A governess, a wealthy house, a husband who is too perfect... and clichés galore. But does it still work? I'll tell you all about this phenomenon thriller.
A governess, a wealthy house, a husband who is too perfect... and clichés galore. But does it still work? I'll tell you all about this phenomenon thriller.
The Housekeeper is the title. Freida McFadden is the author, translated into French by Karine Forestier. We are clearly in the psychological thriller genre, the kind that you devour in two or three evenings because you can't put it down.
The story begins with Millie Calloway, who is released from prison after ten years, has been sleeping in her car for a month, and is applying for a live-in housekeeper position with the Winchesters, a wealthy family from Long Island. She lies a bit on her resume, hides her criminal record, and crosses her fingers that they won't check her background too thoroughly.
The promise of the book is simple yet effective: a desperate woman, a family that has it all, and a family secret that will change everything. You can immediately sense that it's going to end badly for someone.
Nina Winchester, the hostess, interviews Millie on her caramel leather sofa, wearing a white silk skirt; everything she wears looks 'painfully expensive.' Andrew, the husband, runs the family business and is described as 'kind, funny, rich, caring,' and handsome. Cecelia, the nine-year-old daughter, stares at Millie 'as if she could see through her. Right to her soul.'
The house itself plays a significant role: electronic gate, home theater with a popcorn machine, and especially that maid's room in the attic whose lock is... on the outside. From the very first pages, it’s clear that this isn’t just going to be a story about housekeeping and dusting.
The entire setup revolves around this question: why does a seemingly perfect family hide so many oddities? The Italian landscaper who keeps repeating 'pericolo' (danger) to Millie from her very first day sets the tone right away.
The novel is divided into three parts, and it's an intelligent construction choice: we first follow Millie in her daily life at home, between cleaning, preparing meals 'as usual' for Nina (three scrambled eggs, four slices of bacon, an English muffin), driving Cecelia to dance, and the rumors circulating about her boss.
We learn in bits and pieces that Nina has spent time in a psychiatric hospital, that she has violent mood swings, and that she can go from nice to terrifying in one sentence. Millie, on the other hand, has to deal with her probation, hide her past from her probation officer Pam, and avoid falling in love with Andrew, which... isn't going very well.
Then the narrative shifts to a different narrator at some point, and everything we thought we knew about this family gets turned upside down. I won't say more about this shift, but it completely changes the reading of the first hundred pages.
What really works well is the setup. The attic with its tiny window overlooking the back of the house, the scratches on the door 'as if someone had scraped to try to get out', the window that refuses to open because the paint has stuck it shut... all of this creates a gradual unease that builds up without us really noticing.
And then there's the twist. Honestly, I didn't see it coming at the moment, even though in hindsight, there were clues I could have pieced together. This is exactly what you expect from a good thriller: the surprise in the moment, and the satisfaction of thinking 'oh yes, it was there, right in front of me'.
The scene where Millie discovers the scratch marks on the door of her own room, or the one where she feverishly translates 'pericolo' on her phone to find 'danger', are small moments that stand out because they are introduced without heaviness.
Where the book initially convinced me a bit less was in the gallery of clichés it deploys. Nina, first presented as unstable, capable of sudden crises, with that infamous past in a 'psychiatric hospital' that is distilled like an unsettling rumor. Amanda, another nanny encountered during tap dancing, sums it up with blunt words: Nina would be 'crazy' and even 'tried to drown Cecelia in the bathtub.'
Cecelia, for her part, ticks all the boxes of the creepy child: white lace dress, soul-piercing gaze, explicit description like 'creepy girl number three' in a horror movie casting about cults. And then there’s Millie herself, the housekeeper who falls for her boss's husband from the very first days, fantasizing about him while just having met his wife.
These are tropes we've read a thousand times elsewhere, and at the moment, it annoyed me a bit to see the author playing on such pre-checked boxes.
Take the peanut butter scene: Cecelia tells Millie on her first day that she is allergic, Nina confirms it, but Andrew bursts out laughing in the middle of the night in front of the TV, explaining that he has never heard of such an allergy and that there happens to be a big jar of peanut butter in the pantry. This kind of contradictory detail sprinkled throughout the pages clearly feeds the image of a Nina who invents, manipulates, or is losing her grip.
Another example is the scene where Nina turns the kitchen upside down and accuses Millie of having made notes disappear, or the one where she bursts into laughter 'halfway between laughter and a scream' after catching Millie and Andrew watching Family Feud at one in the morning. These are typical scenes of the 'hysterical woman' that are easy to see coming.
And on Millie's side, her immediate fascination with Andrew ('he could do much better than Nina') follows the pattern of the maid who becomes infatuated with the rich and handsome boss.
And that's where Freida McFadden completely redeems herself, in my eyes. All those clichés she sets up with a bit too much complacency at the beginning actually serve as a decoy to prepare for the twist. It's no coincidence that the image of the crazy woman and the tyrannical child are presented so directly: they condition our reading to surprise us later on.
Without giving too much away, know that the novel changes perspective along the way, and we then discover pages that almost resemble a chilling manual, like 'How to Get Rid of Your Sadistic and Mean Husband, a Guide.' This contrast between the almost light tone of certain passages and the darkness of what they describe is honestly well done.
I could have guessed some elements in advance if I had been more attentive to certain details, but the author knows how to use these clichés as a smokescreen. This, in my opinion, makes all the difference between a lazy thriller and a clever one.
This book is clearly aimed at fans of domestic thrillers, those who enjoy picture-perfect houses that hide secrets, wealthy families that are never what they seem, and twists that reshuffle the cards. There's no need to be a devoted reader of the genre to get hooked; the style is simple and rhythmic, and you turn the pages effortlessly.
However, this is not a book for those seeking fine psychological nuance or highly crafted writing: it’s about efficiency, not ambitious literature. The secondary characters (Enzo the gardener, Pam the probation officer, Amanda the chatty nanny) remain quite functional, there to move the plot forward rather than to exist in depth.
I was a bit worried, upon learning that a sequel existed, that it would be redundant or that the same recipe would be repeated but less effectively. That is honestly not the case: the second volume holds its own and avoids the pitfall of repetition, which was not a given.
In the end, The Housekeeper is typically what we call a guilty pleasure. The setting is carefully established, the atmosphere of unease gradually sets in, and the final twist is truly surprising in the moment, even if a very attentive reader might have sensed it coming.
Yes, there are clichés, and not minor ones: the hysterical woman, the creepy child, the housekeeper who has a crush on the husband. But the author uses them with enough skill that it doesn't detract from the plot; on the contrary, it enriches it.
For those who enjoy thrillers that are quick reads and like to be taken by surprise at the end, I can only recommend it. And good news for those who might hesitate because of that: the sequel is also worth the detour, without any sense of repetition.
Author Audrey on 14 April 2022
Art and Culture : Literature
Author Audrey on 24 July 2023
Art and Culture : Festival