Amy Meyerson transforms the sun-drenched Venice Canals of Los Angeles into a pressure cooker of secrets and surveillance in The Water Lies, a psychological thriller that asks unsettling questions about trust, motherhood, and the truth we’re willing to ignore. Known for her emotionally resonant family dramas like The Bookshop of Yesterdays and The Imperfects, Meyerson ventures into darker territory here, crafting a mystery that feels both intimate and suffocating—much like the glass houses that line the waterways where the story unfolds.
The Catalyst: When a Toddler Knows Too Much
The Water Lies opens with Tessa Irons navigating the familiar chaos of toddlerhood while heavily pregnant with her second child. During a routine coffee run, her eighteen-month-old son Jasper erupts into an inexplicable tantrum, shouting “Gigi!” toward a woman Tessa has never seen before. It’s the kind of moment every parent recognizes—the public meltdown, the judgment from strangers, the exhaustion that comes with decoding a child who cannot yet articulate his needs. But when that same woman’s body is discovered the next morning in the canal directly outside their Venice Beach home, Tessa’s maternal instincts ignite with certainty: her son knew this victim, and the connection matters.
What follows is an investigation born of desperation rather than detection, as Tessa teams up with an unlikely ally—Barb Geller, the victim’s estranged mother who refuses to accept the police’s convenient explanation of accidental drowning. Together, these two women from opposite ends of motherhood navigate a labyrinth of lies that will force them to question everything they thought they knew about family, loyalty, and the men they trusted.
The Venice Canals: Beauty Built on Rot
Meyerson’s choice of setting in The Water Lies proves masterful in its symbolic weight. The Venice Canals neighborhood functions as more than mere backdrop—it becomes a character unto itself, embodying the novel’s central tensions between appearance and reality.
The canals represent:
Surveillance culture: Glass-fronted homes where lives unfold in full view, yet neighbors remain strategic strangers
Manufactured perfection: Waterways that require constant intervention to maintain their pristine appearance, hiding stagnant rot beneath
Class and privilege: A wealthy enclave where security systems abound but true safety remains elusive
Isolation within community: Tourist-thronged pathways that somehow amplify the characters’ fundamental loneliness
The neighborhood’s peculiar geography—narrow walkways where passing requires negotiation, houses that offer no privacy yet foster no connection—creates a claustrophobic atmosphere that amplifies the thriller elements. Meyerson captures how the constant presence of strangers photographing your bougainvillea can make you feel both exposed and invisible, watched yet unseen. This paradox mirrors the novel’s exploration of how intimacy and surveillance can coexist, how we can live in glass houses and still hide our darkest secrets.
Dual Perspectives: Mothers on Opposite Shores
The alternating narrative between Tessa and Barb provides the novel’s emotional architecture. Tessa, navigating the physical and psychological demands of late pregnancy while managing a toddler, embodies the vulnerability of new motherhood—that hypervigilant state where instinct wars constantly with self-doubt. Her chapters pulse with the exhaustion of someone dismissed as “hormonal” when she voices legitimate concerns, a frustration many readers will recognize viscerally.
Barb’s perspective offers the other side of maternal experience: the grief of losing a child, compounded by years of estrangement and regret. Recently forced into retirement from a decades-long HR career, Barb represents that generation of professional women who sacrificed personal relationships for workplace success, only to find themselves facing profound isolation when those careers end. Her determination to uncover the truth about Regina’s death becomes a quest for redemption, a final chance to be the mother she failed to be when her daughter was alive.
Character Strengths:
Tessa’s journey from self-doubt to self-trust feels authentic and hard-won
Barb’s complexity—professional competence paired with personal failure—avoids easy categorization
The developing bond between these two women demonstrates how family can be chosen rather than inherited
Supporting characters, particularly Tessa’s friend Claire, reveal the fragile nature of friendships built on proximity rather than genuine connection
Character Weaknesses:
Gabe, despite being central to the mystery, remains somewhat underdeveloped emotionally
The antagonist’s motivations, while understandable, could have been explored with greater nuance
Some secondary mothers in Tessa’s circle blur together, serving function over fully realized characterization
The Mystery: Pacing and Revelation
Meyerson constructs her thriller with deliberate pacing that prioritizes psychological tension over action sequences. The investigation unfolds through conversations at coffee shops, late-night internet searches, and the slow assembly of evidence that doesn’t quite fit the official narrative. This approach grounds the thriller elements in recognizable reality—these are ordinary women using ordinary means to pursue truth that everyone else wants to dismiss.
The novel’s central mystery expands in concentric circles, each revelation opening onto larger, more disturbing questions. What begins as “How did my toddler know this woman?” evolves into something far more sinister, touching on themes of medical ethics, reproductive autonomy, and the abuse of trust in its most intimate forms. Without revealing specifics, the truth at the novel’s core will leave readers questioning assumptions about fertility medicine, family genetics, and the power dynamics inherent in doctor-patient relationships.
Mystery Elements That Work:
Red herrings feel organic rather than contrived
The climactic revelation genuinely surprises while remaining logically consistent with established facts
Meyerson respects reader intelligence, trusting us to piece together clues alongside her protagonists
Where the Thriller Mechanics Stumble:
The police’s dismissive attitude occasionally strains credibility
Some coincidences feel convenient rather than earned
The final confrontation, while emotionally satisfying, relies on timing that stretches plausibility
Thematic Depth: What Defines Motherhood?
At its core, The Water Lies interrogates fundamental questions about maternal identity. Meyerson explores motherhood through multiple lenses: biological, social, aspirational, and grieving. The novel asks whether genetics determine parenthood, or whether the daily acts of care and protection create the bonds that truly matter. It examines how society weaponizes maternal instinct, dismissing women’s concerns as overreaction while simultaneously holding them responsible for preventing all harm to their children.
The fertility medicine subplot—central to the mystery—raises urgent contemporary questions about reproductive ethics, bodily autonomy, and the desperation that makes people vulnerable to exploitation. Meyerson handles these sensitive topics with nuance, avoiding easy moralizing while making her position clear: deception in matters of reproduction constitutes a profound violation, regardless of outcome.
Writing Style: Accessible Suspense
Meyerson’s prose remains accessible without sacrificing sophistication. She excels at sensory details that ground us in place—the pungent smell of algae-thick canals, the sticky heat of late pregnancy, the particular exhaustion of toddler tantrums. Her sentences flow naturally, avoiding the overwrought metaphors that sometimes plague literary thrillers.
The dual first-person narration distinguishes itself through voice. Tessa’s chapters carry the scattered energy of sleep deprivation and pregnancy brain, while Barb’s perspective offers more measured, analytical observations tempered by decades of professional experience reading people. This stylistic distinction helps readers orient themselves immediately in each chapter shift.
The Verdict: A Solid Thriller with Heart
The Water Lies succeeds primarily as an exploration of motherhood under pressure, secondarily as a mystery-thriller. Readers seeking breakneck pacing and elaborate plot twists may find the measured revelation frustrating, but those who appreciate character-driven suspense will find much to savor. The novel’s greatest strength lies in its emotional authenticity—the bond that develops between Tessa and Barb feels earned, their respective journeys toward self-trust and redemption resonate deeply.
Meyerson demonstrates range in tackling this darker material after her previous feel-good family stories. While The Love Scribe offered romantic whimsy and The Imperfects delivered family drama wrapped in historical intrigue, The Water Lies proves she can maintain tension and build dread while retaining her signature focus on complicated family dynamics. The ending may feel somewhat rushed after the methodical buildup, and certain plot points resolve with convenient timing, but the emotional payoff justifies minor structural quibbles.
Who Should Read This Book?
Perfect for readers who enjoyed:
The Last Thing He Told Me by Laura Dave
The Push by Ashley Audrain
Then She Was Gone by Lisa Jewell
An Anonymous Girl by Greer Hendricks and Sarah Pekkanen
The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides
Ideal for fans of:
Domestic thrillers with substance over shock value
Explorations of motherhood’s darker complexities
Settings that function as characters
Female friendships forged through adversity
Medical ethics in fiction
Final Thoughts
The Water Lies asks us to trust our instincts even when everyone dismisses them, to believe in truth when lies would be more comfortable, and to redefine family beyond biology. It’s an imperfect thriller elevated by authentic characterization and thematic ambition. Meyerson proves that genre fiction can explore serious questions without sacrificing entertainment value. While it may not revolutionize the domestic thriller category, it offers a thoughtful, emotionally resonant entry that lingers well beyond the final page. The Venice Canals setting will never look quite the same—and perhaps that’s precisely the point.