'A Good Man' review: Haunting memories of murder in Montauk

Brooks Anderson, the protagonist of PJ McIlvaine’s novel, “A Good Man,” provides the kind of insolent first-person narration that is reminiscent of John Self’s in Martin Amis' “Money” or Mickey Sabbath’s in Philip Roth’s “Sabbath’s Theater.” Or even any one of the hard-boiled detectives from a Mickey Spillane or Dashiell Hammett procedural.

The story is ostensibly pulp fiction, though what elevates McIlvaine’s novel (not that perfectly entertaining and well-crafted pulp fiction requires elevation) is the tireless layering of personal and political history, astute film and literary references, and incisive cultural criticism that imbue the story and its characters with thoughtful thematic dissections.

Anderson, now in his 60s, is a successful writer. He has been nominated for a Pulitzer Prize and an Oscar, and won an Emmy for a limited series that he penned. He is also a recovering drug addict and alcoholic with a wife and two kids. He has every corner of the American Dream locked down, yet he is haunted by a grisly childhood tragedy: the murder of his mother and brother while vacationing in Montauk.

When he learns that unethical journalist Marshall Reagan is writing a book about the murders, Anderson confronts his demons and writes an account of his own to ensure the story is told honestly and without perverse poetic license. It spoils nothing to reveal that Reagan is killed, and that Anderson becomes a suspect who must prove his innocence by delving into his scorched psyche and piecing together the horrific events of that awful summer. Hellbent on uncovering the identity of the killer, Anderson must confront the people who populate his life, the unreliability of his memory and, ultimately, himself.

McIlvaine writes with a ferocious wit and a great breadth of knowledge. Her sardonic commentary on contemporary figures, media and the culture they create is deeply satisfying. Among them are Jeff Bezos, Elon Musk, Jeffrey Epstein, HBO MAX, TMZ, but also — because Anderson’s father, Bernard, was an adviser to numerous presidents and is about to receive a United Nations humanitarian award for his lifetime of service — past notables like Bill Clinton, Richard Nixon, Gerald Ford and George W. Bush. Though Anderson and his father travel in rarefied circles (in entertainment and politics alike), the story feels plausible because McIlvaine has done her research and writes with credible specificity.

As adept at plotting as McIlvaine is, she is equally attentive to dialogue, character development and description. “A Good Man” offers all the surprises and shocks that a mystery should, with a great respect paid to structure, pacing, logic and detail. Anderson is a vivid, sometimes crass and odious protagonist, but his plight earns him his cynicism and bitterness. The severely traumatized get a pass when the horror continues to traumatize. Who could fault a person in perpetual anguish for their jaded opinions and reactionary attitudes?

McIlvaine is based on Long Island, and her wry hometown observations border on tough love. “Half of Long Island wants to buy you a drink, the other half wants to kill you,” is the message in a text from one character to Anderson. “Technically, Montauk isn’t in Brookhaven Township — legendary for institutional corruption dating back decades — but it’s not the time to argue the finer points,” thinks Anderson during a discussion with his father.

For all his rough edges, Anderson is a good man, or at least works at being one. McIlvaine is concerned about Anderson’s soul and his peace, as he has had so little of it. Every memory, every encounter with every one of the supporting characters who populate his life, every decision he is tasked with making prove to be a test of his morality. McIlvaine also writes with unflinching candor about Anderson’s addiction: “My white skin had been my armor, my privilege, my access badge to a pharmaceutical wonderland.”

The revelation and reasoning of the killer is staggering in its implications. It works because McIlvaine remains committed to her meditation on moral relativism and the nauseating concept of a greater good trumping “lesser” evils. She even invokes the questionable action taken by Harry Truman when dropping the atomic bomb twice on Japan to expedite the end of World War II even when Allied victory was inevitable without doing so.

McIlvaine permits the ugliest — and therefore truest and most heartbreaking — human drives free rein across crooked terrain, but thankfully there is a noble, if flawed, guide to lead us through.