A haunting literary thriller about youth, power, fatherhood, and the slow unraveling of a utopia.
Driven by a shared desire for change, a group of Dartmouth students, led by the enigmatic Meddy, forms the Students for Fundamental Change. Their pursuit of control leads them to Stillwell, Maine, where they establish a secluded community with unconventional rules, challenging traditional norms and attracting those desperate to belong. But their utopia starts to unravel from within and faces growing scrutiny from the outside world.
Peter Holloway, a disillusioned academic and father to Meddy's children, becomes entangled in her vision as their bond blurs the lines between mentor and disciple, faith and fanaticism. As her influence deepens and the commune begins to fracture, Peter is forced to confront the monster he helped create and protect his children from the world he once believed in.
A haunting literary thriller about youth, power, fatherhood, and the slow unraveling of a utopia.
Driven by a shared desire for change, a group of Dartmouth students, led by the enigmatic Meddy, forms the Students for Fundamental Change. Their pursuit of control leads them to Stillwell, Maine, where they establish a secluded community with unconventional rules, challenging traditional norms and attracting those desperate to belong. But their utopia starts to unravel from within and faces growing scrutiny from the outside world.
Peter Holloway, a disillusioned academic and father to Meddy's children, becomes entangled in her vision as their bond blurs the lines between mentor and disciple, faith and fanaticism. As her influence deepens and the commune begins to fracture, Peter is forced to confront the monster he helped create and protect his children from the world he once believed in.
1
It had been a cold, snowy December.
Peter and the two girls sat down at Al Macâs Diner in Fall River to grab a much-needed bite to eat. The interior of the restaurant looked as if it still existed in the 1970s, and whether that was a designerâs decision or due to a lack of renovation was unclear. Edith and Joselyn sat next to each other across the table from Peter. The former was drawing on her placemat with a pen that Peter had given her, and the latter stared straight ahead without blinking.
âWhat are you drawing?â Peter asked, leaning in toward Edith from across the table. She made a few additional scribbles before grabbing the placemat and holding it up for him to see. Edith was small for her age, but she had a big round head and beautiful blue eyes. She had dimples on both sides of her mouth that dove deeper when she smirked at Peter, glowing, proud of her drawing.
âOur family,â she said, the words written across the top of the placemat. It was a crude drawing. Edith, at just seven years old, was talented in many areas. She could read far above her age level, but drawing was not a talent she possessed. The family was no more than five stick figures, but Peter could still see the vision of what she was going for.
The five of them varied in height, their names written in scribbles above their heads. The two tallest were âPeterâ and âMommy.â âEdithâ and âJoseyâ were the two shortest, with âPaulâ somewhere in between them all. Mommy and Paul had halos above their heads, but Peter was uncertain if either of them were in heaven.
He looked down at the scar that ran diagonally across his inner forearm. His fingers brushed over it, lingering over the raised skin for a moment longer than he wanted to. He pulled his sleeve down before either of the girls noticed he was thinking about their brother. It was there and it would be for the rest of his life.
âThatâs very nice,â he said. âJosey? Are you with us?â
Joselyn continued staring straight ahead and did not entertain his question. Her face looked sunken under the weight of the past few days, but her eyes, nose, and mouth were a spitting image of her motherâs. Anyone who knew them could see that, but Peter tried not to hold it against her. Just because she looked like her didnât mean she would end up like her.
âSheâs tired,â Edith said. âRight Josey?â She put the placemat back down onto the table and continued drawing, adding falling snow all around the outside of the frame.
âItâs a gift from the angels,â she said, but Peter did not know where she got that idea from.
A waitress came over to their table and introduced herself as Jacqueline. Peter wondered why she didnât go by Jackie and could only assume it was because Jacqueline seemed more elegant. Maybe it wasnât her decision and her father or her mother had imposed Jacqueline upon her when she was a young girl. Regardless of the reasoning, the extended version of her name was written in red, cursive lettering across her blue shirt, and there were so many letters that it ran all the way from her collarbone to her shoulder.
She was chewing a piece of gum, which Peter found rude but did not comment on.
âWhat are you having?â she asked him, in between chews.
âIâll have a coffee, black,â he said. He looked at the girls. âAnd two orange juices?â
âI want chocolate milk,â Edith said.
âMake that one orange juice, and a chocolate milk.â
Josey did not express any discontent about the orange juice. In fact, she had not said anything since they sat down at the table. Peter worried, momentarily, about how the three-year-old was doing after such an ordeal. They had driven through the night, and Josey didnât seem to sleep much. They all were tired, but she was something else. She had seen and heard things that no three-year-old should.
Jacqueline returned to the table with their beverages a short time later.
âCoffee,â she said. âAn orange juice, and a chocolate milk.â She set each down on the table.
âThank you,â Edith said, grabbing the chocolate milk.
Jacqueline smiled at her.
âSo polite,â she said. âCute family.â
âThanks,â Peter said, wearily.
Jacqueline did not ask him what he wanted for food. Instead, she looked him up and down, and then spoke in a tone that Peter took to be almost accusatory.
âYou from around here?â
Peter paused and glanced toward the door. He was from the area, albeit a long time ago. He hadnât lived in the South Coast of Massachusetts in so long that he didnât know whether or not it was appropriate to claim it as his own.
âYeah,â he finally said. âFairhaven.â
âNice,â she said. âFeel like we see the same old people around here every day. Never seen you before though.â
âIâm not lying,â he said defensively.
âI didnât say that,â she said. âJust havenât seen you around, thatâs all. Didnât mean any offense by it.â
Peter had grown up in Fairhaven, a short ride east of Al Macâs Diner, but college took him to New Hampshire and the SFC took him to Stillwell. Fairhaven felt like a place where some past version of Peter lived, the Peter before the scars.
âItâs been a little bit since weâve been home,â Peter said.
âThis is our family,â Edith blurted out. When Jacqueline looked at her, she was holding up her drawing.
âPolite and artistic,â Jacqueline said. âWhat part of Maine? My cousin has a rental property up in the Bangor area. Itâs a beautiful place to visit.â
Peter caught himself looking out the window to see if he could spot anyone following him. He knew for certain that they were, but the FBI did a pretty good job at remaining hidden when they tailed someone, so Peter saw nothing but empty cars in the parking lot.
âI think weâre ready to order,â he said. He could not handle anymore questions.
âOkay,â she said awkwardly. âWhat can I get you to eat?â
âIâll have two buttermilk pancakes,â he said. âSide of bacon.â
âMe too,â Edith said. âCan I have bacon, too?â
He looked at her and asked: âDoes Josey like bacon?â
Edith nodded.
âOkay, make that two sides of bacon and weâll split the pancakes.â
âAll right,â she said. âIâll be back with those shortly.â
She turned and left the table. She did not write any of their order down on a notepad, and Peter wondered if it was because their order was easy to memorize, or if she was trying to show off.
âPeter?â Edith said. âI have a question.â
âWhat is it, sweetie?â
âIs that the ocean?â She pointed out the window. Al Macâs Diner sat directly on the coast, looking out at the Atlantic Ocean. It was a marvelous sight, one that neither Edith nor Josey had seen in three years, not since the last time they visited Peterâs parents. Then, they traveled as a family of five.
âIt sure is,â Peter said. âDo you see it, Josey?â
Josey looked toward the window, but she did not say anything about the oceanâs movement or its beauty. Edith, however, was fascinated. She climbed up onto her knees in the booth and pressed both hands against the glass. Her blue eyes shined in the reflection of the panel separating them from the water.
âThat means weâre getting close to Frank and Lilyâs house, right?â
She was talking about Peterâs parents.
âOnly Frankâs,â Peter said. âLily isnât around anymore.â
âLike Mommy?â she asked.
Peter nodded. There was a moment of quiet at the table. Edith stared out the window at the relentless waves rushing into shore to dissipate into the rocks and sand. There was something therapeutic about its movement, the way the waves never quit in their pursuit of land. When one wave disappeared, there was always another coming close behind to take its place.
âDoes it go on forever?â Edith asked.
âWell, nothing goes on forever. Everything ends eventually. If you got on a boat and sailed across the ocean, eventually youâll make land in England or Spain.â
âCan you take us there?â
âTo England?â Peter laughed. âMaybe one day.â
He felt bad lying to her, but she was seven, and he knew that she had a short memories. She would have to, if they were going to be okay.
âI think Iâd like England,â Edith said. âIt starts with the same letter as my name.â
Jacqueline walked back to the table in the middle of the conversation and put the pancakes and two large plates of bacon in the middle of the table.
âIs there anything else I can get you?â she asked.
âCould I get another coffee?â he asked.
âSure thing,â she said. âBut my manager has asked that I collect a credit card from you now that the food is out.â
âFor what reason?â he asked, but he knew what they looked like. He hadnât slept in a few days. He could hardly remember his last shower. His clothes were dirty and he was sure he smelled. He looked like someone who would run out on a bill.
âWe ask all our customers for a credit card,â she lied.
âI donât have a credit card,â he said. âBut here. Let me see what I have.â
Sitting next to him in the booth, out of sight from Jacqueline or anyone else in the diner, was a small fanny pack. He unzipped it slowly, slipped out three crisp hundred-dollar bills, and slid them across the table. Jacquelineâs eyes widened.
âJust take that,â he said, after swallowing the latest bite. Peter hadnât paid for breakfast in a long time.
Jacqueline glanced down at the bills that somehow made their way into her right hand. It had been forever since sheâd held this much cash. She held them up to the light and squinted her eyes to look for blemishes.
âWould you like change?â she asked.
âNo, thank you,â Peter said. He just wanted to be left alone.
âOh, bless you,â she said. âGod bless you.â
Edith was smiling. Peter nodded once and continued to eat.
When their meal was finished, Peter carried Josey back to his Toyota 4Runner. Edith held his hand as she walked alongside him.
The SUV was practically empty. They hadnât had time to collect Edith or Joseyâs clothing before they left Stillwell. Peter had his own getaway bag, however, filled with essentials: worn out jeans and button-down shirts that were too big for his frame. He was skinny, but tall, and heâd never quite been able to find a size that fit him right.
He buckled himself in and looked over his shoulder, and repeated an old tradition his father used to do for him when he was young.
âSeat belts!â he yelled.
âSeat belts!â Edith echoed. âAre we are going to see Frank now?â
âWe sure are,â he said. âWeâll be there soon.â
He drove slowly and carefully. He turned up the heat as high as it would go, but no matter how much warm air blasted from the vents, the car was freezing.
2
Peter hadnât seen his father in three years. The last time was in November of 2021, the same year his mother died. Before that, more than a decade passed before theyâd spent any time.
He knew Frank hated him for his absence, and as he drove toward the marina where he was told he could find him, he ran his hands through his hair. If there were someone else he could take the girls to, he would have considered it, but he knew it had to be Frank.
Itâs sad, really. Peter, the two girls, with nowhere to turn to except the man who Peter figured really didnât want to see them.
âI canât wait to see Frank,â Edith said from the backseat.
3
Frank Holloway lived a quiet life. He avoided people, avoided cities, and avoided anywhere that required him to navigate small talk. He made an effort not to go anywhere where people could ask him what his name was, what he did for work, how his day was going, or offer their condolences in the loss of his wife.
He liked his boat and he liked his dog.
The boat was docked on the Fairhaven side of Buzzardâs Bay, a narrow arm of the Atlantic that separates Fairhaven from New Bedford. Quieter than its neighboring cities, Fairhaven was a modest coastal town about half an hour west of Al Macâs Diner, where Peter and his daughters ate breakfast.
After his wifeâs death, Frank sold the house that had grown too large for one man and used the money to buy a boat and a barge hitched to its stern. On the barge he built a one-room dwelling: four walls and a roof, no more than he needed. A single burner and a dented microwave lined the north wall, a narrow bed faced east, and a sagging couch and table filled the west. In the corner of the room, a small toilet completed the space. There was not enough room to do anything but sit and feel sorry for oneself.
Frank spent a lot of time in this one room, curled up with Scouser, a Doberman Pinscher he adopted after Lily died so that he wouldnât feel so alone. Like most canines, Scouser took after his owner, so he, too, did not take kindly to strangers. The room was barely big enough for the two of them, so when Peter and his two girls showed up randomly on a Tuesday morning, Frank was happy there was a built-in excuse to not let them stay.
Scouser barked ferociously at the window of the house-barge as Peterâs 4Runner pulled up to the dock.
âScouser!â Frank yelled. âHeel!â
The Doberman sat on his hind legs and stared out the window.
Frank hobbled off the barge and onto the dock. He walked with a limp due to the increasing pain that lingered in his left knee. The origins of the injury dated back to his time playing basketball for Fairhaven High School, but they remained due to his stubbornness and refusal to go get a consultation for a knee replacement. Frank was an Irish Catholic, and the Irish would rather put up with something being wrong for their entire lives rather than have to pick up the phone to make a doctorâs appointment. That would require the admission of pain and weakness.
Frank was never much of a talker when it came to pain, physical or emotional. He came from a long line of men who believed silence was a virtue, who thought if you didnât speak it, maybe it didnât exist. So instead of seeing a specialist or filling out paperwork, Frank limped through the years, relying on cortisone shots, Advil, and muttered curses under his breath.
He waved his right hand in the air, the left tucked into his blue jeans.
âThe girls can stay!â he yelled. âBut not you!â
âHello to you, too, Dad!â
âIâm serious. I donât need any trouble, Pete. You live your life and I live mine.â
Frank wasnât an overly educated man, but he was intuitive, enough to pick up on little things that went unspoken between him and his son. He knew the last time Peter came home that he had gotten himself involved in something nefarious. He knew about his near expulsion from Dartmouth College, his move to Stillwell, his lack of communication, his deeply unconventional family⌠but all of those were things he could forgive.
It was Peterâs abandonment when he needed him the most, however, that he could not forgive. He held it against him so strongly, that now that he was back, Frank wouldnât allow himself to do anything but wait for him to take off again.
âDad, itâs just me and the girls,â Peter said. âAt least let us come in to catch up. If you really donât want me here, Iâll leave after I find out how youâve been doing.â
Frank sighed.
âFine,â he said. âBut if anyone finds out, Iâm telling them you forced me at gunpoint.â
âFair enough.â
A car door slammed, and Edith came running out of the backseat.
âFrank!â she yelled. She maintained momentum toward him and jumped into his arms. When he lifted her in the air, he winced. He hadnât anticipated how much heavier she was than she was when she was three. He felt an immense guilt for not being there for her growing, though it quickly turned to anger for his son, who took her away from him.
He looked toward the car and saw Peter pulling Josey out of her seat. She was a newborn, two weeks old, the last time he saw her. Frank had her birthday memorized. Josey was born on November 30, 2021. It was a home birth, upstairs in his Sunset Beach Road house, as her mother refused to go to the hospital. Peter took off again just thirteen days later, before he had the time to ingrain her face into his memory. His wife, Lily, fell for the first time the same day Peter left.
He lost her, and himself, six months later.
When Peter was around, bad things seemed to happen. That was the taste that lingered in his mouth. Not even the salty ocean water could have rinsed it out.
âCome on,â Frank said. âIâll give you the tour.â
Peter wanted to say that he was sorry about leaving, and even more sorry about his mother and not being there, but he did not have it in him to say any of that. Instead, he deflected toward Scouser, who was circling them and sniffing their ankles.
âYouâre going to need to keep that dog under control,â Peter said.
âHe likes who I like and dislikes who I donât.â
âDad,â Peter said. âThe girls are small.â
âScouser will like the girls.â
He was right. It didnât take Scouser long to take to the two little ones. While Edith jumped around the one room of the house-barge and Josey sat on the bed, Scouser stayed right next to them, licking their faces and posturing by their side. He stared at Peter from the end of the bed.
âWhen did you get back?â Frank asked.
âThis morning,â Peter said. âWe stopped for a quick meal on the way, but otherwise we came straight here.â
âIâm not used to company. Canât say I miss it very much, but itâs good to see the girls.â He angled his head toward Josey, who was still sitting on the bed and still hadnât said a word. âShe looks just like her mother.â
âI know,â Peter said. âThatâs what Iâm afraid of.â
âWhere is she?â
Peter shook his head. Despite the animosity, Frank knew his son, and knew what his mannerisms meant even without words attached to them.
âThe boy, too?â
Peter nodded, once again leaving the words unspoken. There was too much pain in saying them out loud.
âWell,â Frank said, âIâm sorry for your loss.â
âThanks, Dad,â Peter said.
âI want you to know that Iâm not going to call the cops,â Frank said. âIâm too old to take care of the girls on my own and I wouldnât want to see them in foster care.â
âDad,â Peter said. âLetâs not get ahead of ourââ
âDonât mistake that as an offer to stay though,â Frank said.
âIâve got nowhere elseââ
âI know you canât possibly be broke,â Frank said.
âThat doesnât matter.â
Frank looked over at the girls. Their hands were empty, no toys, no books, just intertwined fingers on their laps. They watched the door instead of each other, waiting for the sound of someone coming to get them. Boots on the wooden dock of the marina. Loud knocking at the door.
His son had set this in motion, and like every decision the boy ever made, the fallout landed on people who had no say in it. The girls hadnât chosen this life, just like Frank and Lily hadnât either.
âCome here, sweetie,â Frank said to Edith. âLetâs go for a walk.â
âAre you sure?â Peter said. âIt looks like itâs going to snow.â
âWeâre lucky if it does,â Frank said.
He rose up out of his seat, picked Josey up off the bed, and walked toward the exit of the house. Edith followed behind. Scouser sat and continued to stare at Peter.
âScouser,â Frank said. âOn me.â
The Doberman followed the group out of the front door.
âWhat do you want me to do?â Peter asked.
âGet some sleep,â Frank said. âYou look like shit.â
âThanks,â Peter said. He smiled a tight smile that said more than his words did, and Frank nodded.
âThatâs a bad word I said,â he whispered to Edith. âDonât repeat that.â
As they walked farther from the water, the air began to taste different. Frank missed it. That was why he had moved to the marina.
Snowflakes fell slowly.
âItâs snowing,â Edith said, once she noticed.
âLucky us,â Frank said.
In moments, the air fell still, and the flakes that drifted downward felt more like they were hovering than falling. The ground softened beneath their feet and a hush fell over the marina.
âThere was lots of snow where we came from,â Edith said. âItâs from the angels.â
âReally?â He laughed.
âYeah,â she said, her voice softening. Her eyes drifted somewhere past the boat, past the water, as if remembering something she wished she could forget. Her face went still and for the first time since she arrived, she was quiet.
Frank noticed and cleared his throat. He looked at Josey in his arms. Like her sister, her face went blank and subdued, and Frank could tell she was thinking of something a three-year-old should not be thinking about.
âWell,â he said gently, âwe donât have to talk about that anymore.â
Edith reached out and her small hand grabbed hold of two of his fingers. A tear escaped his left eye before he even knew it was coming. It was only one, but it fell and got lost somewhere in the whiteness of his beard. It was the first tear heâd shed since the day he lost his wife. It had been three long years.
For her entire life, Medusa (no relation to the myth) has always had her way with men. Theyâve paid her way through university, provided her with a place to live, and given her the chance to fall in love. But love, for Meddy, can only be demonstrated through power. To prove the formidable influence she has over the men in her life, Meddy publishes a manifesto for her utopian vision of self-determination, drawing inspiration from her reading of Donna Tarttâs The Secret History and William Goldingâs Lord of the Flies.
What starts as an intellectual endeavorâStudents for Fundamental Changeâtransforms into a toxic ecosystem in Stillwell, a remote town in Maineâs woods. Meddy, ever the charismatic cult-like figure, forcibly displaces the townâs aging population to establish a commune that centers countercultural ideals. At Stillwell, belonging comes at a cost. Only men are allowed to join; those in lower ranks are stripped of their names and forced to earn them back through combat to secure their place within the commune.
Hovering at the edges is Peter Hollowayâacademic at heart, father to Meddyâs children, and an uneasy discipleâwhose faith in Meddyâs brilliance complicates his complicity with her social experiment.
Told through multiple points of view, including a stark glimpse of Meddyâs younger self, Medusa resists easy diagnosis. Readers expecting a tidy villain may be startled by the novelâs violent pivot that makes Meddyâs first-born son, Paul, the one to watch.
One of the novelâs strengths is its attention to the mundane. The minutiae of Meddy crafting her college thesis which becomes her manifesto, her walks across a wintry campus, her interior wrestling with beloved books, accrue into something chillingly plausible. The prose is luscious in its portrait of academic life in the wintry Northeast, a cozy winter read with a sinister undercurrent, hot cocoa in hand, snow piling at the window.
The narration resists over-explanation. Peter, Paul, and Meddy are rendered as they are, without authorial judgment, while peripheral perspectivesâlocal police, the FBI, the town priestâsharpen the bookâs moral terrain and expose the abuses at the communeâs edges.
My only reservation with Medusa is its abrupt ending. After investing in Peter as the storyâs steward, I wanted more runway: prison, trial, reckoning. Instead, weâre left with displacement. This choice amplifies the bookâs slow-burning dread for the fate of its characters and leaves us suspended in winter, hungry for what comes next.