Composed entirely of letters from one man, this brilliantly unsettling debut exposes just how different the truth can appear when seen through another’s eyes

I’ve probably lied to you. That’s habit. I lie to everyone about my family…

Daniel Laird has returned to his remote family home in Norfolk to care for his ailing artist father. Living an isolated existence—with his father unable to speak and only their brusque housekeeper, Maggie, for company—Daniel describes the strangeness of coming home after an eight-year absence in a series of vivid and passionate letters to his sister, to his boss, and to Alice, his one true love. But it is not until he discovers a hidden cache of his father’s paintings that the truth begins to surface. The more Daniel writes, the more we learn about the past and about why he left all those years ago—and the more we begin to fear for those he claims to hold dear. Taut and suspenseful, this powerful novel compulsively unfolds in Daniel’s own hand, exploring the terrifying power of the mind to deceive, not only others but—most frightening of all—ourselves.