The Butcher and the Wren: A Mixed Bag of Hopes and Disappointment
As a devoted fan of Morbid and an admirer of Alaina Urquhart’s engaging storytelling, I was ecstatic when I received a #gifted ARC of The Butcher and the Wren. I mean, who wouldn’t be thrilled to dive into a novel created by someone they admire? Ever since I heard about it on Morbid, I was counting down the days until I could finally read this book. Alas, while the anticipation was palpable, the final product left me feeling rather deflated.
First, let’s talk about the protagonist, Dr. Wren Muller, a medical examiner whose character serves as the anchor of the narrative. Unfortunately, she comes off as more of a sketch than a fully fleshed-out character. Other than being a diligent professional who happens to be married, we learn little about what makes Wren, well, Wren. I craved depth; who is she outside of the autopsy room? What quirks define her? We get a twist later on that should be dramatic, yet the delivery misses the mark. Wren’s realization that the victims she examines are tied to her own traumatic past felt like an afterthought rather than the electrifying climax it could have been. I mean, how had she not connected the dots sooner? It feels almost absurd, which pulls me out of the story.
Then there’s the writing style, which intrigued me at times but also baffled me at others. I found some lines charming, like the poetic “beautiful plates of Louisiana seafood,” but it was a little too on the nose for my taste. I get it; Alaina is writing about a culture that may not be her own, and I appreciate the effort, but I feel there’s more nuanced and evocative language that could do justice to such vibrant settings.
While Dr. Wren felt underdeveloped, I found the villain, Jeremy, to be the most compelling part of the story. His dark humor and the intricate planning behind his sinister activities offered a refreshing counterbalance to Wren’s lack of development. I was genuinely intrigued by the splintered glimpses of his backstory and emotional range. His character shone brightly, making me wish that the supporting cast had received similar depth.
The secondary characters, including Wren’s husband and friends, felt like mere props, existing without purpose. And the police investigations? A muddled mess. They seemed to know far more than they let on, yet their inaction felt frustrating. The pacing also stumbled—just when I thought we were finally headed toward a satisfying conclusion, the ending left me scratching my head in confusion.
In retrospect, The Butcher and the Wren feels like a beta version of what could be a great mystery novel. The bones are there—there’s a tantalizing plot, a promising character arc for Wren, and chilling motifs that resonate with any true crime aficionado. However, the execution falters, leaving plot holes and a jarring sense of incompleteness.
For those who already revel in Alaina’s work or fans of Morbid looking for something fresh, I’d say give it a shot. Just prepare for some bumps along the way. Despite my disappointment, I appreciate the effort that goes into creating a book and the passion behind it. I’ll be eagerly tuning into every episode of Morbid while hoping for a more polished sequel that addresses the unanswered questions and deepens our connection to Wren. Here’s to second chances!
Discover more about The Butcher and the Wren (Dr. Wren Muller, #1) on GoodReads >>