REVIEW: "Nobody But Us" by Laure Van Rensburg
When I headed off to college, I did so with the intention of filling my brain with the knowledge I’d need to acquire a high(ish) paying job and avoid both poverty and manual labor. But now, more than 20-freakin’ years after I matriculated, it’s not the contents of the lectures I remember most but, instead, the experiences I had.
What I didn’t know then that I do know now is that college is less about learning facts and more about transitioning from a literal — okay, figurative — baby to a full-fledged adult who can be trusted to pay taxes and balance a checkbook and decide what to eat for dinner.
In college, you learn how the world works and what role you play in it. When I started this novel, my mind returned to one decidedly-not-from-a-lecture lesson I learned during my junior year at university.
When building my schedule for the semester, I had decided to take a creative writing seminar. While I did then appreciate creative writing, and still do now, I must admit that I mainly signed up for the class because it only met once per week — which meant I wouldn’t have to put on real pants as often. I pretty much immediately second-guessed my decision, though, because I found out that:
The class was fucking tiny — with only 7(ish) students — so there was nowhere to hide and
It was taught by a new-to-the-university professor. A too-cool hipster type who wore jeans and blazers and loafers with no socks — before doing so was popularized by pretty much every male contestant in the bachelor franchise.
I remember being overwhelmed and intimidated by his hipness, as I was never terribly hip myself. Given that this anxiety would serve no benefit, I tried to push it down inside me — like you should with all negative emotions. Push them down and drown them in wine, right? — and just continue with the class.
All seemed to be going pretty normally in the class until about halfway through the semester. Then, one day, everything changed. My classmates, who had always done their work — seemingly as eager to please Professor Too-Cool as I was — suddenly… stopped. They showed up not just unprepared but unapologetically so. I waited, anxiously, for the professor to admonish them — because I find watching other people get chastised almost as upsetting as being chastised myself.
But then… he didn’t.
He basically ignored the fact that more than 50% of his students had completely blown off his class.
I spent the remainder of the class not focused on devising critical critiques for the classmates who did bring work, but instead wondering what was up. Wondering what had occurred to so embolden my classmates.
Later in the week, I would run into a boy I recognized as seemingly leading this rebellion. Uncharacteristically boldly, I decided to inquire as to why he hadn’t brought a contribution. In what felt like a reward for putting myself out there and asking the question, this classmate filled me in on the secret. He told me that, at a party the week prior, our professor had slept with his undergrad roommate.
When I returned to class the next week, it became clear that I wasn’t the only one who now knew this secret as even fewer students brought a piece for critique. And by the next class, almost no one would bring a new work.
Despite this marked dwindling of participation, the professor didn’t protest. He knew, it would seem, that the entire class was aware of his probably-worthy-of-termination behavior. And he figured, correctly, that if he didn’t give this small group of students a hard time — if he gave them all A’s they most certainly hadn’t earned — his secret would remain safe and he would remain employed.
Though this event from my past had little impact on my life — except, perhaps, for being the source of one of the A’s on my official transcript — it’s always lingered in the back of my mind. And it surged to the front again as I began this novel and immediately started to wonder just how many free A’s the male lead in this thriller must have given in his time as a teacher.
Professor Steven Harding is just as lust-driven as the newly minted real-life professor from my past, so when striking graduate student Ellie Masterson asks him to join her for a weekend away at a secluded cabin, he jumps at the opportunity.
He expects that they will spend the weekend enjoying food and wine and each other’s bodies, something that Steven, who has a bit of a past as a lothario, is always eager to do. As you would expect, though — given that this is a thriller and not a romance novel — things don’t go as swimmingly as planned.
Neither Steven nor Ellie have been completely honest with each other. And the lies they have told each other haven’t been the innocent white type you would expect in any young relationship, but instead serious and dark and impactful. As they start to sift through these half and whole untruths, the secluded setting that once seemed romantic now seems ominous. Quickly, one very true fact rises to the front: it is unlikely that both Ellie and Steven will survive the weekend.
I went into this book expecting to find a clean, easy mystery. And, to an extent, I got that. But what I also got — and really hadn’t expected — was stellar prose. Debut author Laure Van Rensburg’s writing was significantly flowerier than one would expect from a thriller. I found this element to be a strength, though I do acknowledge that others — specifically, those seeking a simple, mindless read — might view it to be a weakness.
Another element that I found pleasantly surprising was the depth of Van Rensburg’s characters. She took the time necessary to develop characters who were rich and complex and flawed. She also built for these characters believable — and, at times, heartbreaking — backstories. Owing to the strength of these characters, I found myself rooting more authentically for them. The level of investment she managed to garner induced me to care about whether either of them made it out unscathed.
The biggest issue that I had with this novel was the ending.
*Slight Spoiler Alert*
Even after thinking back over the book critically, I am still not entirely sure I understand what happened.
As the stack of pages standing between me and the end of this novel drew slimmer, I found myself increasingly eager to discover which — if either — of these main characters would survive. Just as it was approaching what I assumed would be the penultimate moment — the time when all would be laid out on the table — it just… stopped. The narrative shifted and jumped, skipping over, it would seem, something very critical.
So, though by book’s end I knew who lived and who died, it felt like there was a critical hole. Like there were questions — pretty fucking important ones — that were simply not answered.
And… I’m not sure why.
I don’t really understand why the author elected to essentially fade to black in a critical part of this thriller. I think, honestly, if I understood why the author made this choice, it would bother me less.
Despite this issue, though, this thriller was fresh and clever and memorable.
*End Spoilers*
I would recommend this novel — particularly to fans of locked-room mysteries. It’s the perfect book to tuck in your weekender bag before heading off to a cabin — as long as you’re not going there with a new and mysterious love interest.
Nobody But Us earns 4 strong cocktails.
I have to admit that I am more than a little obsessed with locked-room mysteries. Even though I have read an embarrassing number of these novels, I’m always looking for new ones to add to my list. Do you have any suggestions? Tell me about them in the comments, below.
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*I was provided a gifted copy of this title by the publisher*
