Review of Deceptive Calm
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Review of Deceptive Calm
[Following is a volunteer review of "Deceptive Calm" by Patricia Skipper.]
There’s a certain quiet horror in realizing that a place meant to heal you can also be the very thing that destroys you. Deceptive Calm captures that paradox so intimately through the harrowing arc of Vanessa’s son, Brett, and his concealed diagnosis of sickle cell anemia. What begins as a medical mystery quickly spirals into something far more sinister, where it’s not just illness Vanessa is battling, but a system designed to bury inconvenient truths. It didn’t take long before I felt the full weight of that scene in the hospital—where Brett’s life is literally hanging in the balance and no one seems willing to say the truth out loud. His diagnosis doesn’t just expose a genetic truth, but a racial one, and it sends shockwaves through the perfectly controlled narrative the Von Westerkamps have built. In my opinion, that’s where the story lands its hardest punches—right in the quiet collusion of institutions that are supposed to protect us.
The hospital, with all its polished corridors and smiling staff, turns out to be complicit in something deeply ugly. Doctors don’t just lie by omission—they actively erase. Records go missing, symptoms are dismissed, and behind it all is the sickening realization that race is not just a social barrier here; it becomes a tool for denial, manipulation, and even life-or-death decisions. I kept thinking, what happens when medical malpractice intersects with social bias? You get something that isn’t just unethical—it’s lethal. And somehow, the book doesn't scream this in your face. It just shows you—over and over—until you can’t look away. I'm still thinking about the moment when Barry, against every warning and threat, insists on retesting Brett’s blood. It’s not just an act of medicine. It's an act of defiance.
Speaking of Barry—God, I liked that character so much. A quiet man in a loud world, his loyalty and moral compass gave the novel the emotional gravity it needed. I liked Barry Hale’s character—a genuine, steadfast man who shows that goodness can survive trauma. He’s not a knight in shining armor, and I appreciated that. He’s tired. He’s bruised. But when it matters, he shows up. His love for Vanessa doesn’t erase what happened in the past, but it honors it. The way he moves through the hospital, demanding records, risking his career—it’s not flashy, but it hit me harder than any dramatic monologue could have.
If I had one small gripe—and I really do mean small—I disliked that Barry didn’t show up earlier in the story. I missed him when the book was heavy with darkness. There were long stretches in the beginning where I think his presence might’ve softened the emotional load a bit or added another layer of insight. Maybe a letter, a call, even a memory—just something to remind us he was still part of her world. Still, I wouldn’t change much, because when he does arrive, it matters.
I’m giving Deceptive Calm a solid 5 out of 5 stars. Not because it’s perfect, but because it dares to talk about things most novels barely glance at. Racism in medicine, the silence of powerful institutions, the emotional toll of speaking out—it all lands here in ways that feel both heartbreaking and honest. The book doesn’t flinch, and neither did I. By the time I reached the end, I realized I hadn’t just read a story—I’d walked through it, every aching step.
******
Deceptive Calm
View: on Bookshelves | on Amazon
There’s a certain quiet horror in realizing that a place meant to heal you can also be the very thing that destroys you. Deceptive Calm captures that paradox so intimately through the harrowing arc of Vanessa’s son, Brett, and his concealed diagnosis of sickle cell anemia. What begins as a medical mystery quickly spirals into something far more sinister, where it’s not just illness Vanessa is battling, but a system designed to bury inconvenient truths. It didn’t take long before I felt the full weight of that scene in the hospital—where Brett’s life is literally hanging in the balance and no one seems willing to say the truth out loud. His diagnosis doesn’t just expose a genetic truth, but a racial one, and it sends shockwaves through the perfectly controlled narrative the Von Westerkamps have built. In my opinion, that’s where the story lands its hardest punches—right in the quiet collusion of institutions that are supposed to protect us.
The hospital, with all its polished corridors and smiling staff, turns out to be complicit in something deeply ugly. Doctors don’t just lie by omission—they actively erase. Records go missing, symptoms are dismissed, and behind it all is the sickening realization that race is not just a social barrier here; it becomes a tool for denial, manipulation, and even life-or-death decisions. I kept thinking, what happens when medical malpractice intersects with social bias? You get something that isn’t just unethical—it’s lethal. And somehow, the book doesn't scream this in your face. It just shows you—over and over—until you can’t look away. I'm still thinking about the moment when Barry, against every warning and threat, insists on retesting Brett’s blood. It’s not just an act of medicine. It's an act of defiance.
Speaking of Barry—God, I liked that character so much. A quiet man in a loud world, his loyalty and moral compass gave the novel the emotional gravity it needed. I liked Barry Hale’s character—a genuine, steadfast man who shows that goodness can survive trauma. He’s not a knight in shining armor, and I appreciated that. He’s tired. He’s bruised. But when it matters, he shows up. His love for Vanessa doesn’t erase what happened in the past, but it honors it. The way he moves through the hospital, demanding records, risking his career—it’s not flashy, but it hit me harder than any dramatic monologue could have.
If I had one small gripe—and I really do mean small—I disliked that Barry didn’t show up earlier in the story. I missed him when the book was heavy with darkness. There were long stretches in the beginning where I think his presence might’ve softened the emotional load a bit or added another layer of insight. Maybe a letter, a call, even a memory—just something to remind us he was still part of her world. Still, I wouldn’t change much, because when he does arrive, it matters.
I’m giving Deceptive Calm a solid 5 out of 5 stars. Not because it’s perfect, but because it dares to talk about things most novels barely glance at. Racism in medicine, the silence of powerful institutions, the emotional toll of speaking out—it all lands here in ways that feel both heartbreaking and honest. The book doesn’t flinch, and neither did I. By the time I reached the end, I realized I hadn’t just read a story—I’d walked through it, every aching step.
******
Deceptive Calm
View: on Bookshelves | on Amazon
