The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle

I saw you die for the seventh time. I promise they won't murder you again... Early in the morning of the unfortunate day on which the Hardcastles throw a fancy-dress party at the neglected Blackheath estate, the hero feels somewhat uneasy. When the terrible reason for the festival passes, he feels that he is not himself. It's not. He is chasing a rapist in a forest park, but he is shouting with his mouth and flexing someone else's muscles, and he is also being addressed rather unknowingly. And this feeling will be given to him eight times by the dark fate: first in the body of a downtrodden doctor, then he'll have to suffer through the same day as the aspiring butler, then involuntarily incarnate into the characters of a childish flamendro, an obese financier, a debauched villain, an old lawyer, police constable - and finally he sees the situation through the eyes of an unassuming painter restoring castle images. Through trial and error, our severely tested protagonist gathers the necessary clues, learns the motivations of the actors in the foreground and in the background and, above all, tries to extract from his memory - oppressed by the conflicting moods of so many temporary hosts - what his name actually is, who he is and where he came from. For only by being fully in the loop can he uncover not only the reason for this stuck loop, but also the powerful person pulling the strings on Blackheath. And to solve the murder of the daughter of the owner of the estate, which is repeated night after night, even under the influence of his interventions, with ever more precise details. This fascinating charade, winner of the 2018 Costa Prize for Best First Literary Novel, combines classic island detective fiction with the poetics of a physical paradox. Like the reporter in the film comedy On Groundhog Day, the hero is stuck in a time loop for a day longer - only abominations are piling up around him. But for him, too, the fateful day he is forced to relive over and over again in the bodies of the individual witnesses to the murder will provide many opportunities to consider how worthwhile it is to start the search with himself. "It's as if Agatha Christie could time travel. And so a solidly plotted murder in the mansion of British nobility lives on, despite all the Scandinavian gore, and even took eight lives in advance. (...) A perfectly polished debut!" - The Times "I was utterly charmed by the novel. He's totally peculiar and I can't get him out of my head." - Sophie Hannah, literary successor to the legacy of Hercule Poirot "I hereby proclaim Stuart Turton the Mad Hatter Master of British crime fiction. He has written a unique, clever book that oozes creative verve. I couldn't tear myself away!" - Ali Land "A dazzling opening night. Refreshing and cunning as hell. I wish I had written it..." - A. J. Finn "If someone doesn't film this soon, I'll eat my Holmes hat." - Jake Kerridge, Sunday Express "What the hell are you doing in my room?" I exclaim, and the outburst surprises me. The mask stops scanning the room and focuses on me again. "We have work to do," he replies. "I need you to solve a mystery." "I think you have me confused with someone else," I snap angrily. "I'm a doctor." "You were a doctor," he replies. "Then majordomo, today you are a flamendr, tomorrow you will be a banker. None of them are your real face or personality. They were taken from you as soon as you entered Blackheath, and will only be returned to you when you leave here." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small mirror and tosses it on the bed. "See for yourself." The mirror trembles in my hand. I see in it the reflection of a young man with remarkable blue eyes, behind which there is little wisdom. The face in the mirror doesn't belong to Sebastian Bell or the burned butler. - excerpt from the text