There Are No Saints

Cole’s sculpture Fragile Ego functions as both a literal and symbolic representation of his artistic philosophy and psychological need for control over life and death, establishing his basic characterization and introducing themes of Art as Creation and Destruction and The Desire for Control Versus the Demands of Love. The work’s creation from Carl Danvers’s bones demonstrates Cole’s belief that he can transform human existence into immortal art through violence, while the work’s commercial success underscores the art world’s complicity in celebrating beauty without questioning its potentially destructive origins. However, the work’s title is ironic; it references his victims’ presumed fragility but reveals Cole’s need to prove superiority through domination. Above all, the sculpture functions as Cole’s signature, a way of claiming credit for his kills while hiding in plain sight. This duality—public recognition for private violence—encapsulates Cole’s fundamental contradictions, including his desire for artistic immortality versus his need to remain hidden, as well as his impulse to let go versus the pride he takes in his self-restraint. This latter tension is evident in his emerging interest in Mara, whose consistent ability to thwart Cole’s expectations both intrigues and unsettles him.

Meanwhile, Mara’s character development reveals a complex interplay between vulnerability and resilience that defies conventional victim narratives. Her survival in the woods demonstrates both physical endurance and psychological resistance to her attacker’s violence and her mother’s abuse (as well as her own internalization of it). Her refusal to accept victimhood as an identity prevents her from falling into the stereotypes of the helpless victim or the implausibly strong survivor. Instead, Mara embodies the reality of trauma recovery, where strength and vulnerability can coexist. Her decision to keep the nipple piercings embodies this arc, transforming symbols of violation into badges of survival and suggesting her reclamation of agency over her own body and narrative. More broadly, Mara’s artistic drive despite economic precarity and personal trauma positions creativity as both an escape and an assertion of selfhood—another testament to her resilience. 

A motif of surveillance and watching establishes the fundamental power dynamics that drive the psychological tension throughout these opening chapters. Cole’s methodical observation of Mara transforms watching from artistic appreciation (the language in which he often couches his interest in her) into predatory control. His break-in to her bedroom represents a violation that extends beyond visual observation to psychological penetration, as he examines her belongings and masturbates with her underwear. This violation plays with the traditional artist-muse relationship, where the observed subject typically consents to being seen. The surveillance also creates dramatic irony that heightens suspense, as readers know that Cole is watching while Mara remains unaware, making her vulnerability evident. This dynamic establishes the psychological foundation for the dark romance that develops between these characters.

Another motif, language evoking predators and prey, complements the motif of surveillance, establishing the animalistic nature of desire and violence while exploring the boundaries between artistic passion and destructive obsession. Shaw’s characterization positions him as the most obviously dangerous figure; Cole likens Shaw to a carnivorous “pitcher plant,” and his murders are notably gruesome. However, Cole’s predatory nature proves more sophisticated and threatening, as he compares himself to a “hawk” watching Mara’s “crow.” This is a more active and calculated form of pursuit, though it is one that her survival complicates by implying her refusal to be relegated to the status of “prey.” The hunting imagery extends beyond physical violence to encompass artistic competition, with Cole and Shaw stalking each other’s reputations as much as they hunt actual victims. The motif thus operates on multiple levels simultaneously—sexual predation, artistic ambition, and literal hunting—creating a complex web of power dynamics and becoming a lens through which to examine the dynamics of desire, creation, and consumption that drive both artistic and romantic relationships.

The dual first-person narrative structure creates layered dramatic irony that exposes character psychology while building suspense around their inevitable collision. The alternating perspectives reveal the vast psychological distance between them—Cole views Mara as an object to study and possess, while Mara struggles to process trauma and maintain her daily routines. The structural choice to begin with Cole’s perspective establishes him as the dominant narrative force, yet Mara’s sections consistently demonstrate her agency and resistance. This structure mirrors the themes of surveillance and control by giving readers access to private thoughts that remain hidden from other characters, thus implicating them in a way that calls attention to the blurred moral lines that characterize dark romance.