Mysteries are like comfort food for me – familiar, soothing, a pattern that never fails to please. Like with the best comfort food, even slight tweaks on the typical formula can keep the recipes fresh. But every once in a while, you find a recipe writer that does such unexpected, creative things that they force you to reconsider the category.

Stuart Turton is one such mystery writer, fusing sci-fi and fantasy with his mysteries to create something totally new. In The 7 1/2 Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle, he plays with time travel, merging it with a perfect Golden Age mystery. In The Devil and the Dark Water, he takes on historical mystery and adds a bit of demonology. Both stories balance fair-play, intriguing mystery with an intriguing genre twist. And so, when I learned he was taking on a dystopian mystery, The Last Murder at the End of the World , I knew I had to read it.

(Before we get into the mystery itself, can we take a moment to appreciate the beauty of this first edition? I love a good sprayed edge and the publishers outdid themselves on this one. I was provided a review copy by NetGalley and SourceBooks – but was so excited I also purchased a copy for myself.)

The Last Murder at the End of the World takes place in a future dystopian world engulfed by deadly fog. One island village remains, run by three Elder scientists and their artificial intelligence assistant, Abi. The Elders impose strict rules on the villagers, but their lives are peaceful – until the oldest Elder, Niema, is murdered. Enter our protagonist, Emory, who has scant time to solve the case. Murder – with a somehow even more deadly twist.

The last murder… and the first

Turton, as usual, has imagined a murder mystery unlike any I’ve seen recently. The island society in his novel is carefully managed, and murders are unheard of. There are few, if any, mysteries to be had, and the villagers are generally happy and uncurious. In fact, Emory, the main character, is unusually inquisitive – and trained by reading detective fiction from the Old World. And so Turton gets to explore the introduction of murder as a societal concept, above any beyond any specific murder.

It’s a fascinating way to deconstruct what, exactly, makes murder so unsettling. Is it the suddenness of the death? Is it the concept of violence in general? Or the specificity with which it is levied against another being? A sense of uncertainty that permeates the book – because here, murder is truly unthinkable.

It also means that our protagonist has to invent much of her detection and logic from first principles. As far as Emory knows, nobody on this island has ever had to preserve a crime scene, or uncover and retain evidence. The entire island seems to be suffering from memory loss for the night of the murder, making the physical trail and the suspect psychology even more important. Watching Emory re-invent detection is fascinating, and adds a new element of challenge and puzzle to the story.

This is not a path well-traveled. I can’t think of many, if any, stories that center on murder in a society of innocents. The closest analogy I can think of is Speaker for the Dead; at least Ender was aware of murder conceptually. Here, every element of the investigation is novel, and leads to a feeling of discovery and reinvention.

Unreliable sentience

Of course, it wouldn’t be a Stuart Turton novel with just one storytelling trick – so we’ve got an unreliable narrator thrown into the mix. Abi, the island’s artificial intelligence, has eerie omniscience and omnipotence. She can speak mentally to every villager, and can use this ability to act as a village intercom when needed. Perhaps more nefariously, she can influence each villager’s thinking, shifting and molding it to meet the Elders’ needs and plans.

Abi herself narrates much of the story, using her omniscience to highlight the relevant villagers’ movements. Were she simply a reporter, this would be fine – but every once in a while, a line reminds you that she has influence over their thoughts and actions. Not only that, it’s clear that Abi can choose to withhold information – not just from villagers, but from you, the reader – until she deems it appropriate. It’s unsettling and unnerving and perfectly enhances the general atmosphere of unraveling Turton has created.

Turton uses Abi to explore many a theme – the tradeoffs between freedom and safety; surveillance and control; and, perhaps most interestingly, sentience. Abi, of course, manifests in villagers’ minds; she has to act through them, using her influence. Not only that, but she was created by the scientists at Blackheath, rather than organically. And yet, she clearly has a personality, goals, loyalty, opinions. She has control over herself and several aspects of village life, in a way that makes her a valued member of that society. Her relationship with the village – and her impact on it – raises an interesting question (though not many answers) in this age of burgeoning AI.

Atmospheric puzzles

Underneath all this speculative fiction and unreliable narration and philosophizing about sentience and the nature of society, there is, in fact, a murder mystery. And as other Stuart Turton stories, it’s a totally fine puzzle. The clues are there; readers can solve the puzzle. In fact, because it takes place in a hypothetical future, it’s perhaps even more rigorously fair-play; there’s no futzing around with trivia like rose varietals here.

Turton, in fact, writes layers on layers of mysteries, unfeeling as the investigation proceeds. There’s, of course, the major issue at hand – who killed Niema? Then there are more fundamental questions about how the island functions, and Abi’s role in that functioning. There are mysteries about Emory’s past, and that of the Elders’ relationships to each other.

None of these mysteries are, individually, the trickiest to solve. (I solved some just from fictional pattern-matching / metacognitive reading.) But none of the individual components are the actual point. Rather, the interest lies in how Turton puts all the pieces together to create an atmosphere – of mystery, of the world ending. Looking back, it’s easy to say that I guessed many of the puzzles while reading. Yet in the moment, I felt enthralled by the reveals and the explications, because Turton brings the island and its inhabitants to life. The layers of puzzle create a web that suspends disbelief just long enough for the story to trap you – and that’s a great mystery if I’ve ever read one.

I’m hoping that this will be the actual return to more regular posting, but I’ve learned at this point to temper what I promise. But I hope, truly, to see you all again soon. Until then – stay cozy, and stay curious!

(Happy book birthday to The Last Murder at the End of the World!)

*This will count for my “features the ocean” entry for my 52 Book Club Challenge!