When a mother brutally murders one of her young children in the first quarter of a novel there is an expectation that the motivation behind the act will be a theme or, maybe, her backstory and how it led to such an act, but in Emily Ruskovich’s debut, Idaho, neither happens. I picked up, put down and tried to re-engage this novel multiple times in the course of several weeks. If Ruskovich’s prose had been any less gorgeous I would not have finished the book. Instead, I kept thinking it was going somewhere, but the destination never arrived.

There is the story of Jenny and Wade and their little girls. Then the murder and disappearance of the other daughter who runs away from the crime scene and is never found. Jenny confesses, is sent to prison and we follow. We meet her cellmate and learn her story. On the outside, a year later, Wade marries a younger woman and begins the slow descent into early onset dementia. His new wife Ann tries to cope with this man who, in contradiction of the premise of marriage, is becoming less familiar not more. When she connects him to the tragedy in their small town she tries to recover the memories he’s losing. This pulls her deeper into his past, but without a connection to Jenny there are no answers. And Jenny, even in the chapters she narrates, is not talking.

These things were a kind of collection she began to keep, a list she would run down in her mind, eventually not out of pain anymore but out of wonder, as if something were right there on the edge of her life, waiting for her to discover it.

She’s pulled deeper into his past, but without a connection to Jenny there are no answers. And Jenny, even in the chapters she narrates, is not talking.

Instead, Idaho pitches and rolls, from one character and timeline to another. Neither multiple timelines or numerous characters are problematic in a novel because they work to create an evocative slice-of-life. But when there is no through-line, glue, something to connect the dots, there can be no whole, only diffuse fragments. Without that something to hold onto Idaho is beautiful sentences in search of a story.

When I read a book by a debut author with a vague synopsis, I like to put a comparison to other books in my review so I can sort of describe the feel of the book without revealing any plot details. I can’t do that here. Idaho is unlike anything I’ve ever read. Maybe there are similar books out there, but I’m unfamiliar with them, though I’d love to be pointed in their direction, because I’ll gladly consume anything remotely reminiscent of Idaho. This is quiet and powerful and heartbreaking and lovely. It hurts to read, and it’s scary, and it’s haunting, but it’s also full of tenderness and kindness and wonder. I’m not sure what to say, besides: just read it.

The story is told non-linearly but never feels choppy. Usually books that jump around in time irritate me, but Ruskovich writes so expertly that the time jumps never bothered me—in fact, they excited me and added to the story. The prose… ah, what can I say about the prose? It’s beautiful. I can’t possibly describe how stunning her sentences, her words, her everything is, because my description will fall embarrassingly short. Still, I think the power in this novel is what Ruskovich doesn’t tell you, and that’s incredibly hard for a writer to pull off. I’m extremely impressed by this book, and you’re telling me this is a debut? Wow. It’s going to be a painful wait until her next release.

Idaho is a beautifully and empathically written story of a family that suffers an incomprehensible and shattering tragedy. The story is told from the perspective of multiple characters, illustrating the far reaching consequences this tragedy has on each of their lives. Emily Ruskovich's almost poetic prose is a joy to read. Highly recommended. Thanks to Random House and NetGalley for the ARC.

Headline:

This debut novel has some intriguing story elements, but they never quite gel into a cohesive story.

Plot Summary:

Ann Mitchell tries to piece together the details behind the crime that ended her husband, Wade’s, first marriage, and landed his ex-wife (Jenny) in prison for murder.

Why I Read It:

This debut novel caught my attention when I reviewed Random House’s Spring 2017 catalog and, later, I heard good things about it from Shannon at River City Reading.

Major Themes:
Marriage, family secrets, memory

What I Liked:

- Idaho is a quiet mystery of what happened to a family…and I don’t think I’ve ever used the words quiet and mystery in the same sentence. However, this combination had promise.

- While the story is built around the crime that destroyed Wade’s family, that’s not really what the book is about. It’s more about the layers on top of the central mystery (Wade and Ann’s marriage, Wade’s illness, living under a cloud that you don’t know much about)…making it feel like more than your average mystery.

- The writing is gorgeous at times. There are beautiful sentences, but they rarely string together to create a gorgeous paragraph or chapter.

"The postwoman in Ponderosa feels entitled; she moves with confidence and knowing, as if because her fingertips have had the privilege of sorting out Ann’s envelopes, she has glimpsed what she thinks is inside them all – lies, pleas, false trails, dirty news, licked closed by the tongues of the past."

What I Didn’t Like:

- This is an odd book. There were times when I couldn’t put it down and others when I found myself skimming just to get through it. I was intrigued at times, but bewildered at others.

- There are compelling elements to this story…I think the downfall is in the execution. The story construction is clunky and there are a number of sub-plots going on, yet they never converge into a central theme. It’s almost like Ruskovich couldn’t decide whether the book was about Wade and Ann’s marriage, Wade’s illness, the murder itself, or Jenny’s fate following the murder and her experience in prison.

- There were parts of the story that seemed pointless and confusing (ex: Ann’s imaginings of how the murder might have happened, Elliott’s – an extremely minor character – romantic issues later in life)…but I was sure things would all tie together in the end. They didn’t.

- The major questions of the book were never addressed. I don’t mind open-ended endings, but this was so extreme that it made me wonder what the point of the book was. For example, one of the things that kept me reading was to find out why Jenny committed the murder she did. There are sections of the story from Jenny’s perspective while she’s in prison where Ruskovich could easily have addressed the why of it all, but never did.

- While beautiful at times, the writing also veered into “head-in-the-clouds” territory too often for my taste.
"The sameness of that prison wall is like a winter spent in a wilderness you can’t hope to matter to."

A Defining Quote:

“You know you don’t like me going up there, but you don’t know why. You’re so angry at me and you don’t remember why.”

I decided to read Idaho because I had heard it was about a woman married to a man whose first marriage had ended in a mysterious tragedy, and that sounded interesting. I did not realize that I would be reading a story about dementia and memory loss. I did not expect it to hit quite as close to home as it did. I still have a lot of processing to do.

I’m not sure I would have read Idaho if I’d known more about it, but it ended up being a very powerful read for me, so I guess I wouldn’t change anything. It’s one of those books where every little reveal feels very big, very significant--so I’m not going to do much summarizing here. The less you know going in, the richer your reading experience will be.

I will say that I have something of a family history of Alzheimer’s and dementia, though not the early-onset variety that features in this book. And it made me think a lot of things and feel a lot of feelings to watch Wade lose touch with his life and his memories, especially because he knew it was something that was likely to happen to him.

Of course, dementia is only one thing that’s going on in this book. There’s also a terrible, unfathomable crime, an unusual romance, and a lingering mystery that seems destined to remain so. Ruskovich’s writing is beautiful, meditative, evocative of the rugged landscape of the titular state. Idaho is a lovely book, even in its starkness. The only thing it left me wanting was a little more closure, a few more answers to the questions it raised.

With regards to Random House and NetGalley for the advance copy. On sale today, January 3rd!

By VICKI ROCK
“Idaho” by Emily Ruskovich, Random House, 320 pages, $27.
Wade and Ann Mitchell live on a mountain in Idaho.
Wade, a knife-maker and dog trainer, has symptoms of dementia. He realizes it because he puts his hand in his pocket for his keys and finds a salt shaker.
Wade takes music lessons because he has read that it will delay dementia. That is how he met Ann, who is a music teacher. She is Wade’s second wife. Jenny, his first wife, is in prison for homicide.
Ann becomes obsessed with understanding what happened years earlier. This is told from their points of view, along with Jenny’s.
While Ruskovich’s writing is beautiful, she goes into such minute detail that it is distracting. There are many unanswered questions at the end.

Single Sentence Summary: Ann’s love for Wade is ferocious, but ghosts from his first marriage, Wade’s growing dementia, and Ann’s own sense of guilt cast a pall over their life together.

Primary Characters: Ann Mitchell – Wade’s second wife. Ann cares for and watches over her husband as he losses more and more of his memory. Wade Mitchell – central to the story, Wade suffered the tragic loss of both his daughters on a single day. Jenny Mitchell – Wade’s first wife, now in prison for the murder of her daughter.

Synopsis: After eight years of marriage, Ann has grown increasingly alarmed at her husband’s fading memory. At times, she fears the angry man he becomes. Without wavering, she loves him fiercely. And constantly, she imagines the details surrounding the tragedy that ended Wade’s first marriage.

Less than a year before Wade and Ann were married, he was living a very different life in the same mountain home he later shared with Ann. Wade had two beautiful daughters, June, nine, and May, six. With Jenny, he had a wife he loved, a home he’d built with his own hands, and seemingly the very life he’d always wanted. That life was shattered when Jenny took May’s life and June fled in fear, never to be found.

Ann entered Wade’s life as his piano teacher shortly before tragedy marked him. There was attraction between the two. After, Wade returned to his lessons and Ann saw for the first time the early signs of dementia that would not be stopped. His loss, her loneliness, his need, her guilt: all combined to join Wade and Ann.

“I could take care of you,” she said softly. She was very surprised to hear herself say this, but even so her voice was calm, as if she had been intending to say it all along.”

Review: Idaho is a truly beautiful story of loss, love, and contrition told from multiple perspectives. Central to every part of Emily Ruskovich’s debut novel is the day Jenny killed her youngest daughter. The tragedy was inescapable for all but Wade, for only he was able to forget. Early-onset dementia was the price he paid for peace of mind. As he lost touch with the events of that day, Ann became more and more preoccupied with the reasons why. Wade had never shared more than the bleakest of details and Ann feared the parts he had not shared. Jenny alone had the answers that no one else did, and her penance was paid in the small life she allowed herself in prison. Love and contrition were wed throughout Idaho, most evident in Ann’s devotion to Wade, and her compassion for Jenny.

Events of that cataclysmic day and its aftermath were revealed in leapfrog fashion as the story bounced around in time from 1973 to 2025. The movement definitely requires the reader to pay attention, and sometimes look back on dates. This, coupled with the story unfolding from multiple narrators, makes Idaho a book one must pay attention to. I liked most the parts narrated by Ann, but Wade, Jenny, and Elizabeth, Jenny’s cellmate, each leant depth to the story. Other narrators, at times, felt superfluous.

I think Ruskovich’s writing was the real star of this book and especially her brilliant job in developing Ann, who we learn so much about, and Jenny, who we learn so little.

“The simplicity of his gift, the innocent surprise of it. All at once Ann feels touched by a misery she is not sure she’s ever known before. She feels it sharply, like love.”

“And so Jenny will take this one last and devastating gift, if it will bring Elizabeth her rest. Perhaps it’s what both their hearts have been wanting all along – to be broken. In order to know they are whole enough to break.”

Ann and Jenny were characters that resonated with me long after I finished this book. A feat that makes me look forward to reading the next novel by Emily Ruskovich. Grade: B+

Gut wrenching in the way where you don't just simply go "oh that was kinda sad," but the kind that lingers and stays with you when not reading it. Emily Ruskovich's debut is meditative, tender, and above all exquisite. Idaho is more concerned with feelings than concretely answering "why?" which is sure to aggravate certain readers, but not this one. A novel that gracefully deals with unexpected loss and moving on while not really moving on from multiple character's perspectives through decades worth of time span.