Family Man Review by James Lasdun – The Killings That Shocked America | True crime books

IIn March 2023, 54-year-old Alex Murdaugh received two life sentences for killing his wife and youngest son at the family’s hunting lodge in Colleton County, South Carolina. Since the early twentieth century, three generations of his family have been elected state prosecutors in the “Low Country,” a sprawling region of fertile, rotten swamps on the southeast coast, characterized by extreme economic and social inequality. The Murdoughs were the kind of people who could send you to prison or the electric chair, all the while maintaining a veneer of good Southern manners.

In parallel with these public duties, the family ran a large law firm specializing in personal injuries. In a land plagued by chronic alcoholism and rusty farm equipment, the Murdo family has done a brisk business in multimillion-dollar settlements for those who have lost a limb, a parent, or their cognitive abilities thanks to someone else’s negligence. But instead of passing these life-changing winnings on to vulnerable clients, Alex Murdaugh used them to finance a lavish lifestyle, featuring big cars, prostitutes, opioid pills, and a private military-grade arsenal. Fortunately, he also embezzled several million from his law partners.

Whispers about Murdoh’s dodgy finances have been growing for years. But they became irrelevant that evening in June 2021 when Paul and Maggie were murdered in the family kennels. Alex swore he was nowhere near the crime scene and tried to pin the murder on someone else. He theorized that the hitmen must have come for Paul, who was out on bail for drunkenly ramming the family boat into a bridge in 2019, killing one of its teenage passengers. Maggie, in this scenario, was just collateral damage.

Despite Murdo’s bravado, the prosecution was able to convince the jury that it was he who snuck up on his wife and son, and pulled the trigger not twice, but seven times. As for motive, they argued that Murdaugh was trying to create a distraction from the financial disgrace he was headed toward: In this sentimental, bombastic society, no one would think of suing “Big Red” — so named because of his 6-foot-4-inch frame with red hair — for embezzlement while he dealt with a personal tragedy of biblical proportions.

When James Lasdun, a British novelist living in the United States, began his research, he wasn’t sure Murdough had done it. Big Red may be a braggart, a bully, and corrupt to the core, but Lasdun brings up Thomas De Quincey’s great point about how a man’s ability to steal says nothing about his penchant for murder. Besides, there is something in the crime that Lasdon, who is married with children, cannot accept. How could a man with no history of domestic violence or even a bad temper bring himself to shoot his loved ones just to delay his impending financial exposure?

This kind of ethical scrutiny calls to mind Janet Malcolm’s distinctive approach to writing about well-known criminal cases. In fact, Lasdun tells us that he “venerated” Malcolm, who, like him, would try out her ideas in long articles for The New Yorker before expanding them into books. But that’s where the similarities end. Malcolm’s approach to writing about famous murders was to avoid getting into the narrative weeds in order to reserve space for their psychological and moral explorations. By contrast, Lasdun insists on giving a nuanced account of the Murdoch affair, complete with byzantine subplots involving the suspicious death of the family housekeeper and the murder of another local teenager.

This drive toward completion is puzzling because Mardo’s murders—the irresistible assonance—have already been delivered by a small army of investigators. In addition to a wave of highly regarded podcasts by local journalists, there have been thoughtful and well-received multi-part documentaries on Netflix and HBO. Lasdun rightly acknowledges these contributions, but still insists on giving us verse and verse on hard evidence.

However, while he does not reveal anything fundamentally new about the issue, Lasdun’s prose is pure joy. His resistance to going full Southern Gothic is particularly impressive, though the stench of rotting jellyfish resulting from one of Murdaugh’s failed side attempts is too good to ignore. Likewise, Lasdun’s refusal to reach a definitive conclusion about Big Red’s guilt turned out to be remarkably prescient. On May 13, 2026, around the time his book was published, the South Carolina Supreme Court dramatically overturned the murder conviction, citing “shocking jury intervention” by the court clerk. It turns out that Becky Hill – “Miss Becky” – was urging jurors to convict Murdaugh. One witness testified that she was writing a book about the trial, and needed a narrative conclusion for the project to truly succeed. Ironically, in the process she opened everything wide again. Murdoch’s retrial is likely to begin sometime next year, and Lasdun will likely be there to see it.

Family Man: Blood and Betrayal in the House of Murdo by Jonathan Cape (£22). To support The Guardian, order your copy from guardianbookshop.com. Delivery fees may apply.