out more, deeper. I did like this in a weird way, but the ending was a let down, it was unsurprising by that point, especially with everything that had gone before. A different ending might have provided the wow factor I felt this was missing. A sisters read and as always interesting reading everyone's different views.ARC from Netgalley.

[dayvaultrealestate · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book is about twin sisters whose lives are intertwined in unique ways. The story is exciting and stays mysterious until the end. I enjoyed the believable characters and the amount of drama and mystery. I read a lot of this type of book, but I could not guess the ending, so that's saying something. This would be a great beach read!

[shahnareads · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I received an ARC of this book, and I thank Touchstone for that. I was very excited to read this.

This went in a direction I wasn't expecting. Holy shit. I had some theories and the actual ending was not one I guessed.

I really liked this. It's easy to read and interesting and just the right amount of 'wtf' moments.

[ouroborosangel · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Disappointingly obvious who the villain was - but I did keep reading to see how exactly the crime was done. Perhaps that was the author's intent? I do plan to read more from this author - the writing itself was very well done, taught, exciting and the pacing perfect. I am still contemplating giving this four stars - we'll see how it sticks with me in the next few days.

(A review copy of this book was provided by the publisher.)

[vicki_weisfeld · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is a fun read that puts a 21st century twist on the premise of the famous 1951 Alfred Hitchcock movie, Strangers on a Train. That’s the one where two strangers fall into conversation and agree to murder a person of the other’s choosing. They convince themselves that, since there is nothing to connect murderer and victim, the crimes will be easy to get away with. Right.But, how would you effect such an anonymous encounter today? Where would you look for such a willing accomplice? The Internet, of course! “The internet is where psychos find each other,” says character Tilda. And Robins makes good use of the strengths and weaknesses of social media in crafting her tale.The protagonist in this London-based domestic thriller is Callie—a bit socially awkward, insecure about her looks (and everything else), a librarian. The relationship between her and her glamorous twin sister Tilda is explored in both the current time and a succession of flashbacks. Callie increasingly believes that “the perfect man” Tilda has become involved with—the wealthy, handsome, larger-than-life and more than a bit obsessive-compulsive American, Felix Nordberg—is actually quite dangerous. Desperate to help Tilda, Callie becomes involved with a website called controllingmen.com, where all the classic signs of a relationship headed toward abuse are spelled out, just the way she sees them in Tilda and Felix’s relationship.But Tilda dismisses her sister’s concerns, and you’ll understand Callie’s bafflement at how to proceed without creating a rift between them. At times you may want to wring her neck for the way she can’t stop herself from blurting out her suspicions. Moreover, she can’t seem to see how her obsession with Tilda and Felix is interfering with her own life.We know from the first pages that Felix is dead. But was he murdered? The medical examiner says he died from natural causes. Although I thought I understood how Felix died, I hadn’t reckoned with Jane Robins’s diabolical imagination. I had to reread some of the last bits to be sure I understood the extent of the duplicity. That sense of something happening behind the scenes that I hadn’t quite grasped really kept the pages turning. Robins has written several true-crime and non-fiction books and has a straightforward style that is a nice counterpoint to the emotions rampaging through Callie, and every one of the main characters in White Bodies is believable. As a side note, a disadvantage to book reviewing is the “promotional cover.” The White Bodies review copy bore a temporary cover with a quote in all-capital scarlet letters, “Everyone wants someone murdered.” Not the kind of thing you can put on an empty train seat beside you for a stranger to see.

[jess_reads_books · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Felix and Tilda seem like the perfect couple, a financier and fresh-faced actress, hopelessly in love with each other. When the curtains are drawn and their alone together, the perfect façade breaks and reveals an oddity and violent passion lurking at the heart of the relationship. Felix seems to be obsessed with cleanliness, going as far as cling wrapping the dishes. Tilda appears to be disappearing both professionally and physically. The only person seemingly aware of Felix’s controlling hold on Tilda is her twin sister, Callie, who watches and wishes to help her sister escape. Callie has always been the behind-the-scenes sister, the one who watches as Tilda takes the limelight. Since childhood Callie has had an intense obsession with her twin, often going to extremes to feel close to her. Worried that she will lose her sister to this violent man, Callie turns her attentions to the internet and finds a support group for victims of abuse and their friends. On this site Callie meets two women who attempt to help her save Tilda. Callie’s behavior becomes intense when she is with Tilda and Felix as she desperately attempts to intervene, but ends up being pushed further and further out of their lives. As life around Callie spirals out of control and Felix is mysteriously found dead, she must determine what is fact and what is fiction. Jane Robbins creates an amazing work of suspense, intrigue, and family relationship in WHITE BODIES. The relationship between Callie and Tilda forms the heart of the novel, leaving the reader to judge who needs who more. Callie verges on the edge of crazy with her obsession for Tilda, often leading her to engage in bizarre activities to feel as close as possible to her. Tilda isn’t far from the crazy line with her intense and dramatic behavior throughout her life. These traits both strengthen and harm the relationship between these twins. Robbins’ homage to Stranger on a Train builds a stage for a brilliant reveal at the end of WHITE BODIES. While I had suspicions along the way, because let’s be serious, these characters are a bit off key, I was left in shock and awe with the ending. My emotions went on a roller coaster of frustration, pity, and downright repulsion as I flew through the short chapters. WHITE BODIES is a book any reader will find hard to put down as you can’t help wanting to know what happens next and just how far someone will go to do what they believe is right.

[gpangel_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

White Bodies by Jane Robins is a 2017 Touchstone publication. Unconventional, incongruous, and macabre-Callie and Tilda are twins, but are polar opposites, in appearance and personality. Tilda, an actress, is on the cusp of stardom, while Callie stands in the shadows, living a quiet life as a bookstore clerk. But, when Tilda becomes involved with Felix, Callie begins to worry that Tilda is withdrawing, losing weight, maybe abusing herself or being abused by Felix, putting her career in jeopardy, all due to Felix’s controlling obsessive compulsiveness. Callie joins an online support group for women who are trying to extricate themselves from abusive and controlling relationships. She even participates in chat room conversations hoping to find a way to understand the hold Felix has over her sister and to seek help in finding a way to rescue Tilda. In the meantime, Callie keeps tabs on Tilda, looking for signs of abuse or clues to her sister’s mental state, when all the while she fails to see the irony in her own increasing obsession with Tilda. The further entangled she becomes with the online support group, the deeper her obsession grows until she finds herself embroiled in their plans to free those trapped in controlling relationships by any means necessary. This book is messed up. Really, really messed up. Callie relates the series of events from her own first person narrative, so we see things from her perspective and only through her eyes. The insight comes from the background information provided about the twins’ upbringing and the type of bond they formed early in life. Callie’s unusual methods of feeling close to Tilda are one of the most troubling aspects of the book, and one you won't forget anytime soon. I thought the story was highly imaginative, with a nice nod to ‘Strangers on a Train’, a setup that is as effective today as it was back then. The creation of such a fraught and unsettling atmosphere is very well done and even has a slight noir quality to it that I really liked, but also had an edgy type of dark humor, that may have simply been in my imagination, but I honestly found myself delighted by some of the twists, even if they were mostly untenable. Tensions rose on several fronts, and all them are beyond twisted. Obsession is definitely the word of the day in this book and it can come in many different forms, especially when it comes to family bonds, which can be the most complex of all relationships, perhaps more so with sisters, who can often have thorny connections, but Cassie and Tilda take that to an entirely new level. The novel kept me entranced and fascinated, but also kept me off balance, and on my toes. No reading on auto-pilot. But as the book wound around to its final moments, the pacing began to slow down, causing me to let down my defenses a little, but, beware of that lull. There is still one final revelation. Now, normally, I love one last turn of the screw, but this one nearly derailed the entire book. Seasoned readers of psychological thrillers will have to stifle a groan, because everything good that went before fell into a predictable trap, resulting in an epic fail. Despite that one big faux pas, and overdoing it in a few spots, this is an admirable fiction debut from an author accustomed to writing historical non-fiction. There were many elements I liked about the story, which mostly made up for the missteps. So, although it is a little rough around the edges, it is still worth checking out, especially if you enjoy psychological thrillers.

[irregularreader · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Callie and Tilda are twins, though they couldn’t be more different. Tilda is beautiful, outgoing, and a successful actress. Callie is quiet and introverted, and worships the ground her sister walks on. When Tilda becomes involved with successful stockbroker Felix, Callie is at first happy that her sister has found someone so perfect. But after Tilda starts behaving oddly, and displaying mysterious bruises, Callie begins to worry that Felix is dangerous. Getting drawn into an internet site for abused women, Callie becomes more and more obsessed with revealing the truth about Felix. But as the foundations of Callie’s concern begin to shift and crumble, can her perceptions be trusted?I am now in full-fledged psychological thriller burnout. I have to admit that I feel a bit more justified in my feelings on the subject after reading Emily Martin’s article on Bookriot entitled “Why We Should Stop Searching for the Next Gone Girl” (warning: spoilers for Gone Girls, The Couple Next Door, and The Girl on the Train). Martin makes the point that in the rush to achieve to runaway success Gillian Flynn did with Gone Girl, folks have been cranking out similar stories, each trying on their own brand of mental illness to up the suspense. However, as much as Amy Dunne was a psychopathic bitch, her flaws and intelligence made her a complex and compelling (if horrible) character. As Emily Martin points out in her article, Flynn was able to give us a leading female character who was pretty much unlikeable in every way.The inevitable consequence of Flynn’s success, according to Martin. . . is a new and equally problematic female character archetype – the unwieldy off-the-rails woman. This woman is not any more complicated than the “strong female character.” Her craziness is not a personality, and her bouts of insanity that not even she can control allow for absolutely any twist possible that the writer wants to imagine.And with this, I can finally put my finger on what has been bugging me about this genre recently. None of the recent protagonists of these books have been more complex than their mental illness. And while our current protagonist, Callie, is probably the weirdest I’ve seen yet, simply being crazy does not a compelling character make.The books also by necessity rely heavily on inevitable plot twist(s), and this one is no exception. The problem is, that while reading these books (much like watching an M. Night Shyamalan movie) we are looking into every crevice and casually uttered word for said twist. With that amount of scrutiny, any surprises the plot might hold are going to be guessed long before the climax; if not from the evidence at hand, then simply by trying to think of ways to make the ending more shocking.I apologize that this review is less about White Bodies specifically and more about the genre as a whole, but the field is crowded at the moment, and it takes a truly remarkable talent to separate oneself from the pack. White Bodies, unfortunately, does not do this. Callie is simply one more protagonist who’s mental illness is used to facilitate contortions of the plot.An advance copy of this book was provided by the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

[kbranfield-837433 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Jane Robins' debut, White Bodies, is a mesmerizing mystery with a very suspenseful storyline.

Twin sisters Tilda and Callie Farrow are as different as night and day both in looks and temperament. Tilda is quite beautiful, outgoing and popular whereas  Callie is quiet, shy and socially awkward. Tilda's light shines brightly and her acting career is currently on the upswing. Callie enjoys her job working in a bookstore where she is comfortable discussing books with regular customers. Despite their differences, Tilda and Callie talk daily and get together once a month for movie night.

Although Callie enjoys hanging out with her sister, she is a little taken aback when Tilda begins frequently inviting her to spend time with her and her new boyfriend Felix Nordberg. Callie is initially impressed with Felix's ability to rein in her somewhat flighty sister but after witnessing a couple of troubling incidents, she becomes convinced that Tilda is the victim of domestic violence. When Tilda brushes off her concerns, Callie joins an on-line support for advice and after she befriends two women on the forum, she has to decide just how far will she go to protect her sister.

Callie is devoted to her sister so it is not any surprise that she is a little worried about some of her disturbing observations. With a long history of trying to protect Tilda from her own frailties and any type of harm from the people around her,  she immediately begins compiling extensive notes in which she documents practically everything about her sister and Felix. Callie soon comes across as obsessed as she goes to extreme lengths to gather information about Felix and his relationship with Tilda.

As Tilda begins pulling away from her sister, Callie begins to heavily rely on two friends she has made on the domestic abuse forum.  After tragedy strikes,  one of the women she has befriended proposes a rather extreme plan but will Callie agree to this outrageous scheme? When Felix unexpectedly dies, Callie is under unbearable pressure to act on her online friend's behalf, but can she take such a drastic measure?

Fast-paced and engrossing, White Bodies is an intriguing mystery that is impossible to put down. With a meticulously crafted storyline, an increasingly unreliable narrator and clever plot twists, Jane Robins brings the novel to a completely unexpected but satisfying conclusion.  A brilliant debut that I thoroughly enjoyed and highly recommend to fans of the genre.