There's something inherently sinister about moths. Unlike their
diurnal cousins, moths lurk about in the dark, brushing against
bare arms, fluttering madly around porch lights, and hitching rides
indoors on unsuspecting hosts who then have to hunt them down and
kill them.

Maybe not everyone shares my aversion to moths, but plenty of
people do --- and when Virginia Stone, the narrator of THE SISTER,
reveals her lifelong near-obsession with moths, that was certainly
a good tip-off that Poppy Adams's debut novel is not just a simple
tale of a reunion between two long-estranged sisters. Indeed, as
countless secrets unfold through the dispassionate voice of its
narrator, before too long the book reveals itself to be just as
sinister as those creepy moths.

Since the death of her mother and the subsequent dementia of her
father, Virginia, now an old woman, has lived alone in Bulbarrow
Court, the family's crumbling, ancient manor house, now cold
(because she can't afford to pay the heating bills) and nearly
empty (because she has sold almost all the family's furniture to
make money). The only part of the house that remains intact is the
attic, which is filled with the specimens of thousands of moths and
butterflies, evidence of the family study of lepidoptery, an
obsession that has stayed with Virginia since learning about moths
and butterflies at her father's knee.

Into Virginia's compulsively ordered existence comes her younger
sister Vivien, who has not returned to Bulbarrow Court since
leaving as a young woman in the wake of a family crisis. Virginia
does not know why Vivien, an unsettling presence with her styled
hair, her fashionable clothing, her cell phone and her tiny dog,
has returned home after so long. All she understands is that
Vivien's arrival has thrown her tidy world --- and her personal
sense of the past --- into disorder.

THE SISTER is so controlled in its storytelling, shifting back and
forth seamlessly between Virginia's memories of the past and her
behavior in the present, that it's hard to believe this is Poppy
Adams's debut novel. Virginia is a classic example of the
unreliable narrator, one so blinded by her own self-deception, so
limited by her coldly methodical scientific mind, that she remains
nearly unaware of her own situation. "If you were born unaware, at
least you'd be blissfully ignorant," she reflects as she considers
the purely instinctual moth. "It's not as if you're going to wake
up one day and suddenly discover yourself." For Virginia, all of
life is a scientific process that follows a pre-ordained formula.
The result, in her case, culminates in a truly chilling
conclusion.

Poppy Adams is a documentary filmmaker, and THE SISTER, with its
strong sense of place and its vivid moth and butterfly imagery, is
cinematic in its vision. She shows real promise as a novelist of
psychological suspense, akin to such popular authors as Ruth
Rendell, Morag Joss and Minette Walters.