The Cuckoo's Calling

“Then the final, filthy scene, after Charlotte had tracked him down in the early hours, to plunge in those last few banderillas she had failed to implant before he had left her flat; his resolution to let her go when, after clawing his face, she had run out of the door; and then that moment of madness when he had plunged after her—a pursuit ended as quickly as it had begun, with the unwitting intervention of this heedless, superfluous girl, whom he had been forced to save, and then placate.”

In this moment, Strike outlines his relationship with Charlotte, describing their last moments together and implying that they are representative of their broader relationship. Although Strike does not outline the specifics of their fight, the reader gets context for his appearance, mood, and living situation, with the added benefit of adding suspense as the reader worries for Strike’s well-being. This line also establishes what he thinks of Robin before he gets to know her, revealing a constraint in their professional relationship that Robin must overcome.

“The man sitting opposite him was delusional, if not actually unhinged.”

Before discovering that Lula is John’s adoptive sister, Strike initially doesn’t believe that John has any relation to Lula. This thought is revealed as foreshadowing, for John’s status as the murderer reveals his cold, calculated nature and his delusional belief that he would get away with killing Lula. This is also an example of the type of language that is used in the novel to describe people with mental health conditions. The characters frequently use slang like “unhinged” and tend to speak of mental health conditions in a derogatory way. Some readers might be bothered by this type of language, so it is important to note.

“Bombarded with the story, you grew interested against your will, and before you knew it, you were so well informed, so opinionated about the facts of the case, you would have been unfit to sit on a jury.”

Galbraith’s use of the second-person perspective invites the reader to reflect on Lula’s case in a more personal way. This draws parallels between real-life crimes that often stir up public interest, drawing people in despite their best efforts. It is a critique on media consumption habits and the news cycle that focuses on tragedy.

“How could the death of someone you had never met affect you so? Robin had greatly admired Lula Landry’s looks. She did not much like her own milkmaid’s coloring: the model had been dark, luminous, fine-boned and fierce.”

As a continuation of media consumption, Robin muses how her own life was impacted by Lula’s death, noting the strangeness of “relationships” that are one-sided. Further, this moment reveals that Robin does not think highly of her own physical appearance, a contradiction to the observations others have made of her.

“Seven and a half million hearts were beating in close proximity in this heaving old city, and many, after all, would be aching far worse than his. Walking wearily past closing shops, while the heavens turned indigo above him, Strike found solace in vastness and anonymity.”

Galbraith uses powerful descriptive language to emphasize Strike’s loneliness and his efforts to comfort himself. By comparing himself to others, Strike lessens the emotional burden of his own experiences, repressing the pain he feels as a result of Charlotte’s behavior. It also reinforces Strike’s self-isolation because he is choosing to fade into the crowd rather than seek people to comfort him.

“He could still feel the missing foot, ripped from his leg two and a half years before. It was there, under the sleeping bag; he could flex the vanished toes if he wanted to. Exhausted as Strike was, it took a while for him to fall asleep, and when he did, Charlotte wove in and out of every dream, gorgeous, vituperative and haunted.”

Although Strike is resistant to talk to people about his mental or emotional struggles, this moment shows his post-traumatic stress disorder. More specifically, Strike is experiencing phantom limb syndrome, which occurs when amputees “feel” the limb that has been amputated. His thoughts of his injury lead him back to thoughts of Charlotte, as she was the one who nursed him back to health. The Charlotte from his memories is a crueler version of her, one that Strike has more experience with.

“[…] That’s what they do to success: they hunt you down, they tear you down. That’s what envy does, my friend. The motherfuckin’ press chased her out that window. Let her rest in peace, I say. She’s getting peace right now.”

Robin and Strike watch a video in which the rapper Deeby Macc outlines the complicated nature of fame. He is one of the few people who verbalizes the negative impact of the paparazzi, reinforcing that it is more malicious than others make it out to be. The implication is that if Lula died by suicide, it was in part driven by the constant presence of the press. This is a critique of the culture surrounding media consumption, especially consumption focused on real people rather than characters.

“But they had already tried, again and again and again, and always, when the first crashing wave of mutual longing subsided, the ugly wreck of the past lay revealed again, its shadow lying darkly over everything they tried to rebuild.”

Galbraith uses repetition to underscore the difficult nature of tumultuous relationships. The multiple uses of the word “again,” paired with ocean wave imagery, implies that the relationship is doomed to fail no matter what they do. Although this is a quote from Strike’s perspective, it is mirrored in Lula’s relationship with Evan, which was similarly fraught.

“It was the first grin he had ever dared give her. He supposed he ought to be annoyed with himself, and yet Strike stepped out into the cool early afternoon with no feeling of regret, but rather a curious sense of renewed optimism.”

Strike and Robin make progress in their professional relationship, establishing a way to continue working together despite the factors straining their interactions. It is an important step for Strike’s healing, marking the first time that he is putting trust in someone who is not Charlotte.

“There’s people who’d expect you to take a bullet for them and they don’t bother rememb’ring yuh name. Yeah, she was all right.”

Derrick relays one of the central critiques of the rich and famous. By noting their tendencies for ignoring those of a lesser social standing, Derrick provides insight into some of the people he knows from the apartment building. However, he notes that Lula was not like the other people in the building; she was courteous. This contradicts her family members’ views, who describe her as selfish and dismissive. It is one of the first times that Strike receives contradicting details in his search for the truth.

“Strike was used to playing archaeologist among the ruins of people’s traumatized memories; he had made himself the confidant of thugs; he had bullied the terrified, baited the dangerous and laid traps for the cunning. None of these skills were required with Wilson, who seemed almost wasted on a pointless trawl through John Bristow’s paranoia.”

The metaphor equating archeologists to detectives provides an apt comparison, as both occupations involve digging through information to analyze the truth. At this point in the novel, Strike is still dubious that Lula was murdered, as is expressed when he admires Derrick’s memory. This moment foreshadows their eventual walk-through of Lula’s apartment building, when Derrick’s memory becomes pivotal in ensuring evidence that points to Lula’s murderer.

“She come out of her mother’s place and she was strange. Not like I’d ever seen her, right? Quiet, really quiet. Like she was in shock or something. Then she asked me for a pen, and she started scribbling something on a bit of blue paper. Wasn’t talking to me. Wasn’t saying anything. Just writing.”

This interview becomes a crucial moment in Strike’s investigation. Kieran tells Strike about Lula’s change in behavior and writing, information that leads Strike to look for her will. This is a detail that others ignored or dismissed, making it key for his success in uncovering the truth. It also adds further suspense to the narrative, leading the reader to wonder what Lula learned at her mother’s that surprised her so much.

“He had never been able to understand the assumption of intimacy fans felt with those they had never met.”

As the son of a celebrity, Strike has unique insight into Lula’s experiences as a famous model. He relates to her through his own experiences meeting people who admire his father, which is further complicated by their strained relationship. This one-sided fascination with a celebrity has recently been termed as a “parasocial relationship,” describing interactions in which one party extends time, energy, and even money to another party, who is unaware of the first’s existence.

“’Why did you leave?’

‘Injured,’ said Strike.

He had described that injury to Wilson in the starkest of terms, but he was wary of being equally frank with Robin. He could imagine her shocked expression, and he stood in no need of her sympathy.”

Strike continues to grapple with his injury while he struggles to be more comfortable in Robin’s presence. His refusal to admit that he is missing his leg is grounded in his discomfort at the injury, leading him to repress his feelings about it and conceal the truth. He is also not yet comfortable with Robin as a cohort, inspiring him to maintain this secret. 

“Why would she tell the truth on the essential point, but surround it with easily disproven falsehoods? Why would she lie about what she had been doing when she heard shouting from Landry’s flat? Strike remembered Adler: ‘A lie would have no sense unless the truth were felt as dangerous.’ Tansy had come along today to make a last attempt to find someone who would believe her, and yet swallow the lies in which she insisted on swaddling her evidence.”

Strike struggles to understand Tansy’s motivations as he uncovers details about the night of Lula’s death. In particular, he is struck that she must be lying for a reason strong enough to nullify her desire to tell the truth, creating a complex situation that causes more questions. This is a turning point for Strike as it indicates Lula was not alone when she died, implicating someone in her death.

“The strange limbo in which he was living, with Robin his only real human contact, could not last, but he was still not ready to resume a proper social life. He had lost the army, and Charlotte and half a leg; he felt a need to become thoroughly accustomed to the man he had become, before he felt ready to expose himself to other people’s surprise and pity.”

As he continues to mourn his relationship with Charlotte, he avoids situations that will stir up questions or comments that he is unprepared to handle. He searches for meaning in life, hoping that finding a purpose will allow him to meet others and their questions with dignity. His emotional discomfort and distance are rooted in trauma responses, leading the reader to realize his emotional distance is a coping mechanism.

“Now, however, out of these dry black marks on paper, out of erratically spelled messages littered with in-jokes and nicknames, the wraith of the dead girl rose before him in the dark office. Her emails gave him what the multitude of photographs had not: a realization in the gut, rather than the brain, that a real, living, laughing and crying human being had been smashed to death on that snowy London street. He had hoped to spot the flickering shadow of a murderer as he turned the file’s pages, but instead it was the ghost of Lula herself who emerged, gazing up at him, as victims of violent crimes sometimes did, through the detritus of their interrupted lives.”

Prior to accessing the police report, Strike’s understanding of Lula was limited to the information gained from interviews. Here, however, he gains insight into her mental state leading up to her death, gaining perspective on her that he previously lacked. He reconciles Lula’s fame with her personhood, ending his examination of evidence with a new perspective. This is also yet another moment when Strike is “haunted,” experiencing ghosts of different women who have populated his life.

“Nillness, thought Strike, for a second distracted. He had slept badly. Nillness, that was where Lula Landry had gone, and where all of them, he and Rochelle included, were headed. Sometimes illness turned slowly to nillness, as was happening to Bristow’s mother…sometimes nillness rose to meet you out of nowhere, like a concrete road slamming your skull apart.”

In his exhaustion, Strike connects mental health conditions with the inevitability of death. He grapples with this concept, creating a new word, “nillness,” as he tries to understand Lula’s death and the motivations of the people around her. The juxtaposition of a death by illness to a death by violence is meant to shock the reader, making them once again reflect on the exact way that Lula died.

“The dead could only speak through the mouths of those left behind, and through the signs they left scattered behind them.”

The dead can no longer speak for themselves; instead, they have to be interpreted by others through memory and the physical evidence left behind. These are Strike’s only resources for solving Lula’s murder, and this quote gives his quest an existential bent as he struggles to understand what’s happened.

“Strike saw it in the sneaking sidelong glances other occupants were shooting them; in the respectful space left around them, a wider orbit than anybody else had been granted. Duffield and his cohorts’ apparent unselfconsciousness was, Strike recognized, nothing but expert artifice; they had, all of them, the hyper-alertness of the prey animal combined with the casual arrogance of predators. In the inverted food chain of fame, it was the big beasts who were stalked and hunted; they were receiving their due.”

Strike compares fame to animal food chains, emphasizing the idea of predators and prey to reinforce status, superiority, and the idea of the media “feeding” upon the famous. Galbraith describes a social construct as if it were part of the natural world. However, the underlying current of this description is in the concept of being “fed,” a necessary action for any living organism. Attention is equated to food, making it seem as if notice is as important as sustenance.

“How easy it was to capitalize on a person’s own bent for self-destruction; how simple to nudge them into non-being, then to stand back and shrug and agree that it had been the inevitable result of a chaotic, catastrophic life.”

This reflection is about Lula as much as it is about Strike’s mother. It is not only a critique of people who would manipulate those with mental health conditions for their own benefit, but also a critique of a larger society that devalues those living with mental health conditions.

“Her death was an almost palpable presence in the room, as though it stood waiting patiently, politely, behind the curtains.”

Death is personified as Strike meets Yvette Bristow. This leads to a comparison between Yvette’s impending death and Lula’s murder, a distinction between an expected death and an unexpected, violent death.

“‘I’ve given them a few combinations to try,’ Strike went on. ‘If they don’t work, I suppose they’ll have to call in an expert to open it. But if I were a betting man, I’d put my money on 030483.’”

This moment is Strike’s victory over John. It is the conclusion of his monologue outlining how John murdered Lula and reinforces his powerful attention to detail, which is accented by his memory of Charlie’s death and assumptions that John would set the safe to that date. Strike proves himself as a detective, meeting many of the expectations of the genre.