Later, not a single person will recall seeing the lady board the flight at Hobart Airport.
Liane Moriarty’s latest novel opens portentously, startling in its narratorial omniscience. This lady is defined, at length, by what she isn’t: she is “not frazzled”; “not frail”; “not shiny-eyed like the shiny-eyed honeymooners flying to Sydney still in their lavish bridal clothes”. It’s a clever setup, leaving the reader hungry to know more about this apparently innocuous character who, we’re told by the end of the opening chapter, will “later become known as ‘the Death Lady’”.
