Published by Orion in trade
paperback.
ISBN: 978 1 4091 2856 4
Every mother has been there: one
moment your child is right under your protective eyes, you dare to look away
and the next moment she’s gone: vanished without trace. Usually they turn up,
though that doesn’t lessen the nightmare feel of the minutes they’re missing.
And for a few, that nightmare continues for years, sometimes for ever..
I can’t begin to imagine how it would
feel if my child was still missing after ten years – but R S Pateman, who I was
amazed to discover isn’t a mother at all but a man, has made a terrific job of
getting under the skin of a mother in exactly that situation.
The Second Life of Amy Archer sets off at an
emotional pitch so high that the first mystery is how the tension will ever be
ratcheted up and what else can possibly go wrong for Beth Archer, whose ten-year-old daughter
Amy disappeared on Millennium Eve, from a park just minutes from their
beautiful south London
home.
What does go wrong is that Amy comes
back, on the tenth anniversary of her disappearance – looking exactly the same
as she was that night.
Or possibly not. Probably not, I hear
you scoff. And yes, you may need to suspend disbelief a little further than
usual in order to get the most out of this remarkable debut novel, and set
aside at least some of the natural scepticism, or at least questions, which
surround phenomena such as clairvoyance and reincarnation.
The extraordinary events which follow
Amy’s reappearance are another nightmare for Beth, as, already teetering on the
edge, surviving with minimal support, and desperate to learn the truth, she is
left wondering what to believe and who she can trust.
It’s a dark and sometimes harrowing
read, a novel to admire and appreciate rather than enjoy. Crime as
entertainment it isn’t; I failed to detect any humour or even the odd lighter
moment in nearly 400 pages. But it does have the factors which make up quality
suspense fiction: strongly drawn characters to love or hate, bags of
atmosphere, a powerful narrative drive. To Pateman’s great credit, it
fascinates, in a relentless, insistent way. Written in the first person and
present tense, it swept me up and pulled me into Beth’s mindset, and wouldn’t
let go until the final gasp-inducing page.
Don’t read it expecting a neat and tidy
ending with all questions answered; in some ways, it raises more doubts than it
allays. But do read it if you value suspense, psychological drama and the kind
of fiction that makes you question your view of the world and plays tricks with
your mind.
------
Reviewer:
Lynne Patrick
R S Pateman is a native of Harold
Hill, Romford in Essex but spent much of his adult life in London, particularly
Kennington. He's also called Rotterdam, Manchester, Edinburgh and Frankfurt
home for varying lengths of time. He graduated in History from Warwick
University and then faffed about as a tour company rep, play leader and night
club bouncer - while dreaming all the while of being a writer. His dream sort
of came true when he began a career as an advertising copywriter, a career that
saw him work on some big name clients and ghost write letters for Thora Hird
and Terry Waite OBE among others. But it still wasn't really what he wanted to
do. Eventually he sat down and wrote several books - one of which became The Second Life of Amy Archer. He is the
co-founder of the Friends of Kennington Park, a voluntary group which, in ten
years, has transformed the park from neglected open space to proud owner of a
coveted Green Flag for excellence. Rob's into history, psychology, music,
parks, tennis, swimming and cycling. Oh, and books of course. He also really
likes hearing what readers make of his stuff.
www.rspateman.com
Lynne Patrick has been a writer ever since she could pick up a pen,
and has enjoyed success with short stories, reviews and feature journalism, but
never, alas, with a novel. She crossed to the dark side to become a publisher
for a few years, and is proud to have launched several careers which are now
burgeoning.
She
lives on the edge of rural Derbyshire in a house groaning with books, about
half of them crime fiction.
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