Bella Mackie’s How to Kill Your Family is a genre-defying, darkly hilarious crime novel that doubles as a scorching critique of wealth, power, and the dysfunctions stitched into the fabric of family. Stylish, provocative, and disturbingly intimate, the novel masquerades as a confessional memoir from an imprisoned young woman who—ironically—is not guilty of the murder she’s been convicted for, but very much guilty of six others.
As Mackie returns with her 2024 release What a Way to Go, which also centers on a morally complicated woman trying to claw meaning from a chaotic life, her signature flair for biting humor and unflinching social commentary continues to evolve. But it is in How to Kill Your Family that she lays her most wicked foundation.
The Premise: A Cold, Calculated Confession
Grace Bernard, a stylish, sharp-tongued twenty-something, is in prison for a crime she did not commit. But don’t be too quick to pity her. She’s more than willing to admit—in painstaking, gleeful detail—that she has, in fact, murdered six people. All members of her estranged, ultra-wealthy father’s family. Her motive? Revenge. Not of the impulsive kind, but a slow-simmering vendetta for her mother’s abandonment and eventual death, fueled by the cold indifference of the Artemis family.
Through a sardonic, meticulously crafted prison memoir, Grace unspools her tale of bloodlines, betrayal, and brutal self-determination. And while murder is the main plot device, the deeper intrigue lies in how Mackie uses Grace’s story to peel back the skin of societal hypocrisy.
Voice and Style: A Satirical Scalpel Dipped in Ink
Mackie’s writing is saturated with satire—cutting, literary, and incredibly self-aware. Grace’s voice is the novel’s crown jewel: cool, cerebral, and fiercely judgmental. Her tone often dances between sarcastic cynicism and chilling detachment, reminiscent of characters like Tom Ripley or Amy Dunne, but with a distinctively millennial edge.
The narrative isn’t structured like a traditional thriller. Instead, it reads as a psychological excavation, one entry at a time. Grace leads us through her motivations, her kills, and her prison reflections with the tone of someone who would rather be at a gallery opening or drinking an expensive glass of Barolo—but finds herself stuck in a cell with nothing to do but reflect (and mock others).
A Murderer Built on Injustice, Not Madness
Grace is not insane. Nor is she bloodthirsty. What Bella Mackie constructs so masterfully is a killer born not from psychological unraveling, but from righteous rage and seething class resentment. Grace’s vendetta is clinical, her emotional affect unsettlingly measured. This makes her all the more terrifying—and strangely sympathetic.
Her character is defined by:
Moral ambiguity: She draws lines, even as she crosses others.
Social awareness: Her criticism of influencer culture, wealth porn, and performative charity work are razor-sharp.
Impenetrable logic: Her kills are methodical, detached—but never irrational.
Grace is both narrator and moral philosopher, offering the reader a front-row seat to her justifications, and daring us to object.
Plot and Structure: More Ice Than Fire
Contrary to what the title may suggest, this is not a page-turner filled with suspenseful twists or shocking reveals. The book’s appeal lies not in what happens, but in how it is told. Each murder is framed like a chess move, and we are meant to observe Grace’s process more than feel adrenaline spikes.
The structure is linear but introspective, moving between:
Her childhood and abandonment
Her various murders across locations
Her observations of prison life
Her philosophical tangents on everything from toxic positivity to avocado toast
For some readers, this will be a strength—a richly intellectual, character-driven slow burn. For others expecting a more conventional mystery thriller, it may feel meandering.
Strengths of the Novel
Voice-driven storytelling: Grace Bernard is one of the most memorable, complex narrators in recent fiction.
Biting class commentary: The Artemis family is a satire of British aristocracy, wealth, and performative propriety.
Genre fluidity: Part crime thriller, part social satire, part psychological character study.
Unexpected humor: Mackie balances grim themes with an acerbic wit that keeps the tone lively and engaging.
Where It Falters
While Grace’s voice is magnetic, it can become repetitive. The middle section of the book—particularly the prison diary reflections—starts to sag under the weight of its own cleverness. Mackie occasionally drifts into digressions that, though entertaining, stall the momentum of the plot.
Moreover, the novel’s structure—confession over investigation—means there is little traditional tension. The outcome is known from the start: Grace is behind bars. The twist lies not in who did it, but in why, how, and why she got caught for the wrong crime.
For readers who crave high-octane pacing, the book’s focus on character interiority might feel static.
Thematic Analysis: Satire with a Body Count
The genius of How to Kill Your Family is that the murders become symbolic acts of social rebellion. Grace doesn’t just kill for revenge; she kills to upend a structure that has excluded and shamed her. In that sense, each death becomes a critique of an entire system.
Dominant Themes:
Class hypocrisy: The Artemis family represents a polished surface over rotten foundations.
Misogyny and power: Grace uses the way society underestimates women—especially elegant, composed women—to her advantage.
The performance of morality: From prison “rehabilitation” programs to social media charity stunts, Mackie skewers society’s empty gestures.
Justice vs. legality: The irony of Grace being punished for the one murder she didn’t commit drives home the novel’s deeper commentary on justice systems.
Echoes of Literary Cousins
The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole (if Adrian was homicidal)
You by Caroline Kepnes: A deeply personal, psychotic narrator dissecting society while hiding in plain sight
Dexter by Jeff Lindsay: Morality-questionable murders, but with literary flair and class satire
Bella Mackie’s What a Way to Go shares this fascination with female agency and existential rebellion, but How to Kill Your Family remains her boldest narrative statement—a sardonic howl against systemic inequality cloaked in chic murder.
A Subversive Success Story
There is a reason How to Kill Your Family became a bestseller: it speaks to the repressed frustrations of an entire generation. Those tired of performative wealth, of glass ceilings, of legacy systems that benefit the cruel and punish the kind. Grace Bernard is not a hero—but she is an unflinching mirror, reflecting what happens when intelligence, resentment, and powerlessness curdle into something lethal.
Mackie’s satire slices through society’s sanctimony with the precision of a surgeon. That she does this through a stylish, unapologetic serial killer is nothing short of brilliant.
Clever, chilling, and riotously sharp, How to Kill Your Family proves Bella Mackie is not only a writer with flair—but one with teeth.
Would you get away with murder if society handed you every reason to commit it? Grace Bernard thinks you might. And after reading this book, you might agree.