The quiet English village of Shere doesn't seem like the kind of place where dark events and mysterious disappearances would take place, but somehow it has become a shelter for a bizarre kidnapper and serial killer. Equally dark is Shere's past, where a young fourteenth century woman was walled into a dark cell in the village church after a mystical experience. These stories come together in one of the most unusual suspense novels I've ever read. Anchoress of Shere includes a uniquely constructed villain as well as a fascinating glimpse into the fourteenth century and fuses the two in an unforgettably dark tale. Anchoress begins as a story on two levels. Set in the 1960s, a British Catholic priest, Michael Duval, is writing his fictional biography of a fourteenth century woman named Christine Carpenter who, as a result of trauma induced by sexual abuse, has entered a convent and asked to become a solitary nun. She is granted her wish to become an "anchoress" and locked into a small, dark cell where her daily needs are met by the other nuns and her family, but she must remain entombed alone in prayer.

Duval is obsessed with Christine, so much so that he feels he must physically reenact her voluntary imprisonment using contemporary women. Shortly into the story, he kidnaps a young wine buyer named Marda, who has come to him seeking advice and sympathy. Much of the book moves back and forth between the priest's written biography of Christine and a third person perspective of his relationship with the captive Marda, until Duval's dementia begins to infect his ability to write.

Anchoress is full of paradoxes, contradictions, and deep, dark irony, and Michael Duval may be one of the most honestly characterized psychopaths ever created. His is a twisted, pained humanity, not a stereotypically evil personality. His derangement builds as his obsession with Christine causes him to believe that the captive Marda is the fourteenth century anchoress. Yet it is inconsistent. He realizes that to keep Marda alive he must feed her, clothe her, keep her in relative comfort, and allow her to learn the basics of the Catholic religion. In almost ridiculously ironic scenes, we listen as Duval teaches Marda her basic catechism. I almost laughed at Duval's pathetic vanity as he solicits her opinion of his manuscript.

Michael Duval is drawn full of inconsistencies--a Catholic priest who lies, kidnaps, murders, and experiments with mind-altering substances on himself and his captive while nonchalantly walking his well-treated and beloved dog, visiting local village pubs, and carrying out his daily business at the rectory. He rationalizes his excesses and despises his job while he continues to follow his normal routines.

Marda is painted almost exclusively as a victim, a fact she admits even to herself. But this status keeps her alive. She recognizes that Michael's control over his mental state is precarious, and she feeds his obsessions, basically humoring him, but ultimately incurring changes in her own personality. The ending of the story, particularly the last few words, reinforces its dark irony.

While there were times I winced at Marda's dialogue and behaviors, wishing she were not quite so shallow, I felt relieved as she grew and became stronger as a result of her experiences. Moorcraft uses the story as a vehicle to throw some nasty darts at notions of British eccentricity, the English Catholic Church bureaucracy, who are too willing to please in order to keep their parishoners, and the village police, who, with one exception, are generally portrayed as inept and uncaring. Marda's brother Mark must take a leave of absence from his position in military intelligence to make any headway into finding his missing sister. Although set in the '60s, there was little evidence of period authenticity except for a few casual references to news items and pop tunes played on the radio. Otherwise the setting could have been small British village anytime.

Moorcraft has written an interesting and suspenseful psychological drama. Graphic sex and violence are minimal and important to the story, but it is the undetailed abuse and neglect that is most horrific in this tale. It's not a book that many will genuinely enjoy, per se, not because it isn't well written or doesn't have all the right elements, but because it reveals so many human weaknesses, failures, and oversights. It's not an easy book to "like" or to read. It touches on some defect, some buried thought even the best of us have pushed aside, some skeleton in the neatest of closets. It is full of discussion of good versus evil without plausible resolution on either side. A book with numerous thought-provoking issues, it will stay on your mind long after you finish it.