56 pages 1-hour read

Rachel Hawkins

The Storm

Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 2026

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Themes

Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of death, physical abuse, and emotional abuse.

The Unreliability of Personal and Public Histories

In Rachel Hawkins’s The Storm, the past is depicted as a changing territory shaped by personal memory, public rumor, and self-serving accounts. The book shows that individual and collective histories both tend to arise from layers of storytelling that shift to meet the teller’s needs. To illustrate this complex dynamic, Hawkins employs a quasi-epistolary structure, gradually revealing the full picture via a fragmented presentation of tabloid clippings, true-crime excerpts, and memoir drafts. This approach deliberately undercuts the idea that there is any stable truth to be found. The novel’s shifting narratives reveal that even public accounts often hinge on whatever version is most convenient or dramatic. In this light, the uncertain details surrounding Landon Fitzroy’s death depict the past itself as a story that competing voices now try to dominate.


Hawkins establishes this instability early in the novel through the chaotic public narrative of Landon’s death, which mixes speculation with slander. Likewise, the interludes are meant to stack contradictory accounts that each come with a clear motive. For example, a National Enquirer article calls Lo Bailey a “SCARLET WOMAN,” while Deadly Waters, Deadly Love questions the murder charge and hints that Governor Fitzroy looked for a scapegoat. Later, a Vanity Fair piece gathers the rumors and shows how easily Lo became the villain in local lore. These clashing sources echo the circulation of true-crime media and demonstrate that printed accounts are often influenced by factors such as political pressure or commercial appeal. Notably, no guiding narrator steps in to settle the disputes, leaving only layers of competing versions shaped by outside interests.


In addition to these complications, the characters’ private histories shift just as easily. Lo’s manuscript, Be a Good Girl, reads as her deliberate attempt to retake control of her life story by casting herself as a romantic teenager who was merely overwhelmed by the forces around her. Her voice reflects 40 years of distance and a clear desire to reshape her image. On another level, Geneva Corliss’s discovery that her mother, Ellen Chambers Corliss, hid Landon’s paternity creates the most destabilizing rupture in the novel. Upon realizing that Landon was her father, Geneva undergoes a personal crisis as her understanding of her childhood and her family is deeply shaken. The revelation shows that even the closest relationships can rest on falsified explanations that are meant to hide dangerous truths.


As the novel closes, Geneva, Lo, and Edie Vargas craft a new false account after August Fletcher dies during Hurricane Lizzie. They describe the death as a “freak storm accident” to protect themselves (261), and this cover story echoes the lies told by the previous generation. The novel therefore suggests that revised histories can become a survival tactic passed from parent to child. By choosing this story, the characters keep control of their past and choose to bury their newest secrets with the old ones that have haunted the family for so many years.

The Destructive Power of Generational Secrets

Like the storms that pound St. Medard’s Bay, the secrets buried in The Storm gather force over time until they break open and damage the next generation, and Hawkins uses this pattern to show that hidden truths do not weaken with age. Instead, they deepen resentments, distort relationships, and set the stage for later violence. The concealed facts about Landon’s affairs and his murder have remained active for 40 years, creating a twisted, bitter legacy marked by anger and betrayal. This inheritance reaches its breaking point when Geneva and August, unaware of their family ties, find themselves confronting life-altering truths.


The shared parentage of Geneva and August, which forms the most volatile secret, has held in place for decades until it finally erupts. When August learned that Landon fathered him, he chose a path toward revenge, traveling to the Rosalie Inn with an ominous hidden agenda. His supposed plan to help Lo with a memoir masks a hunt for answers about his father’s death and fuels his desire to punish the woman he blames for the past. This fixation eventually places him at odds with Geneva, the sister he never knew. Their final clash thus grows out of the choices that the older women made long ago, and it is clear that Ellen’s and Lo’s long-held secrets have led to a treacherous situation, exposing the younger generation to direct physical danger.


Notably, the present-day tragedy rests on a network of smaller secrets held by the older women. Ellen’s affair with Landon, which she kept from her closest friend, Lo, set the stage for the killing. Likewise, Lo’s decision to take responsibility for the death to protect pregnant Ellen turned into a lifelong burden that isolated her from the community. Finally, Edie’s hidden identity as Frieda Mason, a friend whose trial testimony drew on a buried grudge against Lo, adds another unresolved layer, and together, these deceptions open deep cracks among the women and block any chance for honest reconciliation. Ellen’s decision to strike Landon first became the heaviest secret, one that Lo carried for four decades. In the end, however, Lo finds relief from the burden of this secret. The truth is revealed, and Lo and Edie both protect Geneva and reestablish the trio of “Witches of St. Medard’s Bay” (117).


Recurring hurricanes and the Rosalie Inn echo these destructive patterns. Each storm drags old problems back into view—much like the family’s past, which continually rises up to inflict fresh damage. The novel is structured around the four hurricanes that hold significance to both the women and the community, and the story of each storm offers details that add to the layers of complexity surrounding Lo, Ellen, Edie, and Geneva. The impending Hurricane Lizzie in 2025 reinforces the inevitability of the past’s resurgence in the present, and the Rosalie Inn becomes the center of this inheritance. It holds the memory of Landon’s murder, and 40 years later, it becomes the site of August’s death. Despite its lack of visual imagery depicting 1984’s Hurricane Marie, the storm is very much present in the box of artifacts that Ellen secretly kept and that Geneva has recently found. In this context, the inn’s near-ruin during Hurricane Lizzie mirrors the breaking point that the women reach when these long-hidden truths finally resurface.

Reclaiming Agency Through Morally Ambiguous Choices

In The Storm, Hawkins traces the various ways in which the women in the novel seize control in a world shaped by male entitlement, making dubious choices that often turn violent or present new moral dilemmas. The book follows a line of women—Beth-Anne Bailey, Lo, and Ellen—who responded to dominance and abuse with calculated defiance, but Hawkins reframes their individual decisions to embrace violence as acts of survival. In essence, they used their shared secrecy and sacrifice to form a shelter against the men who tried to contain or define them.


The novel demonstrates a pattern of women turning to violence as a last defense against the men who harm them. Beth-Anne set the first example when she killed her abusive husband, Linus, during Hurricane Delphine in 1965. After enduring years of emotional torment, she kicked him from a tree into floodwaters, and this act reflects her fight to save herself. Decades later, Lo and her friend Ellen killed Landon together after he attacked Lo and tried to control Ellen and their unborn child. While their actions constituted a crime, their decisions emerged from the pressure to break Landon’s hold over them and gain a measure of safety.


The women also created a difficult but enduring form of solidarity through their acts of sacrifice. After the murder of Landon, for example, Lo accepted the public blame and allowed the world to call her a teenage seductress and a killer so that the pregnant Ellen could avoid prosecution. This choice reshaped Lo’s entire life and pushed her to the edges of the community while Ellen went on to live her life and build a family. Their unlikely bond, which was built upon their mutual need for protection and secrecy, has endured because both women are committed to survival.


Many years later, Geneva continues this cycle when she steps into the violent confrontation between August and Lo. When the confrontation results in August’s violent death, Geneva, Lo, and a recovering Edie then choose to claim that the storm was the cause. By inventing this new account of events, Geneva adopts the same morally ambiguous solution as the older women once did, shedding her passivity in the face of the family’s grim history and aligning herself with Lo and Edie. Her decision places her in the tradition of making difficult choices and concealing grisly truths in order to protect herself and others.


This pattern contextualizes the novel’s central violence within a legacy of female rebellion against systemic abuse, recasting murder as a morally complex act of liberation. Ultimately, Lo and Edie are able to break free of their past guilt and trauma, and Geneva finds an important source of lineage and connection. In the end, she fully embraces her role as the keeper of the Rosalie Inn—and as the newest “witch” of St. Medard’s Bay.

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