The Confessions of Frannie Langton

The Confessions of Frannie Langton

A Novel

Book - 2019
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A servant and former slave is accused of murdering her employer and his wife in this astonishing historical thriller that moves from a Jamaican sugar plantation to the fetid streets of Georgian London.
The brutal double murder of renowned scientist George Benham and his eccentric French wife, Marguerite, has set London abuzz. Crowds pack the courtroom, the newspapers print lurid theories about the killings. But Frannie Langton claims she cannot recall what happened that evening, how she came to be covered in blood. She does have a tale to tell: a story of her childhood on a Jamaican plantation, her apprenticeship under a debauched scientist who stretched all bounds of ethics, and the events that brought her into the Benhams' London home-- and into a passionate and forbidden relationship. -- adapted from jacket
Publisher: New York, NY ;, Toronto, Ontario, Canada :, Harper, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers,, [2019]
Edition: First U.S. edition.
Copyright Date: ©2019
ISBN: 9780062851895
Branch Call Number: M COLL
Characteristics: 375 pages ; 24 cm


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debwalker Nov 30, 2019

On the Globe and Mail's list of the top 100 books of 2019.

Aug 03, 2019

Sara Collins has given Frannie Langton such a strong and true voice. It carries the book and pulls you into her story.

ArapahoeAnnaL Jun 10, 2019

A powerful and deservedly dark tale about the experience of individual and societal brutality, slavery, obsessive and forbidden love, drug addiction, and murder. Uplifting for the human spirit of decency and dignity the main character possesses amid the horrors of her life.
Fascinating for the light it sheds on early 19th century plantation society in Jamaica and upper and lower class lives in England.

May 26, 2019

WSJ 5/25/19


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ArapahoeAnnaL Jun 10, 2019

The white man is the measure of all things, and of all things the measure is the white man. That was how I felt when we latched arms. Oh. No matter what any moment holds, memory makes of it either nothing at all or unending terror, or ceaseless grief. All I have left of that night are flashes of her diamond ear-bobs, the swells of her moving against me like tides, the feel of her, like a taste I couldn't get out of my mouth. pg. 127


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