68 pages • 2 hours read
The Merton family is wealthy. The Merton estate, upon Fred and Sheila’s deaths, is worth roughly $30 million, and each of the Merton siblings stands to inherit an equal portion of this wealth. But within this family, such immense wealth is simply not enough to guarantee happiness.
The Merton children have never known anything but limitless wealth. They cannot comprehend anything but their own privilege; their own ends justify any means. Their father built his empire through cold ruthlessness, and he passed this mindset down to his children, pitting them against each other. He teaches them that there must be a “winner,” and that as Mertons, there are heavy expectations placed on them—expectations that, according to Fred, all of them failed to meet. The Mertons’ wealth colors all of their external relationships, too. The subplot of the friendship between Catherine Merton and Rose Cutter reveals this difficult truth: “Catherine is a dear friend, but she’s always been jealous of her for having everything Rose doesn’t have” (138). Their relationship disintegrates as soon as Rose is revealed to be Fred’s secret daughter—and, thus, entitled to some of his fortune.
Growing up with immense wealth ensures only competitive acquisition among the siblings. The Merton children see the murders of their own parents as a freeing event: “The truth is, they’re all so much better off now that their parents have been murdered” (61). This is partially because they will no longer have to tolerate Fred’s abuse, but primarily, it is because they will come into their fortunes. To them, the only dark spot is the investigation; they cannot enjoy their inheritance until their names are cleared, and on top of that, they must deal with Audrey’s persistent snooping and Rose’s unexpected encroachment. Growing up as millionaires ensures that the children’s thoughts and behaviors revolve around their wealth, and everything they must do to get it.
Money drives the family to paranoia and distrust. It creates emotional friction as each child grows into a competitive consumer, driven by wants, not by needs. None are able to transcend to any larger moral perspective that might give them a glimpse into their own egotism. Catherine, a successful doctor, wants the house; Dan wants the family business, and when he loses that, he wants a fast-track to wealth through Rose’s risky investment scheme; and Jenna wants the financial support to pursue her unconventional artist lifestyle. The brutal murders are triggered when Jenna believes she is about to lose her financial support, and the siblings are repeatedly soothed by reminders that once they are all freed from the murder investigation, they will be rich.
The novel implies that there is an inherent dysfunction associated with the wealthy. Fred was able to build his empire because of a distinct lack of empathy. He is a ruthless businessman above all else, and he is sadistic and manipulative, especially to his children. Catherine, who is the most prominent face of Merton material greed, is repeatedly shown to prioritize the family name and fortune over typical moral things. She wants to live in the family home even though her parents were murdered there; she dreads the way Dan’s speech—the confession that Fred abused them—will appear in the newspapers; and she takes pleasure in telling Audrey that the will was never changed in her favor. Dan has a history of stalking and a habit of parking outside houses late at night, watching them for hours. And Jenna, of course, is a murderer and displays potentially psychopathic tendencies.
There is no solid proof that the Merton children would be better off—less dysfunctional—if they were not rich. However, they are, to an extent, products of their environment. The Merton fortune has certainly played a part in shaping who the children are and how they act; to what extent, Shari Lapena leaves the reader to decide.
Not a Happy Family reads like a modern-day parable railing against the power of greed. The hunger for material satisfaction drives each character. The Prologue sets the scene: The narrative slowly pans down into Aylesford, over massive homes with manicured lawns and sturdy gates, where “children are greedily finishing off their chocolate bunnies and foil-wrapped eggs, gauging what’s left and eyeing how much remains in the baskets of their siblings” (1). This line encapsulates the Merton children—greedy, never sated, and always eyeing what their siblings have, consumed by the pull of greed. Like those unsettlingly predatory children, overstuffed on their chocolates and eager to pilfer the candy of their own siblings, the Mertons regard each other as competitors and try to position themselves favorably to preserve their own portion of their family’s money.
The one thing that brings the Merton children together is a threat to their joint wealth: Rose Cutter. Rose is a family friend—but she is also the same person who cheated Dan out of his money, which has left him in a tough spot. More importantly, she is an unexpected variable; an unplanned usurper of the inheritance. The siblings are outraged and immediately plot to stop even the possibility of having to split $26 million four ways instead of three. Rose, for her part, is also self-admittedly greedy; she scammed Dan because she was confident about an opportunity in stocks, and never made a backup plan for it falling through.
Audrey, Fred’s sister, also acts on greed. She believes she is owed half of her brother’s estate because she has kept the secret of his murdering their father. She investigates the Merton children nonstop, utterly convinced that one of them murdered her brother—and, more importantly, interfered with him changing the will for her. The secondary characters in the novel cannot resist the pull of greed either; Jake, Jenna’s boyfriend, promptly asks her for $5,000 after Fred and Sheila’s deaths, which signals to Jenna that he will only ask for more and more money over time. Even Ellen, who is a relatively moral character, is delighted to learn that Rose will inherit some of Fred’s fortune. The only person who does not act instinctively out of material greed is Irena, whose greed only manifests as a desire to be a maternal figure in the children’s lives.
Jenna murders her parents for threatening to change the will, which would cost her a large portion of her promised fortune. She is less openly materialistic than Catherine, and not as desperate for cash as Dan, but she is still furious at her parents. Like a child who got grounded for bad behavior, Jenna lashes out—only, her version of lashing out is murder. The novel makes no mention of Jenna moving into a nicer house, getting a nicer car—changing anything about her lifestyle. This implies that, while greed was a major driving factor in Jenna’s behavior, it was not her primary motivation, which makes her actions all the more chilling.
Secrets and lies have plagued the Mertons for generations. From Fred’s murder of his father to Catherine’s theft of her dead mother’s earrings, Lapena shows how secrets and lies can poison families.
The murders are the biggest secrets. First is Fred’s murder of his father, a secret that he and Audrey keep for many years. Second is Jenna’s murder of Fred and Sheila. Only the readers get concrete confirmation of Jenna’s guilt; the detectives only find meager DNA evidence, and Jenna plants doubt within the family, claiming she was framed. Long before the Jenna reveal, the siblings and their significant others are proven to be liars over and over again—to their spouses, to each other, and especially to the detectives. The Merton children, Lisa, Ted, Jake, and Irena all cover for each other and throw each other under the bus in equal measure, a technique that Lapena uses to ensure readers do not know who to trust.
Other secrets plague the Mertons as well. The children are shocked to learn that their father had an affair with a former employee, and even included the child of that affair in his will. Dan eventually confesses to investing his and Lisa’s money into Rose’s investment scheme; Rose, in turn, is forced to confess to the fraud. She is also cornered into admitting she knew, months ago, that she was in Fred’s will—something her mother was certain she did not know. Catherine never admits to stealing her mother’s earrings off of her body, and Jenna, the only person who knows, gleefully sits on that knowledge. Jenna, naturally, never confesses to the murders, nor does she ever confess to poisoning Audrey.
The detectives shape the novel’s counterplot by suggesting the need for accountability and transparency. The more the detectives investigate the Merton family, the more evidence they expose of the family’s penchant for keeping secrets. Audrey is a similar agent of truth, although she is motivated by selfishness and greed. In the end, the detectives are defeated—only Audrey’s pursuit of the truth suggests the potential for future justice, as she closes in on Jenna’s hidden evidence.
In the meantime, however, secrets and lies take a huge toll on the family and those associated with them. Ted and Lisa grow increasingly doubtful of Catherine and Dan’s innocence, and their relationships are greatly strained as the investigation continues. Jake immediately abandons Jenna at the first sign of police pressure, backpedaling on the alibi he provided and cutting off all contact. Ellen is devastated to learn of Rose’s crimes, and is condemned to forever wondering whether Rose inherited Fred’s supposed psychopathy. Jenna, who, Lapena suggests, really did inherit Fred’s violent tendencies, weaponizes the toxicity of secrets just before she parts from her siblings. After she implies that one of them framed her, she drives off, cheerfully thinking about how Lisa and Ted have no confirmation that their spouses are truly innocent—how what she has said will forever haunt them.
Not surprisingly, given its genre as a domestic noir, Not a Happy Family centers on the dark logic of violence as a solution for complex emotional matters. The Merton family—father and siblings—turn with alarming suddenness to the logic of confrontation and the resolution of violence. They appear uninterested in mediation or compromise. This begins with Fred, who views his father—an abuser with an alcohol addiction—as a problem to be solved through murder. Jenna follows the same thought process: When she feels her life of uncomplicated financial security is about to be over, the solution is not in cultivating her own professional career or seeking her own financial security, but rather slaughtering her parents and waiting for an inheritance.
For the Mertons, especially Fred and Jenna, violence is a strategy for control, especially in vulnerable or helpless moments. When young Audrey tries to ask how Fred could have possibly murdered their father, Fred misunderstands her question and assumes she is asking “how” he committed the crime. When Jenna is executing her parents in particularly messy and intimate ways—she strangles her mother and repeatedly stabs her father—she feels nothing. No thrill, no adrenaline rush. To her, given the conditions her father set out, killing him is the only logical solution. She deals with Audrey the same way; rather than warning her off or threatening her, Jenna immediately turns to attempted murder, poisoning her aunt with antifreeze to discourage her from pursuing the truth.
Even those who are innocent, like Catherine, Dan, and Irena, can comprehend the logic of violence. All of them are aware of the sort of person Fred was, and they know that, objectively, the family is better off with him gone. They understand the benefits they stand to reap with his death, which prompts Catherine to leave the house without reporting the murders and Irena to clean the murder weapon before calling the police. Even Dan, who was wholly uninvolved in the murder, is the first to voice it aloud: “We’re free. All of us, we’re free of him” (59).
Fred’s murder of his father is never revealed before his death, and Jenna similarly seems to escape conviction and arrest. However, the novel’s ending is ambiguous. If Audrey buys the farm building, Lapena implies, it is only a matter of time before she finds Jenna’s evidence. If Jenna finds out about it, however, it is highly likely she will once again resort to violence—and this time, she will finish the job. Additionally, Catherine’s baby is a Merton; with two murderers in the family, it would hardly be surprising for the child to exhibit violent tendencies, too. However, the end of the Merton story—whether Jenna is caught, whether Audrey survives, and whether Catherine’s child is “a psychopath”—is left to readers to decide.
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By Shari Lapena