“The Betrayals” by Bridget Collins

In a terrifying political situation, Collins uses shared passion to delve into the psyche of humans dealing with politics and with each other.

By: Erica Bouska

In a time when political tensions seem to rocket higher and higher every day, “The Betrayals” is somehow a hopeful take on what could happen if they get worse. Bridget Collins’ ninth novel takes place in a country—alluded to be France—in the early 1920s or 30s. However, the political system and religion have progressed much farther than technology, and religion is considered to be a dying fad. Members of the last common religion, Chrisitanity, are being persecuted at the same level as Jews in Germany before the Holocaust. It’s a dark place to start.

The novel takes its time, introducing the severity of the crisis by narrating the story from three different perspectives: a disillusioned politician who is told to resign or be killed at the beginning of the book; the first woman headmaster at Montverre, the most prestigious school in the country; and a girl living in the walls of Montverre, who is called the Rat. The politician, Léo, was the Minister for Culture and was involved in the sport, art, and religion of the country, the grand jeu. He attended Montverre to play the game and was, arguably, one of the best players ever. So to appeal to the public, who like him, the governing party (simply called the Party) sends him back to the school to rekindle his love for the game and remove him from the public eye. 

Besides dealing with immense sexism, the headmaster, Claire, now has to put up with Léo, who she does not care for. She has a strong hatred for the Party, and to her, it feels like he’s come to upstage everything she’s worked so hard to achieve in the grand jeu. Léo finds her off-putting. Women are not allowed to attend Montverre, and having one lead it does not sit well with Léo, especially since she seems so damn familiar. 

The book flashes between the present unfolding between Léo, Claire, and the Rat and Leo’s last year as a student at Montverre. There we find Léo’s greatest rival in the grand jeu, Carfax de Courcy. Known for being brilliant but having a mentally unstable family, Carfax avoids everyone, but something about him always brings Léo back into his hemisphere. 

Collins weaves the storylines together seamlessly. As time progresses in the present, the same amount of time passes in the past. The two play off of each other, foreshadowing and casting doubt on the present, while resurrecting memories that emotionally rile the characters, especially Léo. The novel, though written almost poetically, resists the temptation to be bogged down by oversimplifications and trying to sound smart. Instead, it builds a world, a game, and a struggle so real it feels like a warning signal. 

The book brilliantly works the Party’s facism and the country’s struggle with it into the story of Claire, Léo, and Carfax. It never feels heavy-handed enough to make you walk away from the darkness in the book, but while you read it, you can feel the problems looming over the characters in disagreements about whether “Bridges of Konigsberg” is the worst or best grand jeu ever played. One of the most brilliant parts of Collins’ writing is that she never fully explains what the grand jeu is. The reader understands it’s highly complex but doesn’t need the gritty details to pick up on its significance. 

Additionally, Collins leaves out many details about the Party and the horrors working their way across the country, but somehow, it makes the book better. The reader is left to fill in or ignore the parts they’re not told about. The whole book feels like a puzzle that gradually hands over more and more pieces until you can jump to conclusions on your own. It makes the incredible twist all the more satisfying. Everything snaps together and finally, the reader can see the whole picture.

But Collins doesn’t just drop the twist and run. She builds off the bombshell, into a larger moment, into an even bigger moment, into a crescendoing finale that seems inescapable. And unlike many authors, she doesn’t build an elaborate plan or create a perfect ending. She makes the ending realistic and somehow still happy. She refuses to wrap her book up in pretty wrapping paper and slap a big red bow on top, but delivers hope on the wings of tragedy. It’s masterfully handled.

“The Betrayals” is literary genius that uses passion for the grand jeu to explore forgiveness, mental health, and the human decency that is left behind when everything else is stripped away. With its lyrical prose and dew-coated web of intrigue, the novel creates a world where healing is still possible in a country heading toward doom.