by Ariel Lawhon ★★★★★
Perhaps no genre in the last ten years has seen a greater influx of new content than women-led historical fiction. It seems like Kristin Hannah jumpstarted the trend with 2015's The Nightingale, and after that novel's success, plenty more World War II-themed stories about the under-the-radar contributions of strong women followed.
While World War II is perhaps over-represented in the genre, what hasn't gotten much attention is early American history, which is where Lawhon takes us in The Frozen River. The novel opens in late November 1789, in the town of Hallowell, Maine, just as the Kennebec River is in the process of freezing solid for the winter. A body is found trapped beneath the ice, and once it is cut free by men from the town, midwife Martha Ballard is summoned to examine the body record the likely cause of death. Upon examination, it is immediately clear to Martha that the body is that of Joshua Burgess. It is also clear that he was severely beaten and hanged before being dumped in the river.
Who would want to harm Joshua Burgess? Unfortunately for Burgess, and for those attempting to solve the crime, the list is lengthy. A few weeks prior to his murder, a townswoman named Rebecca Foster came forward and accused Burgess and Joseph North of raping her that past summer. North is the perhaps the most prominent member of the town; in addition to overseeing leases for the town, he also acts as judge for local disputes, which makes Foster's claim particularly bold and difficult for the town to handle. North is immediately Martha's first suspect, for if Burgess is dead, there are no other witnesses to the crime, and it becomes North's word against Foster's. In 1789, there is little chance of North losing that fight. A rape with little chance of justice also brings Rebecca's husband, Isaac, to the forefront of potential suspects, but after North arranged for his dismissal as pastor of the town church, he (and Rebecca) may also have reason to frame North. Lastly, on the night he was killed, Burgess got in a highly public scuffle when he tried to force a young woman to dance at the town "Frolic" (a dance where young people court each other). The young woman was none other than Martha's daughter, Hannah, and the man who came to defend her (and beat Burgess in the process) none other than Martha's son, Cyrus.
That's a tangled web of motivations to sort through, with Martha smack in the middle. As the nascent judicial system starts to work through each case, Martha finds herself testifying in both, as the first to professionally examine Burgess's body and as her friend Rebecca Foster's first confessor following the rape. It strains her relationship with some members of the town, and brings the misogynistic double standard of the time to the forefront of the story.
Lawhon has a talent for crafting a compelling murder mystery, as well as using the platform of the novel to explore the role of women in society nearly 250 years ago. I'd expect the temptation is strong to rail against the absurdities of gender bias at the time, and while Martha inwardly scoffs at some of the iniquities, Lawhon avoids turning The Frozen River into a relentless condemnation of a very different time. She also sidesteps the trap that Emilia Hart couldn't in Weyward -- while her prime antagonists are horrible men, she also balances their evil with several truly good and decent male characters. Martha's relationship with her husband Ephraim was a highlight for me. He cherishes her and treats her as an equal, far more than the average husband of the time, and he's a character that I think most readers will love. In one indicative exchange, Martha is discussing her horse Brutus with James, a young man from the town:
He scratches the long bridge of Brutus's nose. "You're still riding this beast?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
"He's a lot of horse."
"And you think he's too much for me?"
James won't dare answer that question aloud, so he clears his throat. Looks at the ground. Grins.
"Well, you're not alone. My husband believes Brutus to be a villain as great as his namesake."
"Yet he allows you to ride him?"
"Allows?" I laugh. "I am fifty-four years old. Ephraim doesn't allow me anything. I do as I please."
While the murder mystery and rape accusation play out the main thread of the plot, there are plenty of sub-plots to round out the story, including a deep dive into Martha's responsibilities as a midwife, as well as the nature of relationships and courting (and out-of-wedlock children) in the late 1700s. There are layers to the mystery that gradually add complexity and misdirection to the story, made all the more impressive by the fact that the majority of the story is based on (or at least heavily inspired by, as Lawhon clarifies in her postscript author's note) historical events. Lawhon deftly reanimates these historical figures from Ballard's sparse journal entries, and creates personalities for the characters that bring them fully to life once again.
The Frozen River is a wildly popular book for a reason -- there's little wrong with this one, and it's a solidly constructed story from cover to cover that will have you riveted.