Review of Deceptive Calm
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Rudiah Mbera
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Review of Deceptive Calm
[Following is a volunteer review of "Deceptive Calm" by Patricia Skipper.]
I finished Deceptive Calm with this strange mix of tension and relief in my chest. Maybe it was the way the story doesn't let you forget what Vanessa has been through, even as she finally gets to breathe. The book starts in silence—literal and emotional—and moves slowly, almost stubbornly, toward voice. Her voice. Which, in my opinion, is what the whole thing is about. Redemption in this story doesn’t happen in a flash or a headline. It unfolds step by aching step—from being the polished wife of a power-hungry man, to a woman hiding in borrowed clothes, to someone who finally stands up in court with her truth and refuses to shrink. I think calling it a justice arc would be accurate, but it’s also a reclamation. Of name, of body, of motherhood. Of being seen.
Watching Vanessa descend into that suffocating marriage with Tod Von Westerkamp was like watching someone drown in plain sight. The manipulation is subtle at first, until it isn’t. He isolates her, shames her body, turns even her desire to breastfeed into a battlefield. I felt anger rise in my throat more than once—not because it was shocking, but because it felt eerily familiar. The way emotional and psychological abuse unfolds here is done with such chilling precision. It’s not loud. It’s not always physical. It’s in how Vanessa is slowly trained to question her instincts, then her memories, then herself. And all of it is wrapped in luxury and wealth, which makes it that much more insidious.
What really hit me, though, was how the story didn’t stop with survival. There’s a moment where Vanessa, after everything, chooses to go public. Not just to free herself, but to speak for others who can’t. And that’s when it shifted from being about escape to being about redemption. The arrests of Tod and Alexander Von Westerkamp were satisfying, no doubt, but what stayed with me more was how Vanessa stepped into advocacy. She could have disappeared. She didn’t. That felt bigger.
Now, the male characters—apart from Barry Hale—don’t offer much complexity. Most of them are either predators or placeholders. I get the point; this is Vanessa’s world, and the focus stays where it should. But a part of me wondered if a bit more emotional nuance, especially in someone like Tod, would have given the story an added layer. He’s terrifying, yes, but often in a flat, scripted way. I think I kept looking for a crack in the mask, something that made his cruelty feel less mechanical. It’s not a flaw that ruined anything for me, but it did make the emotional landscape feel narrower in certain scenes.
Still, I can’t pretend the book didn’t move me. It did. From the swimming scenes in Big Sur to the medical records buried in that hospital basement, I felt the stakes all the way through. And while the ending wraps things up neater than real life probably would—Vanessa’s vindication, the courtroom drama, the closure—it felt earned. Maybe a little too convenient in places, but I didn’t care. I think readers need closure too, sometimes. Especially when a story walks through so much fire.
So yes, I’m giving it 5 out of 5 stars. Because even with the occasional lack of balance in its cast, the story as a whole worked for me. I believed in Vanessa’s silence and her scream. I believed in Trisha’s loyalty, Barry’s risk, Brett’s innocence. And I believed, more than anything, that redemption isn’t about starting over—it’s about being brave enough to finish, on your terms. That’s what this book gave me. That, and a quiet reminder that healing doesn’t always come with applause. Sometimes, it comes when you stop hiding.
******
Deceptive Calm
View: on Bookshelves | on Amazon
I finished Deceptive Calm with this strange mix of tension and relief in my chest. Maybe it was the way the story doesn't let you forget what Vanessa has been through, even as she finally gets to breathe. The book starts in silence—literal and emotional—and moves slowly, almost stubbornly, toward voice. Her voice. Which, in my opinion, is what the whole thing is about. Redemption in this story doesn’t happen in a flash or a headline. It unfolds step by aching step—from being the polished wife of a power-hungry man, to a woman hiding in borrowed clothes, to someone who finally stands up in court with her truth and refuses to shrink. I think calling it a justice arc would be accurate, but it’s also a reclamation. Of name, of body, of motherhood. Of being seen.
Watching Vanessa descend into that suffocating marriage with Tod Von Westerkamp was like watching someone drown in plain sight. The manipulation is subtle at first, until it isn’t. He isolates her, shames her body, turns even her desire to breastfeed into a battlefield. I felt anger rise in my throat more than once—not because it was shocking, but because it felt eerily familiar. The way emotional and psychological abuse unfolds here is done with such chilling precision. It’s not loud. It’s not always physical. It’s in how Vanessa is slowly trained to question her instincts, then her memories, then herself. And all of it is wrapped in luxury and wealth, which makes it that much more insidious.
What really hit me, though, was how the story didn’t stop with survival. There’s a moment where Vanessa, after everything, chooses to go public. Not just to free herself, but to speak for others who can’t. And that’s when it shifted from being about escape to being about redemption. The arrests of Tod and Alexander Von Westerkamp were satisfying, no doubt, but what stayed with me more was how Vanessa stepped into advocacy. She could have disappeared. She didn’t. That felt bigger.
Now, the male characters—apart from Barry Hale—don’t offer much complexity. Most of them are either predators or placeholders. I get the point; this is Vanessa’s world, and the focus stays where it should. But a part of me wondered if a bit more emotional nuance, especially in someone like Tod, would have given the story an added layer. He’s terrifying, yes, but often in a flat, scripted way. I think I kept looking for a crack in the mask, something that made his cruelty feel less mechanical. It’s not a flaw that ruined anything for me, but it did make the emotional landscape feel narrower in certain scenes.
Still, I can’t pretend the book didn’t move me. It did. From the swimming scenes in Big Sur to the medical records buried in that hospital basement, I felt the stakes all the way through. And while the ending wraps things up neater than real life probably would—Vanessa’s vindication, the courtroom drama, the closure—it felt earned. Maybe a little too convenient in places, but I didn’t care. I think readers need closure too, sometimes. Especially when a story walks through so much fire.
So yes, I’m giving it 5 out of 5 stars. Because even with the occasional lack of balance in its cast, the story as a whole worked for me. I believed in Vanessa’s silence and her scream. I believed in Trisha’s loyalty, Barry’s risk, Brett’s innocence. And I believed, more than anything, that redemption isn’t about starting over—it’s about being brave enough to finish, on your terms. That’s what this book gave me. That, and a quiet reminder that healing doesn’t always come with applause. Sometimes, it comes when you stop hiding.
******
Deceptive Calm
View: on Bookshelves | on Amazon
