See What I Have Done: A Novel

By Sarah Schmidt

“One of America’s most notorious murder cases inspires this feverish debut” novel that goes inside the mind of Lizzie Borden (The Guardian).
 
On the morning of August 4, 1892, Lizzie Borden calls out to her maid: Someone’s killed Father. The brutal ax-murder of Andrew and Abby Borden in their home in Fall River, Massachusetts, leaves little evidence and many unanswered questions. In this riveting debut novel, Sarah Schmidt reimagines the day of the infamous murders as an intimate story of a family devoid of love.
 
While neighbors struggle to understand why anyone would want to harm the respected Bordens, those close to the family have a different tale to tell―of a father with an explosive temper, a spiteful stepmother, and two spinster sisters desperate for their independence. As the police search for clues, Lizzie’s memories of that morning flash in scattered fragments.
 
Had she been in the barn or the pear arbor to escape the stifling heat of the house? When did she last speak to her stepmother? Were they really gone and would everything be better now? Shifting among the perspectives of the unreliable Lizzie, her older sister Emma, the housemaid Bridget, and the enigmatic stranger Benjamin, the events of that fateful day are slowly revealed through a high-wire feat of storytelling.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Aug 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9780802189134

Book preview

PART I

ONE

LIZZIE

August 4, 1892

HE WAS STILL bleeding. I yelled, Someone’s killed Father. I breathed in kerosene air, licked the thickness from my teeth. The clock on the mantel ticked ticked. I looked at Father, the way hands clutched to thighs, the way the little gold ring on his pinkie finger sat like a sun. I gave him that ring for his birthday when I no longer wanted it. Daddy, I had said, I’m giving this to you because I love you. He had smiled and kissed my forehead.

A long time ago now.

I looked at Father. I touched his bleeding hand, how long does it take for a body to become cold? and leaned closer to his face, tried to make eye contact, waited to see if he might blink, might recognize me. I wiped my hand across my mouth, tasted blood. My heart beat nightmares, gallop, gallop, as I looked at Father again, watched blood river down his neck and disappear into suit cloth. The clock on the mantel ticked ticked. I walked out of the room, closed the door behind me and made my way to the back stairs, shouted once more to Bridget, Quickly. Someone’s killed Father. I wiped my hand across my mouth, licked my teeth.

Bridget came down, brought with her the smell of decayed meaty-meat. Miss Lizzie, what …

He’s in the sitting room. I pointed through thick, wallpapered walls.

Who is? Bridget’s face, prickly with confusion.

I thought he looked hurt but I wasn’t sure how badly until I got close, I said. Summer heat ran up my neck like a knife. My hands ached.

Miss Lizzie, yer scarin’ me.

Father’s in the sitting room. It was difficult to say anything else.

Bridget ran from the back stairs through the kitchen and I followed her. She ran to the sitting room door, put her hand on the door knob, turn it, turn it.

His face has been cut. There was a part of me that wanted to push Bridget into the room, make her see what I had found.

She pulled her hand away from the knob and turned to me, owl eyes swooping over my face. A length of sweat trickled from her temple to collarbone. What do ya mean? she said.

Like a tiny looking glass inside my mind, I saw all of Father’s blood, a meal, the leftovers from a wild dog’s feast. The scraps of skin on his chest, his eye resting on his shoulder. His body the Book of Apocalypse. Someone came in and cut him, I said.

Bridget was a-tremble. What do ya mean, Miss Lizzie? How could someone cut his face? Her voice soured, a tear. I didn’t want her to cry, didn’t want to have to comfort her.

I’m not quite sure, I said. They might have used an ax. Like taking down a tree.

Bridget began to cry and strange feelings popped across my bones. She faced the door and twisted her wrist, allowed the door to crack open an inch.

Go get Dr. Bowen, I said. I looked past her, tried to see Father but couldn’t.

Bridget turned to me, scratched her hand. We should attend to yer father, Miss Lizzie …

Go bring Dr. Bowen. I grabbed her hand, all rough and sticky, and walked her to the side door. You’d best hurry, Bridget.

Ya shouldn’t be alone, Miss Lizzie.

What if Mrs. Borden was to come home? Shouldn’t I be here to tell her? My teeth were cold against my teeth.

She looked into the sun. Alright, she said. I’ll try ta be quick as I can.

Bridget ran out the side of the house, let the door hit her on the backside, a paddle, and she bobbed as she ran onto Second Street, her white house-bonnet a sail in the breeze. Bridget looked over her shoulder towards me, her face dumb with worry, and I shooed her along, my wrist a flick and crunch. She kept going, hip and shouldered an old woman, made her drop her walking cane, made her cry out, What’s the hurry, missy? Bridget didn’t respond, how naughty, disappeared from sight, and the woman picked up her cane, made it chink against stone, made a tacky-tacky sound.

I watched people pass by, liked the way their voices filled the air, made everything feel whole, and I felt my lips turn a smile as birds jumped over and under tree branches. For a moment I thought of capturing them, placing them in my pigeon aviary in the barn. How lucky they’d be with me to look after them. I thought of Father, my stomach growled hunger and I went to the pail of water by the well, let my hands sink into the cool sip sip. I brought my hands to mouth and began drinking, lapping with my tongue. It was soft, delicate. Everything slowed down. I saw a dead pigeon lying gray and still in the yard and my stomach murmured. I looked into the sun. I thought of Father, tried to remember the last words I said to him. I took a pear from the arbor, walked back inside.

On the kitchen counter were johnnycakes. I wormed my fingers into their middles until they became small pieces of flour-rocks. I threw a handful of johnnycakes against the wall, listened to them crash in stale waves. Next I went to the stove, pulled the pot of mutton broth close to me and took a deep breath.

There was nothing but my thoughts and Father. I walked towards the sitting room, sank my teeth into the pear, stopped at the door. The clock on the mantel ticked ticked. My legs began to shake and drum into the floor and I took a bite of my pear to make them still. Behind the sitting room door was the smell of tobacco pipe.

Father, I said. Is that you?

I opened the door wider then wider, sank my teeth into pear. Father was there on the sofa. He hadn’t moved. Pear skin crisped in my mouth and I caught the smell again. You ought to stop with the tobacco, Father. It makes your skin smell old.

On the floor next to the sofa was Father’s pipe. I hooked the pipe under my teeth, my tongue pressed against the small mouthpiece. I breathed in. Outside I heard Bridget call like a banshee, Miss Lizzie! Miss Lizzie! I placed the pipe back on the floor, my fingers grazing circles of blood, and as I walked out of the room and half closed the door I took a peek at Father.

I opened the side door. Bridget looked a-fire, flame red, and she told me, Dr. Bowen’s not home.

Her response made me want to spit at her. Go find him. Get someone. Get going, I said.

Her head jarred backwards. Miss Lizzie, shouldn’t we get Mrs. Borden? Her voice an echo in a cave, enough with questions.

I cracked my heel into the floorboards, made the house moan then howl. I told you, she’s not here.

Bridget’s forehead creased. Where is she? We need ta get her right now. Annoying, insistent.

Don’t tell me what to do, Bridget. I heard my voice fold around doors and corners. The house; brittle bone under foot. Everything sounded louder than it should, hurt the ear.

I’m sorry, Miss Lizzie. Bridget rubbed her hand.

Go find someone else. Father really needs help.

Bridget let out a breath and I watched her run down the street, past a group of young children playing hopscotch. I took another bite of the pear and started to move away from the door.

From across the side fence I heard a woman call my name, felt the drilling of it, Lizzie. Lizzie. Lizzie, bore into my ear. I squinted at a figure walking towards me. I pressed my face into the screen door, pieced together the shapes of familiarity. Mrs. Churchill? I said.

Are you alright, dear? I heard Bridget hollering up and down the street and then I saw you standing at the door looking so lost. Mrs. Churchill came closer to the house, pulled at her red blouse.

On the back step she asked again, Dear, are you alright? and my heart beat fast, fast, fast and I told her, Mrs. Churchill, do come in. Someone’s killed Father.

Her eyes and nose scrunched, mouth hollowed into an O. A loud bang sounded from the basement; my neck twitched.

This doesn’t make sense, she said, a small voice. I opened the door, let her in. Lizzie, what’s happened? she asked.

I don’t know. I came in and I saw him all cut up. He’s in there. I pointed to the sitting room.

Mrs. Churchill slowed into the kitchen, rubbed her fat, clean fingers over her red-queen cheeks, rubbed them over her gold cameo necklace, covered her chest with her hands. There in all its shine, her gold and diamond wedding ring, I’d like to keep that. Her chest heaved, soft, child-suckled breasts, I waited for her heart to burst through ribcage onto the kitchen floor.

Is he alone? She was a mouse.

Yes. Very.

Mrs. Churchill took steps towards the sitting room door then stopped, looked at me. Should I go in?

He’s very hurt, Mrs. Churchill. But you could go in. If you wanted to.

She receded, came back by my side. I counted the times I had seen Father’s body since I found it. My stomach growled.

Where’s your mother? she asked.

I wrenched my head towards the ceiling, I hate that word, then closed my eyes. She’s gone to visit a sick relative.

We really must get her, Lizzie. Mrs. Churchill tugged at my hand, tried to make me move.

My skin itched. I pulled away from her grip, scratched my palm. I don’t want to bother her right now.

Lizzie, don’t be ridiculous. This is an emergency. She scolded me like I was a child.

You can see him, if you want.

She shook her head, baffled. I don’t think I can …

I meant, if you saw him, you would see why it isn’t a good idea to fetch Mrs. Borden.

Mrs. Churchill placed the back of her hand on my forehead. You feel very hot, Lizzie. You’re not thinking straight.

I’m alright. My skin slid from underneath her hand.

Her eyes widened, threatened to outgrow the boundaries of bone, and I leaned towards Mrs. Churchill. She flinched. Perhaps we should go outside, Lizzie …

I shook my head, absolute. No. Father shouldn’t be left alone.

Mrs. Churchill and I stood side by side, faced the sitting room door. I could hear her breathe, could hear saliva swish thick over her gums, could smell Castile soap and clove in her hair. The roof cracked, made the sitting room door feather open an inch and my toes wiggled a step then a step until I was a little closer to Father. Mrs. Churchill, I said, who do you think will wash his body when it comes time?

She looked at me as if I spoke foreign words. I’m … not really sure.

Perhaps my sister could do it. I turned to her, watched sadness tiptoe across her brow and gave her a smile, cheer up now, cheer up.

Her lips parted, a sea. Let’s not worry about that.

Oh. Alright. I turned to face the sitting room door again.

We were quiet for a time. My palm itched. I thought of using my teeth to scratch, went to bring my hand to my mouth when Mrs. Churchill said, When did it happen, Lizzie?

I rushed my hand to my side. I’m not sure. I was outside then I came in and he was hurt. Bridget was upstairs. Now he’s dead. I tried to think but everything slowed. Isn’t that funny? I can’t remember what I was doing. Does that ever happen to you, forgetting the simplest of things?

I suppose so, yes. Her words slurped out.

He said he wasn’t feeling well and wanted to be alone. So I kissed him, left him asleep on the sofa and went outside. The roof popped. That’s all I can remember.

Mrs. Churchill placed her hand on my shoulder, patted me, made me warm and tingle. Don’t push yourself, dear. This is all very … unnatural.

You’re right.

Mrs. Churchill wiped her eyes, made them red with tears and rubbing. She looked strange. This can’t be happening, she said. She looked strange and I tried not to think of Father alone on the sofa.

My skin itched. I scratched. I’m really thirsty, Mrs. Churchill, I said.

She stared at me, ruby-eyed, and went to the kitchen counter. She poured water from a jug and handed me a cup. The water looked cloud warm. I sipped. I thought of Father. The water was tar down my throat. I should have poured it onto the floor and asked Mrs. Churchill to clean it up, get me something fresh. I sipped again. Thank you, I said. I smiled.

Mrs. Churchill came close to me, wrapped her arm around my shoulder and held tight. She leaned into me and began whispering but there was the smell of sour yogurt snaking out from somewhere inside her and it made me dizzy. I pushed her away.

We need to get your mother, Lizzie.

There was noise coming from outside, coming closer to the side of the house, and Mrs. Churchill ran to the side door and opened it. Standing in front of me were Mrs. Churchill, Bridget and Dr. Bowen. I found him, miss, Bridget said. She tried to slow her breathing, she sounds like an old dog. I went as fast as I could.

Dr. Bowen pushed his silver, round-rimmed glasses up his narrow nose and said, Where is he?

I pointed to the sitting room.

Dr. Bowen, his wrinkled forehead. Are you alright, Lizzie? Did anybody try to hurt you? His voice smooth, honey-milked.

Hurt me?

The person who hurt your father. They didn’t try to hurt you too?

I’ve seen no one. No one is hurt but Father, I said. The floorboards stretched beneath my feet and for a moment I thought I would sink.

Dr. Bowen stood in front of me and reached for my wrist, big hands, and he breathed out and in, his air swiping my lips. I licked them. His fingers pressed into skin until they felt blood. Your pulse is too fast, Lizzie. I’ll remedy that as soon as I check your father.

I nodded. Would you like me to come in with you?

Dr. Bowen. That’s … unnecessary.

Oh, I said.

Dr. Bowen took off his jacket and handed it to Bridget. He headed for the sitting room, took his brown, weathered leather medical bag with him. I held my breath. He opened the door like a secret, pushed his body into the room. I heard him gasp, say, Lord Jesus. The door was open just enough. Somewhere behind me Mrs. Churchill screamed and I snapped my head towards her. She screamed again, the way people do in nightmares, and her noise rattled through my body, made my muscles tighten and ache. I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want to see him, Mrs. Churchill screamed. Bridget howled, dropped Dr. Bowen’s coat on the floor. The women held each other and sobbed.

I wanted them to stop. I didn’t appreciate how they reacted to Father like that, they are shaming him. I went to Dr. Bowen, stood next to him at the edge of the sofa and tried to block sight of Father’s body. Bridget called, Miss Lizzie, don’t go in there. The room was still and Dr. Bowen pushed me away. Lizzie, he said, you mustn’t be in here.

I just want …

You cannot be in here anymore. Stop looking at your father. He pushed me from the room and shut the door. Mrs. Churchill screamed again and I covered my ears. I listened to my heart beat until everything felt numb.

After a time, Dr. Bowen came out of the room, all pale and sweat, and yelled, Summon the police. He bit his lip, his jaw a tiny thunder. On his fingertips were little drops of blood confetti, and I tried to imagine the ways he had touched Father.

It’s their annual picnic, Mrs. Churchill whispered. No one will be at the station. She rubbed her eyes, made them raw.

I wanted her to stop crying and so I smiled and said, It’s alright. They’ll come eventually. Everything will be alright, won’t it, Dr. Bowen?

Dr. Bowen eyed me and I looked at his hands. I thought of Father.

I was four when I first met Mrs. Borden. She let me eat spoonfuls of sugar when Father wasn’t watching. How my tongue sang! Can you keep secrets, Lizzie? Mrs. Borden asked.

I nodded my head. I can keep the best secrets. I hadn’t even told Emma that I loved our new mother.

She spooned sugar into my mouth, my cheeks tight with the sweet surge. Let’s keep our sugar meal between you and me.

I nodded and nodded until everything was dizzy. Later, when I was running through the house yelling, Karoo! Karoo! and climbed over the sitting room sofa, Father yelled, Emma, did you let Lizzie into the sugar?

Emma came into the sitting room, head bowed. No, Father. I swear it.

I ran by them and Father caught me by the arm, a pull at my socket. Lizzie, he said while I giggled and hawed, did you eat something you weren’t meant to?

I ate fruit.

Father came right into my face, smelled like butter cake. And nothing else?

And nothing else. I laughed.

Emma looked at me, tried to peer into my mouth.

Are you lying? Father asked.

No, Daddy. I would never.

He had searched me over, searched dimpled cheeks for signs of disobedience. I smiled. He smiled. Off I went again, running and jumping and I passed Mrs. Borden in the kitchen and she winked at me.

When the police arrived a short time later they began taking photos of the dark-gray suit Father wore to work that morning, of his black leather boots still tied over ankles and feet. Flashbulbs broke every six seconds. The young police photographer said he would prefer not to photograph the old man’s head. Couldn’t someone else do it? Please? he said, wiped the back of his hand over his forehead, like oil was dripping from his head.

An older officer told him to go outside while they found a real man to finish the job. They didn’t need a man. A daughter would suffice. I had lovingly looked after Father all morning and his face didn’t scare me. I should have said, How many photographs do you want? How close would you like me to get? Which angle will lead you to the murderer?

Instead, Dr. Bowen gave me a shot of beautiful warm medicine underneath my skin that made me feel feathery and strange. They seated me in the dining room with Mrs. Churchill and Bridget and said, You don’t mind that we ask each of you some questions, do you?

The little room was cloying and heavy with the odor of warm bodies and grass, of police mouths smelling of half-digested chicken and damp yeast. Of course not, Mrs. Churchill said. But I shall not discuss the state Mr. Borden was in. She started to cry, made a whirlwind sound. In my mind I drifted away to the upstairs of the house where everyone became an echo. I thought of Father.

An officer kneeled in front of me, placed a hand over my hand and whisper-spat into my face, We will find who did this and come after him with our full force.

Men do such horrid things, I said.

Yes, I suppose they do, the officer said.

I hope Father didn’t feel any pain.

The officer stared at his hands and cleared his throat. I’m sure he didn’t feel too much. He gripped his notebook. I wondered if you could tell me everything you remember about this morning?

I’m not sure …

There are no wrong answers, Miss Borden. A sing-song voice. His Adam’s apple bobbed, made me think of Halloween games.

I looked the officer in the eye and grinned, there are no wrong answers, how kind he was to put me at ease. I knew for sure God would smile on him from now on. I was outside in the barn and then I came in and found him.

Do you remember why you were in the barn?

I had been trying to find lead sinkers for my fishing line.

You were going to go fishing? Scribble, scribble.

My uncle is going to take me. You should see what I can catch.

You’re expecting him to visit?

Oh, he has already. He’s here.

Where is he? the officer asked, a pony searching for feed.

He’s out conducting business. He arrived yesterday.

We’ll need to ask him questions.

Why? My fingers beat together, pulsed beat, beat, beat, beat, all the way into the center of my body. I followed the feeling, looked down at myself, noticed a soft, gray pigeon feather stuck on my skirt. I picked it off, rubbed it between my fingers, got all hot and boiled.

Miss, I hate to be blunt, but a murder has occurred. We must ask your uncle if he saw anyone unusual outside.

I flashed up at him, Yes. Yes, of course. I stuffed the pigeon feather into my palm, carried it like love.

The officer kept with questions. I glanced around the room, then up at the ceiling, tried to see through spiderweb cracked plaster and wood into the rooms above: a few hours before I had been up there, had seen Father and Mrs. Borden help each other ready themselves for the day. Mrs. Borden had plaited her light-gray, thick-mop hair and pinned it to the top of her head and Father had said, Always charming, my dear. They did that from time to time, their being friendly and pleasant to one another. The officer kept with questions and a fog settled in my mind.

Next to me, I heard Bridget squeak to a second officer, Her sister is visitin’ a friend in Fairhaven. She’s been gone for …

Two weeks, I interrupted. She’s been gone for two weeks and it’s time she came home.

The second officer nodded, gruffed, We’ll send for her immediately.

Good. This is too much for me to take alone.

Then Bridget said, I lock the doors. House is shut tight all the time. The second officer took notes, wrote furious until sweat formed through his thick mustache. Sometimes Father’s beard would wet with anger and when he spoke to you, came close to your face so you could hear his words, the wet would stroke your chin and sink in. A fog settled in my mind. I had the feeling of wanting to stroke Father’s beard and face until he looked like the past. I glanced at the sitting room.

And you know for sure the doors were locked this morning? the second officer asked Bridget.

Yes. I had ta unlock the front door this mornin’ ta let poor Mr. Borden in when he came home early from work.

The way Bridget spoke about Father made me smile. I turned to face her and the officer. Actually, I said, sometimes the basement door isn’t locked.

Bridget looked me over, her caterpillar eyebrows cracked like earth, and the second officer took notes, took notes. My feet traced circles across the carpet. I opened my eyes wide, felt the house move left then right as the heat ground into walls. Everyone pulled at their necks to unloose their tightly wound clothing. I sat still holding my hands together.

Outside, I could hear swarms of people lining themselves out the front of the house. Voices sounded cannon fire. I swayed with the heat, heard the nails in the floorboards give themselves up. The sounds of pigeon feet tacky-tacked across the roof and I thought of Father. The sun moved behind a shadow and the house popped. I jumped in my chair. Bridget jumped in her chair. Mrs. Churchill too. Seems we all have fright, I said, wanted to laugh. Mrs. Churchill started crying again, made my skin shiver. Inside my head a butcher pounded all sense out of my ears and onto the dining table. My corset groped my ribs and small pools of sweat filled the spaces between arms and legs. Bridget stood from her chair, pulled her dirt-white skirt away from the backs of her thighs and went to Mrs. Churchill, comforted her. They spoke. Police took notes, entered and exited rooms, watched me.

I wiped my palm across my face, let the feather fall onto the carpet, noticed tiny droplets of blood sitting on my fingers. I put them to my nose then my mouth. I licked, tasted Father, tasted myself. I swallowed. I looked down at my skirt, discovered blood spots. I stared at the stains, watched them become rivers across my lap, I know these rivers! and I thought of the times I played in the Quequechan River with Emma when we were younger, the way Father would yell out to us from the banks, Don’t go in too deep. You can’t be sure how far down it goes.

My body craved a past with Emma and Father: I wanted to be small again. I wanted to swim then fish, have Emma and me dry ourselves under the sun until our skin cooked. Let’s be bears! I’d tell her, and we’d grow brown and giant, our bear paws swiping

Reviews for See What I Have Done

[gpangel_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

See What I have Done by Sarah Schmidt is a 2017 Atlantic Monthly Press publication. After seeing some reviews for this book pop up on Goodreads and realizing the book was based on the infamous Lizzie Borden murders, I knew I had to read it. For decades, I have been fascinated by the Borden murders, never quite sure if I fully believed in Lizzie’s guilt or innocence. I’ve read true crime and historical fiction based on Lizzie or the murders in general. Some of these novels are quite convincing, for one side or the other, and entirely plausible, while others are so far fetched I barely recognize the central characters. The same can be said for true crime books which also tend to lean to one side or the other and like to add, or leave out, any evidence that doesn’t fit their narrative. Still, I never pass up the chance to read a book about the murders, fiction or nonfiction. This newest look at the day the Borden’s died and the subsequent fallout, is a work of fiction, and it appears to have received a few mixed reviews. Initially, my personal experience with the novel, was one of boredom. The only interesting cog in the wheel was the arrival of Lizzie’s uncle on her mother’s side of the family, which explores a theory only some give credence to. I was glad the author decided to explore that angle, and the question of what John's motive may have been. Other than that, there wasn’t much here I had not heard before, and many times it reminded me of the old made for television movie starring Elizabeth Montgomery. The speculation was different, but the characters and the family dynamics were very similar, as was the overall atmosphere. However, towards the last quarter of the book, things really started to perk up. At one point, a chill went down my spine, literally. The author doesn’t attempt to solve the riddle, instead leaving the reader, once again, to spend their spare time mulling over the evidence presented, which left plenty of room for reasonable doubt. Although the book raised some interesting questions and presented some unexplored theories, and the author did a fair job of recreating the intense hostility and resentment in the Borden household, as well as giving the main players individual and pronounced personalities, there was something missing or lacking along the way that prevented the type of suspenseful build up I was hoping for. Perhaps my familiarity with the case squashed the anticipation aspects just a little, so maybe it was just me. Still, I think the book was worth the time I invested in it, and it has renewed my interest in this case, causing me to rethink the facts I am one hundred percent sure of. But, at the end of the day, I find myself continuing to waffle, unable or unwilling, to stand on one side of the fence or the other. The bulk of the book was mildly interesting, and kept me engaged just enough to propel me forward, but by the end, I was feeling much more impressed, and my attention was totally undivided. So, for that reason, I gave the book a nudge up on the rating scale. - 3.5 stars

[seasonsoflove_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Everyone thinks they know what really happened that fateful day in Fall River. Everyone has an opinion on Lizzie Borden's guilt or innocence.Schmidt explores what could have happened from four points of view: Lizzie herself, Emma, her sister, Bridget, the family's maid, and Benjamin, a stranger brought into the outskirts of their world.There is so much to like about this book. Schmidt has a beautiful lyrical writing style that makes everything that's happening feel both real and surreal.This book is also absolutely fascinating. Schmidt has clearly done her research, and can back her theories up. Even though I know a lot of facts about this case, Schmidt had me turning page after page, having to find out what happens, unable to put it down.I did feel the addition of Benjamin was somewhat unnecessary. The people involved in this true story are already fascinating enough without needing to add in a fictional mysterious stranger.I've always read and watched about unsolved mysteries, and the Borden case is one of those I've read about a lot. So I was extremely excited to read this book, and it did not disappoint. I would definitely recommend this book.

[girlwellread · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

A special thank you to Edelweiss, NetGalley, Grove Atlantic, and Atlantic Monthly Press for an ARC in exchange for an honest review.Lizzie Borden took an axeAnd gave her mother forty whacksWhen she saw what she had done,She gave her father forty-oneOr did she?I'm not going to lie, I kept putting this one down. The opening chapter narrated by Lizzie was well-written with a nice hook, and then the second chapter narrated by her sister Emma threw me off. However, I limped through it, and then a few more chapters here and there, and then I couldn't put it down. This book was well-written and captivating, especially for a debut, and I would definitely recommend it.In See What I Have Done, Schmidt takes on the daunting genre of historical fiction with her account of one of the most famous murder cases of all time with. Lizzie Borden's father and step-mother are found bludgeoned to death at the Borden residence. Told from multiple perspectives, the reader goes inside the mind of the unreliable Lizzie, her older sister Emma, the Irish maid Bridget, and a mysterious stranger Benjamin who has ties to the family. This multiperspectivity works brilliantly and while I enjoyed Lizzie's chapters the most, the other perspectives were needed to balance out the story. Schmidt juxtaposes the visual imagery of sickness—blood, vomit, rotting food—against the relationships of the family. This is more than fiction, it is a foray into the human psyche and a study of the most intimate kind of relationships.

[schmerguls · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

5502. See What I Have Done, by Sarah Schmidt (read 24 Sep 2017) This is a work of fiction by an Australian writer but she has done considerable research on the Lizzie Borden case, which has long been of great interest to me. Books on the case I have read heretofore are The Girl in the House of Hate, by Charles Samuels (read 4 Jan 1955, re-read 11 Aug 1962), Lizzie Borden: The Untold Story, by Edward D. Rabin (read 11 Aug 1962), Goodbye Lizzie Borden, by Robert Sullivan (read 27 Feb 1977), and Lizzie Borden: A Case Book of Family and Crime in the 1890's, edited by Joyce G. Williams et al, (read2 Aug 1982), Thus it is obvious that I am interested in the facts of the case. This novel jumps around in time, concentrating on the days from Aug 2, 1892 to Aug. 6, 1892--the date of the murders was Aug 4, 1892. Chapters alternate narrators between figures in the case, and there is one "figure", Benjamin, who is so far as I know entirely fictional. I admit I do not like a book where I cannot tell what is true and what is fiction. So I was often irritated as I read the book, though it ends up as a somewhat satisfying story.

[darylanderson-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I enjoyed this book, especially the first half where Schmidt describes the Borden house of horrors in excruciating and often nauseating detail. I could almost taste that rancid pot of mutton stew on the Bordon's stove, making me thankful I'm thankful I'm a vegetarian.

Really, what took Lizzie so long to snap?

Ultimately,the novel suffers from too many narrators--I'm not sure why that fellow Benjamin is around. He's not a proper red herring as Lizzie's guilt was never really in question, and he didn't add much to the narrative. There was also a nod to a murder conspiracy, but this was never developed. I also thought there were too many confusing and ineffective shifts in time. Because of this clutter and confusion, the novel lagged at the end, blunting what should have been a suspenseful ending.

As a novel of psychological horror, the suspense stems from Lizzie's madness, when the reader recognizes the full depth of Lizzie's depravity. But due to the novel's structural problems, that delicious frisson of terror is missing.

Still, Sarah Schmidt is a talented writer and this well-written novel is a welcome addition to the Lizzie Borden oeuvre and required reading for all of Lizzie's fans.

[amaliagavea · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

‘’Should it matter when it happened?’’ I’ve always been interested in true and unresolved crimes cases and ever since I watched a documentary about the Borden murders, I try to read as much as possible about this strange, horrific crime. So, I eagerly started reading Sarah Schmidt’s novel which was highly recommended and which I found to be every bit as haunting, mysterious, gritty as the real story.First of all, can I just say that we’re living in blessed times for us readers, because the plethora of beautiful debuts, their quality and exciting writing is every reader’s dream.I don’t think there’s ever been a time when most of the debuts have made such an impact on our community. For the last 5-6 years, we have experienced great literary moments by up and coming writers and this should give us hope for the future.Anyway, back to our book. We start our journey with a quite gruesome scene- but well-composed and intense- when the bodies of the Borden couple are discovered. From then on, we move back and forth in time and through the eyes of Lizzie, Emma, Bridget and Benjamin, we try to glue the pieces of a broken family together, to discover the events that led to the bloody epilogue. Now, this time technique is fascinating, but it also requires serious skills. Schmidt succeeds in this and presents the story in a way that makes you forget you actually know it. The book takes you with it and you cannot help but watching the events unfold with the same trepidation we’d have felt for any novel whose plot was unfamiliar to us.The writing reminded me of Hannah Kent’s Burial Rites. There is the same combination of darkness and a strange tranquility underneath. There are domestic scenes described in realistic detail, moments of family dynamics that are uncomfortable, wild. Bloody images that are never over the top. There is a distinctive aura of Gothic, gritty and primitive at times, but always poetically beautiful. It is difficult to describe it, actually. Imagine a mist that covers every chapter, every paragraph and we have to wait for it to dissolve in order to discover hidden feelings and motives. And believe me, it isn’t easy and in certain moments, the mists remains still, unmoving.This novel is an example of beautiful writing and equally well-written characters. It doesn’t matter whether they are likeable or not. (Frankly, ‘’likeable’’ is boring. Most of the times…) They are interesting, they drive the plot, providing dark company, revealing their souls to us. Emma and Lizzie, the Borden sisters, couldn’t be more different. Emma is the eldest, the sensible one, the daughter who wants to escape the family and yet is shuttered by the murders, because to her ‘’family is family’’, despite the fact that her father was cruel and unloving. Lizzie is the revolutionary, the child that doubts her father’s authority, the one who isn’t willing to compromise, she want to to punish what she considers to be cruelty and injustice. She may come across as petulant, spoiled and selfish. Bridget is the young maid of the household, the one who witnesses everything but is unable to intervene. She understands how heavy the darkness in the house is and tries to break free from Abby’s illogical, erratic behaviour. Abby and Andrew, the victims, the ‘parents’, are awful people.Judging by the way they come across in the novel, I couldn’t say that I felt any kind of pity for them, as harsh as it may sound. Benjamin, a man of ill repute, has his own father- caused traumas and his plans involve revenge, but they’re no well thought-out.This is a beautiful, dark book. Attractive, gritty, exciting, emanating a deep sadness for a family that is destroyed by a tyrannical father and ill choices. I agree with a number of good friends in our community who said that this story isn’t for everyone. You need to invest yourself in the novel, to be willing to think beyond the words you read, to be open-minded. I loved the way Schmidt chose to end the story, it was so well-constructed and powerful.One more brilliant debut by an Australian author, one more brilliant example of Historical Fiction.Many thanks to Grove Atlantic and NetGalley for this ARC in exchange for an honest review.

[msf59 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

“Lizzie Borden took an axe and gave her mother forty whacks. When she saw what she had done, she gave her father 41.” “Someone’s killed Father.” These words were uttered by Lizzie Borden, on the morning of August 4, 1892, in Fall River, Massachusetts. In this impressive debut, the author recreates, the events of these horrific murders, blending fact and fiction. It is told from shifting perspectives, so the reader gets a panoramic view of this cold, disturbed household. Lizzie's older sister Emma comes off as the most “normal”, (think of Marilyn in The Munsters) but most of the others are twisted, oddballs, creating a cast of suspects, nearly as large as the Murder on the Orient Express.

[jody12-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The true story of the Bordens of Fall River, Massachusetts is a strange one, and this fictionalised version by Australian author Sarah Schmidt follows the mould rather well. Told through the eyes of the Borden sisters Lizzie and Emma, and also their Irish maid, Bridget, we get a descriptive, and at times graphic, retelling of this historical massacre that does little towards solving the mystery. The family dynamics are toxic and many questions are left unanswered concerning the relationship between father and daughters, and between the family and community itself. But then, as a novel, these are not necessarily what is required of it.Opinions differed quite severely on this one. A good portion of us enjoyed this book, finding the style clever and completely engrossing. The historical aspect of Lizzie Borden drew some in and had them researching the topic, curious as to the factual outcome of the case. The song of Lizzie Borden was recalled … Lizzie Borden took an axe, And gave her mother forty whacksWhen she saw what she had doneShe gave her father forty-oneContrary to this favoured view, it was thought to be repetitious, have poor character development and a weak writing style. With no appealing characters and a low impact outcome, they found little to like or even care about. Contrasting viewpoints? Very much so, which made our discussion all the more interesting.It was decided that the Lizzie Borden story surely involved a case of mental illness (possible psychotic episode), and a dysfunctional family during a time when such circumstances were ignored or accepted. And whether you like or dislike the story and/or the writing style, the sensual and tactile narrative, the continual tasting, smelling, touching (eg. pears, stew, blood!) that brought life to Lizzie and her surroundings did in fact create a fascinating atmosphere. And if it gave the reader an uncomfortable sensation, then who’s to say … maybe it came very close to what was actually going on within Lizzie’s troubled mind.

[flourgirl49 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Virtually every person in this book was portrayed as crazy, nasty, abusive, or exhibiting filthy personal habits of behavior and hygiene. The overall atmosphere was dark and oppressive. I did not like the way the author switched back and forth between the day of the murders and the day before the murders. For a while I thought to myself that all these people ever ate were johnnycakes, mutton soup and pears, but then I realized that it was the same story over and over again, just told by different people over the course of the two days. I wanted to take a shower when it was all over. Yuck.

[ecataldi-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This fictional retelling of the Lizzie Borden murders was gripping from page one. Sarah Schmidt does a wonderful job recounting the events leading up to the infamous murder of Lizzie Borden's parents by telling the story in multiple voices. Lizzie, her sister Emma, the maid Bridget, and a mysterious man by the name of Benjamin view the events though different eyes and add an air of mystery. Did Lizzie Borden really murder her parents with an ax? Why was the Borden house so messed up? What are they all hiding? It's eerie and compelling and an overall quick read. Dark, morbid, and fascinating - historical fiction at it's best!

[wagner5sarah35 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

If you're fairly familiar with the case of Lizzie Bordon, you can dive right into this book. If, however, you're like me and most of what you know is from a History Channel documentary you watched more than ten years ago, it makes for a rocky start to this book. I did appreciate the author's creativity in her approach to this story, but it did cause a very nonlinear story to emerge, which was frustrating at times, as the characters shifting between the day of the murders and the lives they lived up to that point. A decent book, but I do wish I'd at least read the Wikipedia article about Lizzie Bordon before jumping in.

[whisper1_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

If you like to read about body functions, people slurping their food, picking their skin, wiping hands on clothes, then this is the book for you. The mention of these habits, and many more, were mentioned so much that it took away from the story line.Many books are written about Lizzie Borden. There are those who believe she alone was responsibly for the axing of her father and his wife. Then, there is an other minded group who are firm in advocating that she did not do this dastardly deed.The tale of deaths on a stinking hot August 4, 1892 is told from varying points of view of the characters. Broken into chapters, Lizzie, her sister Emma, their Uncle John who visited the family during the time of the murders, Bridget, the Irish maid, and a new before-known character of Benjamin, we learn of their thoughts and behaviours. Benjamin, a creepy near-do-well character who supposedly was hired by Uncle John to perform maiming and killing of the Borden family, was hiding in the house and barn when the murders occurred, leaving him without the payment he was promised. The internal machinations of Lizzie's thoughts are portrayed in a manner that clearly points to an unhealthy mental state. Both Andrew and Lizzie's step mother are not liked, and there is a long litany of grievances they did, with enough ugliness of character to render their bloody, over the edge deaths.The continued hacks to the bodies with a rendering that is clearly one of vengeance is vividly described, and leaves the reader knowing that who ever did the killing was not someone you would like to have in your house for dinner. The reader is left to ponder who actually did the killings. Like many books before this one, this is an ageless tale with no definitive answer regarding who committed the murders.

[angiestahl-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Oppressively moody, which fits the subject, but makes it heavy and uncomfortable to read. Well-written, but ultimately unsatisfying. I wasn't left with any additional insight into what might have happened with the Bordens than what I originally started with.

[sadiebabie · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I didn't know anything about the Borden murders (still don't, beyond what I read in this book), so I came to this fresh. I thought it was such an intriguing story, and I liked how the finger never settled exactly on one person and left it open to interpretation as to the range of motives. It shows that even if there is an accepted version, there are always multiple possibilities. Sometimes the writing style jarred me, just a few sentences which needed a bit of polishing, but overall I enjoyed it.

[perednia_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Amazing in descriptions to show the oppressiveness of sisters bound to each other whether they want their own lives or not, the heat, the casual cruelty, family abuse and the human wish for love.

[smik_3 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is a work of fiction based on true events, and I was never quite sure how fictionalised everything was.The evidence about the events that led to the murder Andrew and Abby Borden is presented by several narrators, looking for reasons for the murders.We are told in the cover blurb that Lizzie Borden was tried and found innocent, and that no one was ever convicted of the crime. The novel presents a number of possible scenarios but I think you are left in no doubt at the end of the author's conclusion.Nevertheless it is a book that keeps you reading, and it presents an analysis of the main characters.

[irregularreader · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Lizzie Borden took an axe and gave her father forty whacks When she saw what she had done, she gave her mother forty-one– Old jump rope rhyme When I was growing up in [the dark ages] 1980s Massachusetts, we still learned that rhyme. Though Fall River was over an hour south of the town I grew up in, Lizzie Borden still felt like our own homegrown boogieman. Little wonder, then, that I remain fascinated by the legend of Lizzie Borden. Even now, 125 years after the infamous murders, there is no firm concensus of what occurred that day.Sara Schmidt brings something new and visceral to the legend. Centered around the day of the murders and the times immediately before and after, we are allowed to take nothing for granted in this tale. The story is told from four different perspectives: Lizzie herself, her older sister, Emma, Bridget, the family’s downtrodden servant, and Benjamin, a mysterious young man with a rather violent disposition. The narrative skips across perspectives and across time, slowly moving us toward what actually happened in the house on that hot summer day.What struck me about this book was how horrible everyone was. Andrew Borden is a miserly wretch, Abby an unstable, clingy lump. Lizzie is spoiled, manipulative, and childlike. Truly, the only people in the house you feel for are Emma Borden and Bridget the maid, both trying to seek their own way out of a toxic household.The Borden murders took place on August 4th, 1892, in an era before air-conditioning. The Borden house has no electricity or indoor plumbing, and everyone is wearing long sleeves, long skirts, and high collars. Schmidt takes full advantage of the season and makes the book feel claustrophobic and oppressive in the description of the sticky, unmoving air, the rank smells, and the congealing food. The horror of this story is less about the violence of the murders themselves, but of being trapped in a truly nightmarish situation.In all, this was an interesting take on the Lizzie Borden legend. While it took bit to get used to the way Lizzie Borden is voiced in this book (she has a manic style of speech and thought that reminds me of the poem The Bells by Edgar Allen Poe), once over that hump I found the book impossible to put down. Fans of the Borden legend, or of the mystery and/or horror genres should enjoy this book.A copy of this book was provided by the publisher in exchange for an honest review.

[cariola_6 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Australian Sarah Schmidt takes a whack at the well-known story of the Lizzie Borden case. She structures her novel in chapters devoted to key figures: Lizzie Borden, the accused murderer of her father and stepmother; Bridget, the family maid, who was at home at the time of the murders; Emma, the older sister, staying with friends during the initial events; John, the sisters' maternal uncle; and a wholly fictional character, Benjamin, a thug hired by John to threaten Mr. Borden, supposedly on Lizzie's behalf. We are never witness to the murder or the trial or to any post-trial events: Schmidt focuses instead on each character's observations and psychological responses. Lizzie comes across as a spoiled, immature, perhaps mentally unbalanced woman in her early 30s. Her sister Emma says time and again that Lizzie always gets her way and that even their strict, stingy father gave in to her every whim. Emma's own happiness--a desire to see Europe, dreams of becoming an artist, even a possible marriage--have been constantly thwarted by the expectation that she will, as her dying mother asked, "take care of Lizzie." Uncle John seems to be a little too close to Lizzie. A shady character, he has a history of borrowing money from his brother-in-law but never paying it back. Did he--or Benjamin, a deranged young man who lives only to make enough money to return home and kill his father--have anything to do with the bloody axe murders? Or was Lizzie finally pushed over the brink when her father killed her pet pigeons? While we never get a definitive answer, Schmidt clearly believes that this is the case.The book left me feeling that I had only half the story and with more questions than I had when I started it. I wanted to know more about Bridget, the only apparently "normal" person in the household. Indeed, an entire novel from her point of view would probably have been more interesting. I'm not sure just what role Benjamin is meant to play. Is he a foil to Lizzie, meant to show how he recognizes in her one of his own kind, capable of murder? Or are we to suspect, despite what he tells us, that he is the real murderer that got away? With the entire family barfing up the mutton that has been simmering on the stove for days, why does no one suspect it has been poisoned or gone bad? (Lizzie at one point asks Bridget if there is any prussic acid in the house--a rather heavy-handed hint.) What exactly was it that turned Lizzie against her stepmother, a woman she had called Mother for years but then began referring to as Mrs. Borden?The novel had it's interesting moments, but, for me, too many holes to recommend, even for fans of the unsolved murders.

[susan.h.schofield · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This was a really good, creepy fictionalized version of the Lizzie Borden story. Like most people, I knew the rhyme, but not much else about Lizzie Borden. This gave a lot of background about Lizzie and her family and what occurred prior to her parents murder. It introduced a fictional witness, Benjamin, to give a third party view of what might of happened. The author clearly did a lot of research and really knew the details of the case. I won a copy of this book from Goodreads.

[lauranthalas-1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

As a fictional work regarding Lizzie Borden and the infamous murders, I was very excited to read this debut novel (plus the cover is amazing). The novel included things that should make a good story: murder, dysfunctional family, creep factor, etc. Overall I was disappointed; I wasn't fond of the writing style and it was a little slow.

[ridgewaygirl · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The murders of Lizzie Borden's parents, along with the court case that decided she wasn't guilty of the murders is an endlessly fascinating facet of American history. Here, Australian author Sarah Schmidt gives us her interpretation of events. It begins with some promise, rendering a portrait of a claustrophobic living situation with an autocratic father making hasty decisions, an older sister torn between a desperation for escape and a love for her troubled little sister, and an unstable and erratic Lizzie. But the characterizations remains opaque, the trial is side-stepped and there's too much wrapped up in the final moments for an event steeped in ambiguity. A story like this requires unanswered questions.

[lauriebrown54 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Most Americans are familiar with the kid’s rhyme “Lizzie Borden took an axe; and gave her mother forty whacks; When she saw what she had done; she gave her father forty-one”. Borden was a real person, and the murders of her father and step-mother were indeed the bloody result of multiple axe wounds. Lizzie was tried for the murders and acquitted, in large part because people back then couldn’t believe that a gentlewoman would do such a thing. This fictionalized version of the tale starts with Lizzie yelling for the maid to come quickly, because someone had killed her father. Then we have a short recital from her older sister, Emma. From there we bounce back to the day before the murders; the different chapters are told by Lizzie, Emma, the maid Bridget, and Benjamin, a crude thug hired by their uncle to ‘do something’ to their father. The minutia of what happened that day, and the day of the murder, are seen from all points of view. From them we get lots and lots of back story, too. From them we also realize that Lizzie is most likely an unreliable narrator- very unreliable. I never did decide if she was mentally ill or just incredibly self-centered. We are never given a rock solid case that Lizzie performed the murders, although it doesn’t look good for her. The things that made me wonder were the presence of the uncle (who seems to have a very unhealthy relationship with Lizzie, and perhaps Emma), and the thug for hire who was on the premises when the murders were done. The most prominent thing about the book is the mood. The Borden household is claustrophobic in the extreme. The father is abusive, stingy, and a control freak. The step-mother tries, but ends up punching herself in the stomach repeatedly to vent her frustrations. Bridget the maid is normal; she just wants to earn enough money to get out of that household. Emma is a sympathetic character; she has been thwarted all her life, unable to do the things she wants, told by her mother to take care of Lizzie before she died. Lizzie is… horrible. Cruel to Emma and to her stepmother, she is almost out of touch with reality. The prose creates the hot, close atmosphere of the household, and it’s hard to take. I wanted to be away from those people; I can only imagine how much the Bordens wanted away from each other! Reading this is an immersive experience; the author describes the smells, the sounds of their bodies, the heat, the godawful food, in great detail. It’s not a pleasant read, but it is well done. Four stars out of five.

[bostonbibliophile · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I enjoyed this creepy, page-turning take on the Lizzie Borden story. I agree with another reviewer that Benjamin wasn't a great character but I think he added some menace. But I thought author Sarah Schmidt did a really great job creating a truly scary Borden household, especially of course Lizzie. People familiar with the real life murders will find some genuinely eery touches here and there. If you're not, you should at least read the Wikipedia entry beforehand just to familiarize yourself. I can see recommending this as a stay-up-late read and/or something for the literary beach bag.

[dove. · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Hats off to Sarah Schmidt for being able to immerse herself into a dark, atrocious event and find humanity in these sick, twisted characters. Told in 4 alternating points of view, the book leaves us with more questions than answers about the Borden murders; in this horrible, dysfunctional, family motives for murder abounded. But the point of this book isn't to know, but to feel. I felt sadness, pity, frustration, and anger toward this real-life cast of characters. The descriptions were evocative at a sensory level: gut-wrenching renditions of dead bodies, cringe-inducing portrayals of acts of violence, even the food was repulsive. Needless to say, this book is not a light read, but the creepy darkness is appropriate for the subject matter and it is a worthy read. I will definitely be looking for Sarah Schmidt's next novel.Thank you to NetGalley for providing this ARC in exchange for an honest review.

[melaniehope · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I love reading books that are based on actual, true life people and events. Although this story was a fictionalized version, it was a great interpretation of the life of Lizzie Borden. Lizzie gained infamy after being tried and acquitted for the 1892 axe murders of her father and stepmother in Fall River, Massachusetts.The author did a great job of setting up an atmosphere of a family that just did not seem "right." Very well done and their was a few subtle hints throughout the story of how things unfolded in these murders. At the end of the book the author included true facts. It was fascinating to learn that Lizzie was basically acquitted of these murders because the male jury believed no woman was capable of committing an act like this. Really great book! I received a complimentary ebook via Netgalley.com

[tamidale · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I grew up jumping rope to the Lizzie Borden rhyme, so I was naturally intrigued when See What I have Done came up on the book list. Sarah Schmidt presents a cast of mostly unlikable characters and gives readers a peek into their private thoughts around the time of the Borden murders and thereafter.The tone of the book is tedious and oppressive. Schmidt is excellent at conveying the boredom, the stifling heat, the troubled relationships and the workings of a dysfunctional family and mental illness. The story moved along fairly well for me until after the murders. Here is where Schmidt lost me. Her writing was well done--maybe too much so. The gory details of the bodies, the constant descriptions of the blood, the stomach heaving and the smells, were among the reasons that made me not care too much about reading any further. I felt like I was right there in the house and the only way out of the house was to quit reading.I liked Schmidt’s introduction of Benjamin and he definitely added a thrilling aspect to the story. Overall, I think Schmidt did a great job of descriptive writing and characterization. If you have any questions about whether or not Lizzie is guilty, you won’t after reading this book.Many thanks to NetGalley and Grove Atlantic for the opportunity to read this story and give an honest review.

[beamis12 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I have never read anything before, fictional or not, about these murders though of course I have heard the rhyme. This is a very interesting take on the Borden family and the murders of the two elder Bordens. Emma, ten years older than Lizzie, a young woman who has had to take on the role as main confidante and caregiver of a younger Lizzie. She promised her mother on her deathbed and Lizzie took full advantage of this promise. Emma, though was not in the house during the times of the murders. Lizzie, in her thirties, acts and sounds like a young child. Stunted growth. The young, Irish servant Bridget is our main narrator.Written in a strange almost dreamlike manner, the ominous tone and the forbading atmosphere of the house permeated throughout. So very strange some of the things going on, from the mutton soup which always seems to be on the stove, never refrigerated, eaten daily to Mrs. Bordens strange attempt to hold on to Bridget. Not a happy home, definitely not a happy family. Two others are introduced to this story, an uncle and a young boy for hire. Not a book I can recommend to everyone, but I thought this was inventive and we'll written, albeit as I said, strange.ARC by Netgalley.

[linda.marsheells · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Having grown up in the area of course this topic is well-known and widespread, so i felt pulled to read this novel. NO disappointment here!We have all read the Lizzie Borden story or seen the movies....40 whacks and all that, parents murdered, and of course during the times, women were thought of as being incapable of wielding such power.SO. Schmidt gives us an unique perspective by writing from several viewpoints.....Lizzie, her sister Emma, Bridget the maid, John the uncle and Ben- the hired thug. She gives us several possibilities but one reality. Strange household filled with tension and sickness both mental and physical, no matter what ultimately occurred. And i do believe that sister Emma knew the truth from the start.SEE WHAT I HAVE DONE is intriguing from the first page.ps- Lizzie and i share the same birthday!!??? oh noooooooooo a hundred years apart but odd fact to find out.

[lynnb_64 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This one didn't really do it for me. We all know the story of Lizzie Borden and one of the most famous unsolved crimes in North America. This book concentrates on the three days surrounding the murder of Abby and Andrew Borden in 1892, going over events from the perspectives of Lizzie, her older sister Emma, the family maid Bridget and a fictional add-in to the historical story: a drifter named Benjamin. What the author did very well was set the mood; the tone is gothic and creepy from beginning to end.However, she may have overplayed her hand. Way too many references to bodily functions and odors; to creaking walls and floors; to sloppy, gross eating. And the dialogue between Emma and Lizzie was unrealistic. They speak and act like children although both are over 30. I found this distracted me from the story.

[rmarcin-630843 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

It took a long time for me to get into and read this book. I disliked it a lot. I just wasn't interested in the story line - about Lizzie Borden and her family and the death of her father and stepmother.