Some spoilers ahead. Content and trigger warning for violence, sexual harassment, sexual assault and rape, and death.
Having read Louise Milligan’s non-fiction books Cardinal (2019) and Witness (2021) which interweave investigative journalism and legal analysis, I was intrigued upon hearing of Milligan’s foray into crime fiction with Pheasants Nest (2024). The novel’s events surround the not-so-random kidnapping of the protagonist, journalist Kate Delaney, after a night out where a man at a pub harrasses Kate. When she responds with a joke, he perceives this as an act of humiliation, and decides to stalk Kate before kidnapping her on the very street she lives on.
More times than not, there is no convoluted reasoning or trauma behind criminal behaviour. The abductor is never given the basic right to have a name, instead he is known as “The Guy”, indicating to readers that we do not need to know his name. This is intentional as Milligan affords “The Guy” limited characterisation to speak to the fact that many perpetrators hurt others on a whim. He is simultaneously scary and “an idiot”, succumbing to rookie mistakes to cover up his tracks. At one point, he leaves behind evidence for the police to latch onto, even if they catch on rather slowly.
There is no doubt that Milligan’s journalistic background was on display, especially considering I read this novel while the Four Corners episode about Cranbrook School aired on ABC. Real-life cases resonate throughout the novel such as ‘backpack murderer’ Ivan Milat and the violent rape and murder of Jill Meagher. Milligan had previously interviewed Meagher’s husband, Tom, and this knowledge is present in Kate’s boyfriend, Liam Carroll, who is situated in a similar circumstance where the police instinct was to suspect him. Another realistic moment was when a politician tells a devastated Kate after her ex-boyfriend’s passing, “I’ve had lots of girlfriends in the past, and I would have been devastated if one of them had been killed in a car accident.” Sounds like something straight out of a politician’s mouth.
Pheasants Nest shifts between perspectives — some of which take up one or two chapters — while past memories serve as the link to the present. In delving into the backstories of both major and minor characters, this often distracts from the main narrative. For example, the backstory of Kate’s family is necessary for her self-development, whereas the inclusion of Kate’s ex and his family is sporadic until they prove useful in the denouement.
While I understand the storytelling function of including the point-of-view of cops — it is a crime novel after all — I too, like Liam and Sylvia, Kate’s friend, became frustrated whenever John Dooley, the hardline, judgey cop showed up. This wasn’t the case when Peter D’Ambrosio shows up, who is more sympathetic and dealing with chronic PTSD, and subsequently reinvigorates the investigation process. However, I would have preferred the streamlining of perspectives; Kate experiencing the crime in real time, while Liam and Sylvia react to the police investigation. They were central to giving us an intimate look at Kate’s personality as they reminisced on the past while contending with the uncertainty of whether she would be coming back.
“As someone who had catalogued the victimhood of so many others, she couldn’t help but catalogue her own”, Kate the journalist and Kate the “capital-V Victim” are reconciled. An external perception of the crime is emphasised when Kate imagines herself writing “the script of a nightly current affairs story” and guessing the inevitable clichés within the media’s narrative. This allows Kate to stay alert and envision a future where she is still an active journalist…or the subject of a shock news story.
I was particularly interested in Kate’s brief recount of an uncomfortable situation with a stranger at the age of five, and how she remembers it in hindsight. It would have benefited from an earlier introduction so readers could have better understand Kate, and how a crime (or potential crime) can either be arbitrary or the result of targeting individuals who are alone or vulnerable.
Kate emphasises her tendency to resort to “gallows humour”, which Milligan explains can be “completely inappropriate if witnessed by the uninitiated”, was often unexpected and uncomfortable. Then again, that is exactly the point of its inclusion as crime itself is an uncomfortable thing for someone to experience, and for bystanders to witness.
There is a brief description of rape, and while it is not graphic, the reader is privy to Kate’s thoughts as it is happening. As such, her “gallows humour” is strategically placed to add to the discomfort of the reader bearing witness to the violence. I also appreciate the flashbacks of a loving relationship between Kate and Liam, including positive depictions of sex. In doing so, the novel did not just resort to showing only sexual assault and harassment, but also pleasure and consent. And yet, the question “how will [Kate] feel about sex from this time on?” will continue to linger.
The dramatic tension generally ebbed and flowed. It was captured well in the leadup to Kate’s kidnapping, including Liam’s gradual and frantic realisation that Kate is in danger, as well as the final scenes. Some of the novel’s descriptions, however, read as odd, including the comparison of slow windmills to the swaying of a “drunken KKK crew”, while others read as powerful, like “here she is, imagining her potentially compromised sexual future, post-rape, when she is still mid-abduction”.
The conclusion felt abrupt, as if there was more begging to be told. I personally think a sequel could explore the post-crime consequences with Milligan’s journalistic experience bringing valuable insight. Yet, I acknowledge that doing so, would mean prolonging this character’s trauma for the engagement of the reader.
All-in-all, it is no easy feat stepping into the ever-expanding Australian fiction scene. Milligan did so with an intriguing premise that draws upon her extensive knowledge of crime, knowing that she will inevitably be perceived as a journalist-turned-author.
Pheasants Nest (2024) is now available across bookstores, including signed copies at Gleebooks Dulwich Hill and Dymocks on George St.
