Review of Deceptive Calm
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Biggie Moffat
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Review of Deceptive Calm
[Following is a volunteer review of "Deceptive Calm" by Patricia Skipper.]
In Deceptive Calm, the title might lead you to expect a quiet literary introspection, but what you actually get is a storm disguised in silk gloves. The story follows Vanessa Vaughn, a woman whose beauty, grace, and calculated silence have made her the perfect accessory to the powerful Von Westerkamp family—until a rare blood disorder in her son blows a centuries-old secret wide open. The book hits with intensity, not just because of its shocking events, but because it draws so much of its strength from the quieter, more insidious forms of violence: privilege, systemic corruption, and the way silence is weaponized.
What struck me early on wasn’t just the unfolding suspense or even Vanessa’s harrowing journey, but how cleanly the author lays bare the rot beneath the polished exterior of elite society. The Von Westerkamps use their wealth the way some people use air—they don’t even think about it, and when they do, it’s as a tool. When Vanessa’s baby is diagnosed with sickle cell anemia, the diagnosis threatens to unravel their pristine, white-washed image. Instead of responding like humans, Alexander and Tod Von Westerkamp respond like institutions: with denial, cover-ups, and a breathtaking level of racism. Medical records are falsified, lab reports shredded, a doctor coerced into rewriting a child’s condition as pneumonia. And then, when concealment isn’t enough, they go for elimination. Brake lines are cut. A woman and her child are nearly drowned. It's terrifying, not because it’s unbelievable, but because it rings with the kind of cold logic that real-world power structures often follow.
The novel also does something quietly powerful—it lifts female friendship to the center of the narrative in a way that feels earned. Trisha Bibbs is not a sidekick. She's not the sassy best friend written in for comic relief. She's the story’s heart. She’s the one who drives through rain and suspicion to get Vanessa out. She's the one who swims through freezing ocean water to rescue a baby. Her character makes the pain of betrayal from everyone else sting more sharply, and she gives the book its sense of warmth and redemption. I think, in some ways, her presence kept the story from sinking under the weight of its darkest elements.
That said, I did find myself wishing that more of the supporting characters were given even half the dimensionality that Trisha received. Characters like Elena, who shelters Vanessa later, or even Mrs. Sanchez and Brett, her son, often feel like placeholders. They serve the plot, yes, but they don’t feel as fully alive. It’s not that they needed lengthy arcs or detailed backstories, but even a few well-placed lines could’ve expanded their presence into something more memorable. I wonder if the author, in focusing so intently on Vanessa’s inner world, forgot to widen the lens just a little bit.
Still, I can say without hesitation that this book left a mark on me. The pacing is electric once it gets going, and the narrative keeps asking hard questions even as it races toward justice. The final scenes—Vanessa’s return, the public exposure, the arrests—are satisfying in the way a closing door is satisfying. Not because everything is fixed, but because something is finally over. The danger passes, but not before leaving scars, which feels true.
For all its flaws, Deceptive Calm succeeds in building a world where injustice wears a designer suit and walks a hospital corridor with a scalpel in hand. And more importantly, it builds a heroine who learns how to take off the mask she never wanted to wear in the first place. For that, and for the ache and fire it left behind, I’m giving it 5 out of 5 stars. It’s rare to find a novel that manages to thrill and provoke without leaning too hard into either. This one does, in its own fierce, imperfect way.
******
Deceptive Calm
View: on Bookshelves | on Amazon
In Deceptive Calm, the title might lead you to expect a quiet literary introspection, but what you actually get is a storm disguised in silk gloves. The story follows Vanessa Vaughn, a woman whose beauty, grace, and calculated silence have made her the perfect accessory to the powerful Von Westerkamp family—until a rare blood disorder in her son blows a centuries-old secret wide open. The book hits with intensity, not just because of its shocking events, but because it draws so much of its strength from the quieter, more insidious forms of violence: privilege, systemic corruption, and the way silence is weaponized.
What struck me early on wasn’t just the unfolding suspense or even Vanessa’s harrowing journey, but how cleanly the author lays bare the rot beneath the polished exterior of elite society. The Von Westerkamps use their wealth the way some people use air—they don’t even think about it, and when they do, it’s as a tool. When Vanessa’s baby is diagnosed with sickle cell anemia, the diagnosis threatens to unravel their pristine, white-washed image. Instead of responding like humans, Alexander and Tod Von Westerkamp respond like institutions: with denial, cover-ups, and a breathtaking level of racism. Medical records are falsified, lab reports shredded, a doctor coerced into rewriting a child’s condition as pneumonia. And then, when concealment isn’t enough, they go for elimination. Brake lines are cut. A woman and her child are nearly drowned. It's terrifying, not because it’s unbelievable, but because it rings with the kind of cold logic that real-world power structures often follow.
The novel also does something quietly powerful—it lifts female friendship to the center of the narrative in a way that feels earned. Trisha Bibbs is not a sidekick. She's not the sassy best friend written in for comic relief. She's the story’s heart. She’s the one who drives through rain and suspicion to get Vanessa out. She's the one who swims through freezing ocean water to rescue a baby. Her character makes the pain of betrayal from everyone else sting more sharply, and she gives the book its sense of warmth and redemption. I think, in some ways, her presence kept the story from sinking under the weight of its darkest elements.
That said, I did find myself wishing that more of the supporting characters were given even half the dimensionality that Trisha received. Characters like Elena, who shelters Vanessa later, or even Mrs. Sanchez and Brett, her son, often feel like placeholders. They serve the plot, yes, but they don’t feel as fully alive. It’s not that they needed lengthy arcs or detailed backstories, but even a few well-placed lines could’ve expanded their presence into something more memorable. I wonder if the author, in focusing so intently on Vanessa’s inner world, forgot to widen the lens just a little bit.
Still, I can say without hesitation that this book left a mark on me. The pacing is electric once it gets going, and the narrative keeps asking hard questions even as it races toward justice. The final scenes—Vanessa’s return, the public exposure, the arrests—are satisfying in the way a closing door is satisfying. Not because everything is fixed, but because something is finally over. The danger passes, but not before leaving scars, which feels true.
For all its flaws, Deceptive Calm succeeds in building a world where injustice wears a designer suit and walks a hospital corridor with a scalpel in hand. And more importantly, it builds a heroine who learns how to take off the mask she never wanted to wear in the first place. For that, and for the ache and fire it left behind, I’m giving it 5 out of 5 stars. It’s rare to find a novel that manages to thrill and provoke without leaning too hard into either. This one does, in its own fierce, imperfect way.
******
Deceptive Calm
View: on Bookshelves | on Amazon
