Review: The God of the Woods

The God of the Woods by Liz Moore
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Stepping into Liz Moore's The God of the Woods was like entering a forest in which every trail held out the promise of revelation and the deeper you ventured, the more you'd lose your bearings. At about the 20% mark, I was stuck in a quagmire of chronologies and names. This is where my musings begin—within that quagmire of doubt—as I slog through my opinions about this tangled novel.

The narrative revolves around a dual mystery: Barbara Van Laar, a spirited 13-year-old, vanishes from Camp Emerson in 1975, mirroring the unresolved disappearance of her brother Bear from the same Adirondack wilderness 14 years earlier. Their wealthy, fractured family owns the camp, and the tale spans decades—1950s, 1960s, 1975—introducing a vivid cast: Alice, the fragile mother; Peter, the aloof father; Louise, a flustered counsellor; Judy, a resolute investigator; and others whose lives weave into the Van Laars’. As a literary mystery-thriller, it leans on atmosphere and character depth rather than brisk twists, delving into class divides, buried guilt, and the lasting wounds of loss.

At first, I was fascinated by the structure, by each shift in time and different focus. One sentence I'd be with Judy in 1975, trying to connect the dots, and the next I'd be in 1961, trying to keep up with Alice's fragmenting mind. It's ambitious, sure, but it felt like Moore was handing me a puzzle with too many pieces and no picture on the box.

Compared to These Silent Woods by Kimi Cunningham Grant, which I really enjoyed for its haunting isolation and focused storytelling, The God of the Woods feels both similar and starkly different. Both books root their tension in the wilderness, but where These Silent Woods kept me anchored with a small, intimate cast and a steady build, Moore’s sprawling ensemble and timeline jumps left me adrift. A moment that stayed with me, though, was Louise finding Barbara’s bunk empty, her dread vivid in a scene that rivals the quiet intensity I adored in Grant’s work.

The chorus of voices—Tracy's silence, T.J.'s steadfastness, Alice's uncertainty—each vibrated with promise, drew me in into a maelstrom of emotion. In the end, I emerged with a feeling of relief instead of elation; the resolution provided a welcome clarity after a journey fraught with turbulence. The writing glowed with brilliance, while the backdrop towered over me with shadowed presence, demanding of me much more than I expected.

To conclude, The God of the Woods is a compelling, beautifully crafted story that rewards dedication, yet its complexity occasionally overshadowed its strengths. I admire its depth and the way it haunts, but I’d reach for a more streamlined narrative—like These Silent Woods—next time. It’s a book I respect more than I fully enjoyed—worth the trek, though not quite my ideal path.

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