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maisalah27 's review for:
The Lost Man
by Jane Harper
Profound
I just love Jean Harbor. Her writing is elite — I knew it from the very first book I read by her, and this one only confirms it. Yes, it’s a murder mystery, but that label barely covers what she does. She writes full human lives: complicated people carrying emotion, buried secrets, past trauma, and the sins that ripple across generations.
The pacing is spot on — never frantic, never sluggish. Each chapter peels back another layer, another truth. It’s storytelling that invites you to slow down and feel, not just race to unmask the killer. With Harbor, I care less about “solving” the crime and more about living inside the narrative. That is extremely hard to pull off in this genre.
I was especially moved by the father–son threads. Nathan, raised by an abusive, emotionally sick father, makes a conscious, courageous decision: the cycle stops with me. He doesn’t magically know how to parent differently — he learns in real time, with love and fear and effort. That choice alone is powerful. In contrast, Cameron wants the same break in theory… but collapses into repeating (and worsening) the abuse he endured. Harbor doesn’t sugarcoat trauma or recovery; some people heal forward, others fracture and pass the damage on. Showing both makes the story ring true.
And the relationship between Nathan and Xander? Rare, tender, and needed. We don’t get many emotionally nuanced father/son bonds in crime fiction — but we should.
The plot twist was fantastic. I didn’t see it coming at first, but halfway through I hoped that’s where we were headed — toward an ending rooted in resilience, self-respect, and reclaiming what was taken by force. Harbor delivered, and the resolution felt earned and fair.
As someone who knows what cycles of abuse look like, this book planted hope. Harbor reminds us that breaking patterns is hard, but possible — and that makes this more than just a mystery; it’s a story of courage.
This is the kind of mystery that says: pause, breathe, and look at the people — the roses — even as the thorns close in. One of a kind.
I just love Jean Harbor. Her writing is elite — I knew it from the very first book I read by her, and this one only confirms it. Yes, it’s a murder mystery, but that label barely covers what she does. She writes full human lives: complicated people carrying emotion, buried secrets, past trauma, and the sins that ripple across generations.
The pacing is spot on — never frantic, never sluggish. Each chapter peels back another layer, another truth. It’s storytelling that invites you to slow down and feel, not just race to unmask the killer. With Harbor, I care less about “solving” the crime and more about living inside the narrative. That is extremely hard to pull off in this genre.
I was especially moved by the father–son threads. Nathan, raised by an abusive, emotionally sick father, makes a conscious, courageous decision: the cycle stops with me. He doesn’t magically know how to parent differently — he learns in real time, with love and fear and effort. That choice alone is powerful. In contrast, Cameron wants the same break in theory… but collapses into repeating (and worsening) the abuse he endured. Harbor doesn’t sugarcoat trauma or recovery; some people heal forward, others fracture and pass the damage on. Showing both makes the story ring true.
And the relationship between Nathan and Xander? Rare, tender, and needed. We don’t get many emotionally nuanced father/son bonds in crime fiction — but we should.
The plot twist was fantastic. I didn’t see it coming at first, but halfway through I hoped that’s where we were headed — toward an ending rooted in resilience, self-respect, and reclaiming what was taken by force. Harbor delivered, and the resolution felt earned and fair.
As someone who knows what cycles of abuse look like, this book planted hope. Harbor reminds us that breaking patterns is hard, but possible — and that makes this more than just a mystery; it’s a story of courage.
This is the kind of mystery that says: pause, breathe, and look at the people — the roses — even as the thorns close in. One of a kind.