Published in September of this year, Troubled Blood is the fifth installment in the Cormoran Strike series, which renowned author J.K. Rowling has been writing since 2013. J.K. Rowling, the wealthiest author in the world, is also perhaps one of the most controversial. After being accused of transphobia, most notably on Twitter, Rowling published a blog post explaining her views on trans activism and 21st century misogyny in June 2020. It outlined some very real concerns about women’s mental health in adolescence while simultaneously blaming trans activists for misinterpreting her concerns as bigotry. Rowling shares a fear with many critics of gender identity laws, especially the infamous bathroom bill; she seems to anticipate numbers of men masquerading as transgender women in order to take advantage of women’s spaces. This brings us to the self-identified gender critic’s latest novel, whose antagonist is one such man.
But first, a disclaimer is needed. I have not taken the initiative to read the other four books in the Strike series, nor watch the TV series, so my knowledge of the characters and any other background is limited. I will only summarize the first four sections of the book to avoid any spoilers. In addition, it is important to note that there are numerous mentions of rape and abduction in Troubled Blood, so if that is particularly troubling subject matter for you, I would not recommend you read it.
Handicapped veteran Cormoran Strike and partner at his detective agency Robin Ellacott are hired by the daughter of Margot Bamborough, a doctor and former “bunny girl” who has been missing for almost forty years at the time the novel takes place. The case was fumbled in 1974 by a detective who believed he could solve it using astrology and tarot, and his successor attempted six months later with no luck. Nevertheless, Margot’s daughter cannot rest until she knows her mother’s fate. Underlying the investigation are Strike and Robin’s problems with their estranged partners as Strike is repeatedly contacted by his miserable ex-fiancee and Robin endures a contentious divorce. Both newly single and working closely in the agency, they try to ignore their mutual attraction despite the jealousy that surfaces throughout the story.
Strike’s personality and backstory resemble BBC Sherlock’s John Watson to a degree that may lead one to call it lazy writing. Both were injured in Afghanistan, walk with a limp, and work as detectives. In addition, neither Strike, whose main attributes are his prosthetic leg, perpetual grimness, and memories of past lovers, nor Robin, are especially compelling or likable characters. Chapters full of their internal monologues and lengthy transits across England are grueling. Rowling’s habit of virtue-signaling gay representation continues as several suspects are reported to be “queer,” and the author emphasizes the relationship between Bamborough’s daughter and her wife. It strikes a gay reader as something blatantly written by a cisgender, heterosexual author. This behavior of Rowling’s was obvious in a tweet responding to critics telling her to “please talk to some queer people”—she pointed out that one of her best friends was a butch lesbian and reportedly affirmed her, as if that fact absolved her of bigotry.
The narrative jumps around oddly, from the first chapter extensively remarking on Cornish nationalism to frequent switches between characters’ inner speech that make the reader feel unacquainted with each protagonist at different times.
Despite J.K. Rowling’s several faux pas already evident in the first few sections of the novel, it is important to separate the quality of her writing from her political opinions. Her attention to the craft and highly developed style are evident. Rowling is masterful at building suspense, not only from one chapter to the next, but within dialogue. Her detectives flatter the self-congratulatory reader, who, with a healthy dose of hindsight bias, tells themself they would have deduced the same things. Rowling’s characters are flawed and therefore undeniably human—they forget birthdays, are subject to sudden mood changes upon receiving text messages, and struggle to navigate relationships with coworkers without seeming domineering. The dialogue between the main characters is magnetic, showcasing perfectly the relationship between two people who do not know each other intimately and yet occupy such a role in each other’s lives that their words and ideas flow smoothly between them. As their mutual attraction builds, the reader implores them to overcome their pride and admit their feelings, an effect every good romance novel produces. Dealing with death, trauma, and love, Troubled Blood is emotional and coherent throughout.
The aspect of the book that worried me most was Rowling’s clear agenda in framing the main suspect, serial killer and rapist Dennis Creed, as a crossdresser. The suspicion expressed by Rowling in her blog post, that predatory men will take advantage of potential gender recognition laws to attack women, is echoed in Creed’s profile. He dresses in drag, at first for fun at events, and then as a strategy to abduct, torture, and kill intoxicated, unsuspecting women. Through the depiction of this character, Rowling demonizes and casts suspicion upon all trans women. Assuming that anyone would transition, enduring a complete social and possibly hormonal upheaval, for a reason other than self-actualization is ignorant. It is disappointing to see such an influential artist promote a bigoted opinion in her work and easy to see how this representation could manipulate fans into falling in with transphobic rhetoric. After all, so many young people have come to associate her with the whimsical side of childhood.
Overall, Troubled Blood is not a success. Despite an intriguing plotline, the poorly written characters and manipulative agenda evident in Rowling’s latest novel diminish its appeal and reception by those critical of Rowling’s attitudes toward transgender rights.