The perfect wife A novel

JP Delaney

Book - 2019

"A missing woman receives a second chance at life, thanks to her billionaire husband--but the consequences are deadly in this gripping psychological thriller from the New York Times bestselling author of The Girl Before. Abbie awakens in a daze with no memory of who she is or how she landed in this unsettling condition. The man by her side claims to be her husband. He's an icon of the tech world, the founder of a lucrative robotics company. He tells Abbie that she is a gifted artist, an avid surfer, a loving mother to their young son, and the perfect wife. He says she had a terrible accident five years ago, and that, through a huge technological breakthrough, she has been brought back from the abyss. She is a miracle of science. B...ut as Abbie pieces together memories of her marriage, she begins questioning her husband's motives--and his version of events. Can she trust him when he says he wants them to be together forever? And what really happened to Abbie half a decade ago?"--

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Subjects
Genres
Suspense fiction
Psychological fiction
Thrillers (Fiction)
Science fiction
Published
New York : Ballantine Books [2019]
Language
English
Main Author
JP Delaney (author)
Edition
First edition
Physical Description
412 pages ; 25 cm
ISBN
9781524796747
Contents unavailable.
Review by Booklist Review

If androids dream of electric sheep, what do cobots dream of? A cobot is a companion robot that replicates a lost one in appearance and behavior, often to provide comfort for the bereaved. When Abbie wakes from what she believes is a pleasant dream, her husband explains that it was actually a memory upload. The real Abbie died five years earlier in a terrible accident, but he, a millionaire robotics entrepreneur, has created a perfect copy of his perfect wife so they can resume their perfect marriage. It doesn't take the Abbie-bot long to figure out that there are some serious problems in their marriage and that she isn't just a few bytes short of a full upload. How did the real Abbie die? Was she murdered? Is she even really dead? Readers may need to suspend their disbelief at points but will be rewarded with a fresh take on the domestic thriller that will leave them satisfied, although, perhaps, at times, perplexed. Delaney is the internationally best-selling author of The Girl Before (2017) and Believe Me (2018).--Jane Murphy Copyright 2019 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

This compulsively readable psychological thriller from bestseller Delaney (Believe Me), a pseudonym of British adman Tony Strong, asks some provocative questions. Did Silicon Valley visionary Tim Scott, the founder of Scott Robotics, murder his wife, Abbie Cullen-Scott? Or did the free-spirited artist and devoted mother drown while surfing one night near their California beach house? Her body was never found. Five years after her disappearance, and four years after murder charges against Tim were dismissed due to lack of evidence, a woman sees someone who could be Abbie in a San Francisco computer store. When the woman asks this Abbie look-alike what happened, Abbie says she doesn't remember. Furthermore, Abbie doesn't deny that she's back with her husband. Though the woman is pleased to have confirmation that Tim didn't kill Abbie, she calls the police to report that the missing celebrity has seemingly returned from the dead. The ensuing publicity has devastating consequences for the resurrected Abbie, eccentric genius Tim, and their now nine-year-old son, Danny . Delaney keeps the suspense high throughout. The highly unusual setup sets this one above the thriller pack. Agent: Caradoc King, United Artists (U.K.). (Aug.)

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Kirkus Book Review

Perfect wife, perfect life, right? Not so fast.Delaney (Believe Me, 2018, etc.) returns with a domestic artificial-intelligence thriller. Five years after an accident, Abbie wakes up covered in bandages and surrounded by machines. The catch? This isn't the real Abbie; this Abbie is a cobot, or "companion robot." The real Abbiea wild, beautiful artist and devoted motherwas never found. Her husband, Tim, a Steve Jobs type complete with God complex and anger issues, owns Scott Robotics, a cutting-edge Silicon Valley darling. Tim has spent half a decade and an enormous amount of resources to bring his wife back. The novel is told from the alternating perspectives of Abbie the cobot, who propels the novel forward, and Scott Robotics employees, who provide a Greek chorus of exposition. Cobot Abbie doesn't just look like her namesake: She has her thoughts, memories, and voice; feels maternal toward Danny, her autistic son; and begins to learn the original Abbie's secrets. But she also is her own personwell, robot. The tension between the inherited and innate is portrayed nicely, and the ethical questions surrounding Abbie are interesting. If robots are capable of feelings, empathy, and pain, should they have the same rights as humans? If not, how should they be treated? There's a particularly heartbreaking scene when cobot Abbie makes a bouillabaissewithout senses of taste or smelland uses rotten fish bones. With shame and despair, Abbie thinks, "Your stockyour beautiful, elaborate, saffron-infused fumetwas poisoned from the start." To add insult to injury: Artificial smelling technology exists but Tim has cut corners. A fitting metaphor. The twistor, rather, twistsis genuinely surprising and quite disturbing, but it feels like a slap in the face by taking away what little agency had been given to the female characters.A well-paced page-turner with a sour ending. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Chapter 1 You're having that dream again, the one where you and Tim are in Jaipur for Diwali. Everywhere you look, every doorway and window, there are lanterns and candles, firecrackers and fairy lights. Courtyards have become flickering pools of flame, their entrances surrounded by intricate designs of colored rice paste. Drums and cymbals throb and sizzle. Surrendering to the din and confusion, you surge with the crowd through a market, the stallholders urging platters of sweets on you from every side. On an impulse you stop at a stall where a woman decorates faces with beautiful Hindi patterns, the smell of sandalwood from her brushes mingling with the acrid, savory cordite from the firecrackers and the aroma of kaaju, roasting cashew nuts. As she paints you, deft and quick, a cluster of young men dance past, their faces painted blue, their muscular torsos bare, then come back, dancing just for you, their expressions deadly serious. And then, the final touch, she paints a bindi on your forehead, right between your eyes, telling you how the scarlet dot marks you out as married, a woman with all the knowledge of the world. "But I'm not," you protest, almost pulling away, fearful you're going to offend some local sensibility, and then you hear Tim's laugh and see the box he produces from his pocket and even before he goes down on one knee, right here in the midst of all this noise and mayhem, you know this is it, he's really going to do it, and your heart overflows. "Abbie Cullen," he begins, "ever since you erupted into my life, I've known we have to be together." And then you're waking up. Every part of you hurts. Your eyes are the worst, the bright lights searing into your skull, the ache in your brain connecting with the stiffness in your neck, soreness all the way down your spine. Machines beep and whir. A hospital? Were you in an accident? You try to move your arms. They're stiff--you can barely bend your elbows. Painfully, you reach up and touch your face. Bandages encase your neck. You must have been in an accident of some kind, but you can't remember it. That happens, you tell yourself groggily. People come around from crashes not remembering the impact, or even having been in a car. The important thing is, you're alive. Was Tim in the car as well? Was he driving? What about Danny? At the thought that Danny or Tim might have been killed you almost gasp, but you can't. Some change in the beeping machine, though, has alerted a nurse. A blue hospital uniform, a woman's waist, passes at eye level, adjusting something, but it hurts too much to look up at her. "She's up and running," she murmurs. "Thank God," Tim's voice says. So he's alive, after all. And right here, by your bedside. Relief floods through you. Then his face appears, looking down at you. He's wearing what he always wears: black jeans, a plain gray T-shirt, and a white baseball cap. But his face is gaunt, the lines deeper than you've ever seen them before. "Abbie," he says. "Abbie." His eyes glisten with tears, which fills you with alarm. Tim never cries. "Where am I?" Your voice is hoarse. "You're safe." "Was there an accident? Is Danny okay?" "Danny's fine. Rest now. I'll explain later." "Have I had surgery?" "Later. I promise. When you're stronger." "I'm stronger now." It's true: Already the pain is receding, the fog and grogginess clearing from your head. "It's incredible," he says, not to you but the nurse. "Amazing. It's her." "I was dreaming," you say. "About when you proposed. It was so vivid." That'll be the anesthetic, you realize. It makes things richer. Like that line from that play. What was it? For a moment the words elude you but then, with an almost painful effort, a clunk, you remember. I cried to dream again. Again Tim's eyes fill with tears. "Don't be sad," you tell him. "I'm alive. That's all that matters, isn't it? We're all three of us alive." "I'm not sad," he says, smiling through his tears. "I'm happy. People cry when they're happy, too." You knew that, of course. But even through the pain and the drugs you can tell those aren't everything's-going-to-be-all-right-now tears. Have you lost your legs? You try to move your feet and feel them--slowly, stiffly--responding under the blanket. Thank God. Tim seems to come to a decision. "There's something I have to explain, my love," he says, taking your hand in his. "Something very difficult, but you need to know right away. That wasn't a dream. It was an upload." 2 Your first thought is that you're hallucinating--that this, not the dream about him proposing, is the bit that isn't real. How can it be? What he's saying to you now--a stream of technical stuff about mind files and neural nets--simply makes no sense. "I don't understand. Are you saying something happened to my brain?" Tim shakes his head. "I'm saying you're artificial. Intelligent, conscious . . . but man-made." "But I'm fine," you insist, baffled. "Look, I'll tell you three random things about myself. My favorite meal is salade Niçoise. I was angry for weeks last year because my favorite cashmere jacket got eaten by moths. I go swimming almost every day--" You stop. Your voice, instead of reflecting your rising panic, is coming out in a dull, croaky monotone. A Stephen Hawking voice. "The damage to that jacket was six years ago," Tim says. "I kept it, though. I've kept all your things." You stare at him, trying to get your head around this. "I guess I'm not doing this very well." He pulls a piece of paper from his pocket. "Here--I wrote this for our investors. Maybe it'll help." FAQ Q: What is a cobot? A: Cobot is short for "companion robot." Studies with prototypes suggest the presence of a cobot may alleviate the loss of a loved one, providing solace, company, and emotional support in the aftermath of bereavement. Q: How will cobots differ from other forms of artificial intelligence? A: Cobots have been specifically designed to be empathetic. Q: Will each cobot be unique? A: Each cobot will be customized to closely replicate the physical appearance of the loved one. Social media rec­ords, texts, and other documents will be aggregated to create a "neural file" reflecting their unique traits and personality. There's more, much more, but you can't focus. You let the sheet fall from your hand. Only Tim could possibly imagine that a list of factual questions and answers could help at a time like this. "This is what you do," you remember. "You design artificial intelligence. But that's something to do with customer service--chatbots--" "That's right," he interrupts. "I was working on that side of it. But that was five years ago--your memories are all five years out of date. After I lost you, I realized bereavement was the bigger need. It's taken all this time to get you to this stage." His words take a moment to sink in. Bereavement. You've just realized what he's trying to tell you. "You're saying I died." You stare up at him. "You're saying the real me died--what? Five years ago. And you've somehow brought me back like this." He doesn't reply. You feel a mixture of emotions. Disbelief, obviously. But also horror at the thought of his grief, at what he must have been through. At least you were spared that. Cobots have been specifically designed to be empathetic . . . And Danny. You've missed five whole years of his life. At the thought of Danny, a familiar sadness washes over you. A sadness you firmly put to one side. And that, too--both the sadness, and the putting-aside--feels so normal, so ordinary, that it can't be anything except your own, individual emotion. Can it? Excerpted from The Perfect Wife by J. P. Delaney All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.