72 pages 2 hours read

The Good Samaritan

Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 2017

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Themes

Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of suicidal ideation, death by suicide, addiction, substance use, illness, death, mental illness, child abuse, and emotional abuse.

The Compulsive Nature of Manipulation and Control

In The Good Samaritan, manipulation is portrayed not merely as a tool for personal gain but as a destructive compulsion rooted in an inability to maintain healthy relationships. This compulsion is most evident in Laura, whose work at the End of the Line helpline becomes an outlet for exerting the power she feels she has lost in her own life.


A motif of addiction permeates the novel, but the most central example of addictive behavior does not involve literal substance use; rather, it is Laura’s deep-seated need to control others. Notes on her time in foster care confirm that this is a long-standing tendency: “She has a desire to get her own way and is overtly charming but can be covertly hostile towards others” (298). As an adult, she has perfected this deception, presenting herself as an “office mum” to her colleagues while secretly preying on vulnerable callers. She methodically guides individuals like Chantelle toward suicide, reinforcing their despair by asking leading questions such as, “Do you think they might grow up resenting you?” (33). By orchestrating their deaths, Laura seizes a form of ultimate control over life and death, the psychological effects of which are potent: “To have spent time working with a candidate […] and then to be rewarded with their final breath is intoxicating” (99). The word choice—“intoxicating”—evokes drugs or alcohol, reinforcing the compulsive nature of Laura’s behavior.


The novel implies that Laura’s need for control is a form of compensation rooted in her own family’s tragic demise. Her mother’s illness and her father’s subsequent depression created a dysfunctional family environment where Laura was largely neglected. In this context, witnessing her mother’s death and then participating, however unknowingly, in the deaths of her father and sisters became a form of intimacy; she says, for example, that hearing her mother’s last breath “brought [them] closer than two people could ever be” (101). Exercising control, particularly by arranging others’ deaths, thus became a way to manage her fear of abandonment. The contrast afforded by others’ suicides also reassures her that her own life is worthwhile and that she is “strong”—reassurance she needs, as she alludes to having struggled with suicidal ideation herself.


However, this way of engaging with others actually precludes true emotional connection while immiserating both her and everyone she’s close to. Laura claims to love her husband and children, but her relationships with them are entirely contingent on control. This culminates in her blackmail of Tony. By holding the video of Johnny’s death over him, she traps him in their marriage, achieving the absolute control she craves while failing to understand that he cannot possibly love her under the circumstances. Her tone is puzzled, for example, as she notes that “even sleeping next to each other didn’t bring [them] closer” (372). The irony of Laura’s need for control is thus that it controls her, trapping her in a pattern of destructive and self-destructive behavior.

The Blurred Line Between Victim and Perpetrator

The Good Samaritan deliberately blurs the line between victim and perpetrator, demonstrating how trauma can transform an individual from one role to the other. Through its dual-perspective narrative, the novel complicates readers’ sympathies and argues that righteous vengeance can be as corrupt as the initial transgression, challenging conventional notions of good and evil.


Ryan’s character arc embodies this dynamic, as his grief transforms him into the very kind of manipulator he seeks to punish. The novel introduces Ryan as a grieving widower whose pregnant wife died by suicide, egged on by Laura: He is unequivocally a victim. However, his quest for justice leads him down a dark path. He stalks Laura, photographs her family, and creates the “Steven” persona to deceive her. Most significantly, he manipulates the emotionally vulnerable teenager, Effie, deliberately undermining her confidence to use her as a weapon against her mother. In doing so, he mirrors Laura’s methods by preying on weakness for his own ends. The codependent relationship he develops with Laura—one characterized by simultaneous hatred and obsession—underscores the parallels between the two, highlighting how the pursuit of revenge can corrupt the avenger, turning a victim into a perpetrator.


Laura’s characterization further complicates the novel’s moral landscape. If Steven’s arc reveals progressively darker aspects of his personality, Laura’s initially seems to do the opposite. Her predatory behavior at the End of the Line helpline, where she preys on vulnerable callers and guides them toward death, is clear from the Prologue, but details such as her devotion to Henry and her experience of abuse in the foster care system imply that she is a victim of her circumstances as well as the architect of others’ destruction. However, while Laura did experience significant trauma as a child (the deaths of her family of origin), the novel ultimately reveals that many apparently mitigating circumstances were fabrications. The lines between victim and perpetrator are blurred, but mostly in Laura’s own mind, as she views herself as a perpetually wronged party.


That said, the way in which the novel reveals Laura’s true nature facilitates this theme by forcing readers to constantly reassess their presuppositions. This is true of various supporting characters as well; Cynthia, for example, transforms from a flatly villainous figure to a protective mother as more details emerge. Ultimately, these structural choices support the novel’s thematic rejection of a simple binary of good versus evil, suggesting instead that the roles of victim and perpetrator are often fluid, trapping characters in an inescapable cycle of harm.

Rewriting Reality to Reconcile Trauma

In The Good Samaritan, characters repeatedly rewrite reality as a psychological means of coping with unbearable trauma and guilt. The novel uses unreliable narration and constructed identities to explore how this self-deception functions as a survival mechanism, but one that ultimately prevents true healing and perpetuates a cycle of harm.


Laura’s entire identity is built on a foundation of lies and rewritten histories, which she uses to shield herself from the truth of her past actions. The most significant fabrication is her account of the fire that caused her son Henry’s disabilities. Laura started the fire herself, but she completely erases the event from her memory, constructing an alternate reality where she is the devoted mother of a child born with an intellectual disability. Her visits to Henry are not just acts of love but rituals that reinforce this fiction, allowing her to see him as her “anchor” rather than a living symbol of her destructive act. She also invents a battle with ovarian cancer to explain her hospitalization in the fire’s aftermath. These rewritings are fundamental to her self-perception, allowing her to function as a perpetual victim rather than a perpetrator.


The act of rewriting reality extends beyond internal self-deception to the deliberate construction of false personas. Ryan’s creation of “Steven” is the most elaborate example, a detailed fabrication used to infiltrate Laura’s life and exact revenge. He builds a comprehensive backstory to invoke the vulnerability Laura exploits in her callers. This persona is a weapon, requiring Ryan to inhabit an alternate reality to achieve his goal. Here, too, however, there is an element of trauma at play. Under the guise of Steven, Ryan discusses his real despair in the wake of his wife’s death. As he speaks to the various volunteers in his search for the Freer of Lost Souls, he admits, “There were times when […] it was me admitting to feelings of hopelessness and me who was struggling” (160). A fabricated identity thus becomes a vehicle for Ryan to express feelings that otherwise have no outlet.


Though rooted in self-preservation, rewriting reality ultimately proves to be a powerful but corrosive psychological tool. It isolates characters within their own fictions, making genuine connection impossible and trapping them in a prison of lies that perpetuates the very harm they seek to escape.

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