Without Mercy, by Renate Dorrenstein, trans. Hester Velmans

When perfect parents lose the plot

Renate Dorrenstein is one of the most prolific and popular Dutch authors. Her novels read like film scripts (at least one is in production), filled with animated dialogues, twists of the plot and turns of the screw. They are psychological thrillers in which what's most to be feared is closest to home.

To say Dorrestein enjoys experimenting with stress is an understatement. Both her translated novels push an extreme situation to the brink, then over the edge.

While Heart of Stone took the legacy of child abuse as its theme, Without Mercy addresses a new taboo: a child's murder.

When Jenn, the "perfect teenager" (surely an oxymoron?), dies a senselessly violent death, his "perfect parents" find that nothing has prepared them to cope. Neither Phinus's commitment to his child-friendly work designing board games, nor Franka's open-hearted friendships and involvement in her social worker's caseload, can protect them from their loss.

Dorrestein's novels read like sounding-boards for the tensions of our times. We live in such a psychologistic age that it is inevitable that the protagonists turn inwards and towards one another. They disinter memories that refuse to be laid to rest.

The novel alternates scenes from Jenn's life, in particular those little landmarks of early childhood, and of his last days, on the brink of a wholly optimistic adulthood.

Everyone in this tightly-knit cast blames him- or herself. We see how the kaleidoscope turns on Jenn's final hours, to take into account what each did without the other knowing.

This first stage of blame is more about the guilty iniquity of survivors than verifiable fault. Is the murderer arguably as much a victim as Jenn? Are the police and justice systems geared to take too legalistic a view, rather than to see the whole picture? And what use are the medical and psychiatric services?

When experts have so little to offer, the characters fall back on each other. Love becomes the merciless heart which, instead of offering stability, provides only a whirling vortex. Conforming to gender stereotypes, Phinus starts out demanding redress, but provokes the law's punitive responses as his behaviour spirals out of control. Franka becomes increasingly frenetic in projecting her need for motherhood on to a wild assortment of wayward adolescents. Following an excruciating attempt at reconciliation, the two go their separate ways.

At this point, the book becomes the study of one man's mental disintegration. While entirely believable, for the reader the shift is less convincing. No doubt Dorrestein wishes to unsettle us but, as her reader, we look for a personality, rather than a plot to unravel. Which is how we are left suspended, wondering lamely what will happen next – whether after trauma and drama there is only this terrifying sensation of collapse.

To be predeceased by children is perhaps the worst thing that can occur to a parent. But the mutual inability of two exemplary parents to come to terms with a horrific experience is at the pitiless centre of this narrative. Read Without Mercy for its painfully cutting, and surprisingly funny, alternations between parents and children, and for its powerful descriptive passages. Dorrestein is a truly courageous writer.