First Fruits

Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly

In this darkly seductive follow-up to Freezing (1998), Evans positions catty Scottish schoolgirls as unknowing victims of a family's control fetish. Part Lolita-esque twist on the psychological thriller, part straight-ahead mystery, this unusual, intriguing story mystifies throughout. Kate Carr seems to have an edge over the other girls in her class. She is always the one planting the seeds for slumber parties, Greek lessons and flirting with boys; she's the kind of girl who quietly and craftily gets her way without raising a stir. Her father, Minister Keith Carr, is an irresistible sweetheart who has an almost hypnotic ability to befriend his daughter's schoolmates (who, naturally, are green with envy over Kate's enchanting dad). While it's obvious that Kate has no lack of girlfriends, her home life is certainly reclusive. She and her father live alone, save for Keith's cold, barely there mother--a homestead in stark contrast to those of Kate's classmates Lydia and Moira, whose mother and grandmother are openly affectionate and loving. With no drive than to emulate her father, Kate perfects the art of beguiling, in this case shrewdly influencing her "friends." Though seemingly harmless, her power over Lydia, Moira and others is reflective of her father's own power over her. Kate eventually realizes the horror of her father's need to control, and the author's talent for spinning a suspense-filled denouement quickly becomes evident. Raising questions relating to parents' love, commitment and power over others, this intelligent work both challenges and frightens. (July) Copyright 2000 Cahners Business Information.|

Kirkus Reviews

The hothouse world—rife with endless conflicts, envy, one-upmanship, and hidden secrets—of an Edinburgh teenager's monstrous minutiae. To hear Kate Carr tell it, she's one lucky girl. True, she's growing up without the mother who vanished when she was a child, and she has to endure the stigma of having one leg shorter than the other. Her matchless talent for seeing herself as special, however, compensates for these minor deprivations. It's not just that she sees herself as a diamond in the dustheap of her Edinburgh private school; when she goes home each night, it's to a father she adores. As a charismatic preacher and a relentless charmer, Keith Carr is barely one step lower than the God he constantly invokes. His magical company is reward enough for the dull hours Kate's forced to spend with the likes of her dull admirer Hilary Cross, her archrival Fiona McPherson, or the lumpish Moira MacMurray. But when Lydia Morris arrives one day from Devon, Kate's world begins to change. To be sure, mousy Lydia doesn't pose any obvious challenge to Kate, who remains secure in her confidence that, unlike all the other girls she knows, she has It. But their friendship, which Evans (Freezing, 1998, etc.) limns with a lacerating exactness that captures scheming Kate's disdain, jealousy, possessiveness, fear, and plaintive affection for Lydia and everything she represents, will have you squirming. Readers wise in the ways of Evans's master, Ruth Rendell, will see the climactic revelations coming long before they arrive. As in Rendell, though, the foreshadowing doesn't diminish the power of her evocation of Kate's world, but intensifies it,tillyou long for the release of the final conflagration. A wonderfully creepy dose for people who look back on their childhood with uncritical nostalgia.