Disappearing Act: Killingly

Review: Killingly , by Katharine Beutner
Soho, 2023. 337 pp. $28
This much is historical fact: in 1897, Mount Holyoke College student Bertha Mellish disappeared from the South Hadley, Massachusetts, campus, for no apparent reason, leaving no apparent trace. Her case became a sensation, as theories about her fate multiplied.
She’d been murdered. She’d committed suicide. She’d been seduced and abandoned, taking flight to hide her shame, perhaps hoping to track down her lover. Newspapers made much of the mystery, and not only those in Massachusetts.
Mount Holyoke Female Seminary, as it was then known, in 1887 (courtesy http://clio.fivecolleges.edu/mhc/stow/illus/semgrnds.htm via Wikimedia Commons; public domain)
Beutner reframes these events to reconstruct the who, why, and how, relying on certain historical facts and inventing the rest. In that, Killingly resembles The Drowned Woman of the Seine , attempting to fill in what the record has left blank while creating a gripping mystery narrative. Incidentally, Killingly is a place where some of the characters live, not a bloody adverb or venue for mayhem. As the author says her in afterword, finding that out was a lucky coincidence.
Her storytelling is flawless, full of “no—and furthermore,” as characters struggling to protect their vulnerabilities yield up secrets one thin sliver at a time. Each is a surprise, each well camouflaged without trickery or stinginess toward the reader. The truth about Bertha’s disappearance emerges a leisurely pace, for Beutner pulls no fast ones.
No unforeseen witnesses suddenly leap into the narrative, and it’s clear that Bertha’s intimates know more than they’re willing to admit, so it’s only as the pressure mounts that bits of information come out. Some readers may lose patience with such storytelling, somewhat unusual in a mystery, but I suggest sticking with it.
One pleasure of Killingly is historical detail, which never becomes intrusive. The author renders the women’s college atmosphere of the 1890s, aspects of semirural Massachusetts life, and seedy neighborhoods in Boston and New York with a sure hand. She has done an impressive amount of research and distilled it so that historical detail graces the narrative without calling attention to itself.
As part of that, Beutner challenges the reader to rethink common misconceptions about that era, yet properly resists the temptation to flaunt that, explaining only in her afterword where the history comes from.
All of this is very well, but the narrative approach pins everything on the characterizations, to which she devotes similar care and—for the most part—subtlety. She depicts the missing Bertha as a brilliant, lonely soul who holds herself outside the Mount Holyoke world of crushes, alliances, and cabals, often to laugh at them.
Her friend, Agnes Sullivan, dreams of being a doctor and lives every breath conscious of her lacks. These include social grace, polish, beauty, or the right origins; Agnes worries that her Catholic heritage will doom her in a Protestant-dominated world, and she has reason to fear. She’s an excellent foil for Bertha.
Also first-rate is the portrayal of Bertha’s distraught sister, Florence, who attended Mount Holyoke briefly, and who therefore has some sense of the pressures under which the students live. Here, she assesses the senior class belle:
Mabel Cunningham was lovely when she cried and she knew it. There was something theatrical about her expressions and about the way she twisted her beautifully finished lawn handkerchief between delicate fingers. Florence was sure the girl had embroidered the cloth herself and equally sure that she would have blushed if asked to confirm it. The blush was as intrinsic to her nature as the talent, and both were meant to captivate admirers other than Florence.
But most of the time, Florence is too busy defending herself to think about others’ foibles. Several overbearing men hound her for background on Bertha, and though she senses that they have their own agendas, she struggles to assert herself with them, because her sister’s reputation depends on which facts the public learns.
Exhibit A among the overbearing men is Dr. Henry Hammond, the Mellishes’ family physician. Though dictatorial, at first he appears helpful, doing his best to uncover Bertha’s whereabouts, hiring a private detective, and offering a reward for information. But he also makes sure that Florence—and Agnes Sullivan, once he questions her—do what he thinks women should, which is answer questions and get out of the way.
Overall, Hammond’s a complex figure, but, as the narrative progresses, he shows his obsession with Bertha more and more, to the point of being unhinged. Beutner, who’s otherwise done a terrific job stepping around silly tropes, puts her foot in one here, I think. He’s a useful antagonist, to be sure, but both he and his portrayal have a dogmatic feel to them; he could be the subject of a painting titled The Misogynist. The point would have come across without that.
Nevertheless, Killingly has a lot to recommend it, and I thoroughly enjoyed this novel.
Disclaimer : I obtained my reading copy of this book from the public library.