The God of the Woods by Liz Moore

In the shadowy forests of upstate New York, where ancient pines whisper secrets and hidden lakes reflect a fractured sky, Liz Moore’s latest novel “The God of the Woods” unfolds like a fever dream. It’s a story that seeps into your bones, as chilling and inescapable as the damp Adirondack mist. With echoes of Donna Tartt’s “The Secret History” and shades of Stephen King’s “The Body,” Moore weaves a tapestry of privilege, desperation, and the primal fears that lurk just beneath the surface of civilized society.

A Tale of Two Disappearances

At the heart of the novel beats a dual mystery: the vanishing of Barbara Van Laar, a rebellious 13-year-old camper at the elite Camp Emerson in the summer of 1975, and the lingering shadow of her brother Bear’s disappearance from the same grounds sixteen years earlier. The Van Laars, a wealthy family whose influence stretches from Wall Street to the wilderness, own not just the camp but the sprawling estate that looms over it—a bastion of old money and even older secrets.

Moore, known for her nuanced character studies in previous works like “Long Bright River” and “The Unseen World,” outdoes herself here. She populates her canvas with a rich cast of characters, each harboring their own hidden depths and dangerous desires. There’s Alice Van Laar, Barbara’s mother, trapped in a gilded cage of prescription pills and fading memories. Peter Van Laar, the stern patriarch whose iron control over his family begins to slip. And T.J. Hewitt, the enigmatic camp director whose connection to the Van Laars runs deeper than anyone suspects.

A Masterclass in Atmosphere

From the very first page, Moore immerses us in the suffocating world of Camp Emerson and the Van Laar estate. You can almost smell the pine needles underfoot, feel the cool lake water lapping at your ankles.

It’s this vivid sense of place that anchors the story, making the Adirondack setting as much a character as any of the human players. The wilderness becomes a metaphor for the untamed parts of the human psyche, where dark impulses lurk just out of sight.

Unraveling the Mystery

As the search for Barbara intensifies, Moore introduces us to Judy Luptack, a rookie investigator with the New York State Police. Judy’s determined to prove herself in a male-dominated field, and the Van Laar case might be her big break. Through Judy’s eyes, we peel back the layers of Camp Emerson’s seemingly idyllic facade, uncovering a web of lies, jealousies, and long-buried resentments.

Moore’s pacing is masterful, doling out revelations like breadcrumbs, leading us deeper into the woods. Just when you think you’ve got a handle on things, she throws in another curveball. Is Barbara’s disappearance connected to her brother’s? What role does the escaped convict Jacob Sluiter play in all this? And why does everyone seem to be protecting T.J. Hewitt?

The author keeps us guessing until the very end, and even then, some questions linger – much like the mist that clings to the Adirondack valleys long after sunrise.

A Study in Class and Power

While “The God of the Woods” works brilliantly as a twisty thriller, it’s Moore’s exploration of class dynamics that elevates the novel to literary fiction territory. The stark divide between the privileged Van Laars and the working-class residents of nearby Shattuck is laid bare, with all its ugly consequences.

Moore doesn’t shy away from the casual cruelty of the wealthy towards those they see as beneath them. It’s moments like these that make you want to reach into the pages and shake some sense into these characters. Moore’s ability to provoke such a visceral response is a testament to her skill as a writer.

Coming of Age in the Shadow of Tragedy

Amidst the adult drama, Moore gives us a poignant coming-of-age story through the eyes of Tracy, Barbara’s shy bunkmate. Tracy’s growing friendship with Barbara, tinged with hero worship and a hint of something more, provides some of the novel’s most touching moments. Their late-night conversations in the cabin, full of awkward pauses and half-formed thoughts, perfectly capture the exquisite pain of adolescence.

As Tracy grapples with her own identity and the harsh realities of the adult world, we’re reminded of the vulnerability of youth and the lasting impact of childhood trauma.

A Meditation on Memory and Truth

Throughout the novel, Moore plays with the unreliability of memory. Alice Van Laar’s pill-addled recollections of the past blur the lines between reality and delusion. The townspeople of Shattuck cling to their own versions of what happened to Bear all those years ago. Even Barbara, in the snippets we get from her perspective, seems to be constructing a narrative that helps her make sense of her fractured family.

This theme reaches its crescendo in a series of intense interrogation scenes, where multiple characters offer conflicting accounts of the same events. Moore forces us to question not just who’s lying, but whether absolute truth is even possible when filtered through the lens of human perception and motivation.

A Few Minor Quibbles

If there’s any criticism to be leveled at “The God of the Woods,” it’s that Moore occasionally gets bogged down in the minutiae of police procedure. Some readers might find the detailed descriptions of search patterns and evidence cataloging a bit dry. However, these moments are few and far between, and they do lend an air of authenticity to the investigation.

Additionally, a few of the minor characters feel slightly underdeveloped, serving more as plot devices than fully realized individuals. But given the sprawling nature of the story, this is a forgivable sin.

The Verdict

“The God of the Woods” is a triumph, cementing Liz Moore’s place as one of the most versatile and compelling voices in contemporary fiction. It’s a novel that defies easy categorization—part mystery, part family drama, part social commentary. Moore’s prose is lyrical yet razor-sharp, painting a world so vivid you can almost feel the mosquito bites on your skin.

The book lingers with you long after you’ve turned the final page, like the haunting call of a loon across a misty lake. It forces you to confront uncomfortable truths about privilege, power, and the secrets we keep—even from ourselves.

For fans of Moore’s previous work, this represents an exciting evolution of her talent. For newcomers, it’s a perfect introduction to an author at the height of her powers. Either way, “The God of the Woods” is not to be missed. Just be prepared to lose some sleep—both while reading it and in the nights that follow, as its questions and revelations continue to unspool in your dreams.

In the end, like the best mysteries, “The God of the Woods” leaves us with as many questions as answers. But they’re the kind of questions that matter—the ones that make us examine our own lives and the structures of power that shape our world. It’s a book that demands to be discussed, debated, and revisited.

So grab a copy, find a quiet spot by a lake (or, failing that, your favorite reading nook), and prepare to be transported to a world where the line between civilized society and primal nature is thinner than we’d like to admit. Just don’t be surprised if you find yourself checking over your shoulder as you read, half-expecting to see the shadowy figure of the God of the Woods watching from just beyond the treeline.