Iphigenia in Forest Hills: Anatomy of a Murder Trial

I have read most of Janet Malcolm's books and have enjoyed them all, but I cannot recommend this one for one simple reason: it has no ending. Yes, I know, Malcolm's point is we can never know the full truth here, but she leaves us hanging in a particularly brutal way. There is a passing reference to Dershowitzes becoming the appeal lawyer, but nothing past that. Perhaps Malcolm lost interest in the case, or perhaps she was under a tight deadline (although that doesn't sound like The New Yorker to me). But if you are going to write a book about a murder case, you need an ending.

I gather books that I want to read from a wide variety of sources. This title fell into my lap. Literally. I was getting my hair cut and simultaneously reading a magazine when I stumbled upon an editor’s ‘favorite books’. One was Janet Malcolm’s IPHIGENIA IN FOREST HILLS: ANATOMY OF A MURDER TRIAL. Mind boggling. A good true crime story is nothing short of riveting. This was nothing short of that and then some.Malcolm, a journalist, and author, sets out to show us, having sat through the trial of Mazoltuv Borukhova, a doctor, who was accused in 2007, along with a man that she supposedly hired, to kill her husband, Daniel Malakov, an orthodontist. The motive, that he had gained full custody of their 4-year old daughter. Malakov was shot in broad daylight, while holding his daughter’s hand walking into a playground, handing her off to her mother. The shooter was the man that Borukhova hired. It was a gruesome scene.Both husband and wife lived in Queens and are Bukharan Jewish immigrants. Their families are complicated to say the least. The quarrels over custody of their young child were complex. The mother accused the father of sexually abusing their daughter. He was not able to be alone with her and then suddenly, he was awarded full custody.  Borukhova was found guilty along with her accomplice. You would think that having read so many thrillers of late that don’t seem even somewhat plausible that I would feel apathetic even when it comes to a story like this. I remind myself that this is true crime. And that atrocious crimes are committed by people who are truly sick and you never know what triggers someone or what goes on behind closed doors let alone in the middle of a playground.

This is not a true crime book and Janet Malcolm is not an author who seeks to entertain. Nor is she the sort of author who fades into the background of her writing. More often than not, a critique of any of her books becomes a critique of her. Fortunately Malcolm is as ready to rumble as any star of the WWE. To read any of Malcolm's work for a dispassionate recitation of events is to be disappointed and to, well, miss the point. She seeks to understand what the events reveal about us. She does not stand on the sidelines and pretend to be unbiased - she has an opinion and she draws conclusions.The bare facts are: Mazoltuv Borukhova is accused of hiring an assassin to murder his husband in front of her. Borukhova and the hired killer are put on trial, a highly imperfect trial in Malcolm's estimation. Her idiosyncratic take is on every page: "But rooting is in our blood; we take sides as we take breaths." It takes a bold writer to indulge in this herself: "That's what I think was going on. No one will ever be able to prove it. But that's exactly what happened."Malcolm wants readers to see that we all impose our own interpretation on the testimony. We construct our own narrative, based on our own experiences and prejudices. We may seek the truth, but our version becomes the truth. "We explain and blame. We are connoisseurs of certainty." She offers her own version and, be warned, she is sympathetic to Borukhova. Malcolm wants to know what drove events and expands her search beyond what is said in court.If you haven't like Malcolm's earlier books, you won't like this one. I have a soft spot for a writer who can sidle up to a prospective interview and offer the following reporter's come on "I went up to him and asked if Anna Freud's project ... had been an influence on his work." Combine that unashamedly intellectually approach with Malcolm's pointed ruminations on the impossibility of narrowing accountability for a crime into a narrative that will fit into a courtroom and you have a compelling, unsettling book.

Janet Malcolm's detail and perception make this culturally complex, issue-intensive story jump off the page and haunt you. She's a great writer and it's a bewildering, unpredictable case, so a very good read. I was surprised and alienated, however, when - about halfway through - Malcolm started injecting her own moral opinions into her narrative. She chimed in (to the reader only, I hope) on what points the mother made were relevant in trying to prove the father was an unfit parent. Most disturbingly - and I'm not giving away any plot twists here - Malcolm decided that alleged sexual molestation of the little girl was less likely to cause her fear of the father than his abuse of his wife, and that the mother was misguided in belaboring the incidents of sexual molestation in her argument.

Reading book for a book group. Read the original New Yorker Article, but book is expanded. Good sensitive coverage of a weird trial.

This book is based on the real story of a murder for which a woman (the wife of the man who was killed) is accused and declared guilty. The entire story revolves around the unique personality of this woman, and the possibility that she killed the husband out of love for her child. Already an interesting story, but even more is the fact that the writer went behind the scenes, trying to find explanations about the somewhat contrasting behavior of authorities, lawyers, judges, relatives, physicians... everyone who was involved in this tragedy. I could not believe it was a real story!

This is a "mixed" 5-star review. Malcolm's writing is so compelling that, instead of throwing this HIDEOUS book into the trash, I read it in one sitting. A pox on all their houses!

wow this journalist can write, hooked from the start