In A Good Person, Kirsten King argues that an individual’s self-perception as a “good person” is a fragile, actively maintained illusion. The protagonist, Lillian, constructs a reality that absolves her of responsibility, a self-deception that allows her to rationalize everything from minor social transgressions to murder. Her unreliable narration exposes the immense psychological effort required to reconcile her hurtful, even brutal, acts with her perception of herself as a victim. King portrays Lillian’s self-deception as a continuous, willful effort to suppress uncomfortable truths that ironically culminates in her evolution into the very person she has been trying to convince herself she isn’t.

Lillian’s lifelong pattern of rewriting reality to cast herself as the victim or the righteous arbiter of justice is established in the prologue. Recounting the time she nearly pushed a childhood rival, Melanie Frank, into a gorilla enclosure, she reframes the violent impulse as a “joke” and an attempt to “teach her a lesson” (3). She justifies her actions by painting Melanie as a bully who falsely accused her of passing gas and flouted zoo rules. This incident offers an illustration of Lillian’s psyche; she cannot accept her own malicious intent, so she constructs a narrative in which her target deserved the harm, thereby preserving her identity as someone who is fundamentally good, if misunderstood. This pattern of rationalization follows her into adulthood, providing the psychological framework for her escalating transgressions.

This self-deception shapes her interpretation of her romantic and professional lives, where she consistently ignores any evidence that contradicts her desired narrative. She interprets her ambiguous, late-night-only relationship with Henry as a budding romance, meticulously collecting small gestures—like a birthday candle or a forehead kiss—as proof of his commitment. She willfully ignores obvious signs of his unavailability and is shocked by the revelation that he had a long-term girlfriend, Nora. Similarly, at work, after being asked to lead a major pitch for the Wellness Witch, she leaves the project unfinished. When Candice sidelines the presentation, Lillian feels “deeply offended” and views the feedback as an injustice rather than a consequence of her own poor performance. In both scenarios, she rejects realities that would force her to confront her own misjudgments or failures, opting instead for a narrative in which she is an underappreciated partner and employee.

Lillian’s final and gravest act of self-deception occurs when she is confronted with the possibility of herself as a murderer. After her therapist, Dr. Cohen, directly identifies her “narcissism and a victim mentality” (251), Lillian violently rejects this professional assessment, recasting the doctor as cruel, incompetent, and jealous. This explosive reaction is a prelude to the novel’s climax. When fragmented memories of murdering Henry surface, her response is not horror at her actions but a rapid rationalization of them. She reframes the murder as a form of justice against a man who “didn’t always hear you when you said the word ‘no’” (283). By twisting her act of violence into a brave, even necessary, response to assault, she completes her psychological journey, successfully preserving her identity as a “good person” who was simply forced to do a bad thing. Yet in the end, this rationalization shapes her very identity; she invites Jamie in with the intention of murdering her, supporting the novel’s contention that these justifications have contributed to a permanent and murderous shift in her character.