In my former life, I was a narcissist.

Some people would disagree; I was always disturbingly hard on myself. I crumpled under the pressure to be thin, to be pretty, to be smart—and yes, it used to be in that order. Overly anxious, I would refuse to enter any situation where I did not feel in control. Parties at new places, a new school, even using the phone to call someone I didn’t know, these situations were all enough to send me in a private panic. After all, how could I cover up my secret that I wasn’t perfect if there were someone who was perfect in the room? Because, of course, all eyes would be on me, watching me make a fool of myself. And there, buried under all that insecurity, is the little narcissist, curled up and wearing her poisonous smirk.

Someone who does not feel in control of her own life will over-focus on controlling what she can, constantly afraid—almost paranoid—of the forces outside the scope of her power, as if all of those forces would be the least bit interested in her. Erich Fromm, a 20th century philosopher and psychoanalyst, went as far as to argue, "Narcissism is the earliest stage of human development, and the person who in later life has returned to this stage is incapable of love; in the extreme case he is insane." Ah, that explains my teens and early 20s.

In her debut novel, The Skin Beneath, Canadian writer Nairne Holtz explores a similar premise within a fictional, but very contemporary, situation. Five years after her reclusive older sister Chloe’s overdose, Samantha O’Connor becomes suspicious about what was originally deemed a suicide. With little in life to lose, Sam feels compelled to investigate an anonymous postcard she receives regarding Chloe’s death, and she subsequently finds herself deep in disturbed Chloe’s conspiracy-ridden world.

Before I go any further, let me say that I would hesitate to categorize this book as a "lesbian mystery." Yes, Sam is gay, "a younger version of her father with the same reddish hair, freckles, square jaw, and thin frame. When her father’s colleagues meet her, they think she’s his son, not his daughter. Sam passes for a guy until a closer inspection, until someone notices her small breasts and puts them together with her height, which at barely 5’ 5" is shorter than most men." She defines herself as "butch" and keeps her hair cropped in a thin crew cut. Yes, Sam is also investigating a strange incident. However, lesbian mysteries always seem too light and formulaic for my tastes. Holtz’s novel is different; not only is her narrative more complex, but her style of writing is reflective and a little insightful.

As Holtz allows Sam to weave her way through the last year of Chloe’s life, she also develops Sam’s character, exploring her distant relationship with her gay father, her mixed emotions about the mother who left them, her lack of direction in life: "[Sam] says goodbye, not so much to people, but to the places where she hangs out. The tattoo parlour where she has put a lot of ink on her arms. Church Street, the gay ghetto, where she celebrates Pride and was once queer-bashed. She takes the streetcar west to Kensington Market, which is where she buys fair trade coffee and vintage men’s shirts. Strolling down Spadina, she squeezes by the throngs of Asian immigrants to enter the little stores that sell mangoes and coconut milk. Sam loves cooking, especially food she’s never tried before. At times she’s too adventurous, buys some hairy rambutans, then doesn’t know what to do with them. Sort of the same way she picks up girls." Eventually, Sam’s character is also able to explore her problems with relationships.

Perhaps Chloe and her friends were not the only people living in narcissistic fear. Sam spends a great deal of time being angry or self-conscious, over-analyzing herself as she tries to sort truth from invention. Her sister Chloe was at the center of an eclectic group of people, none of whom were familiar to Sam, in a new city, Montreal. "Downtown Montreal is an odd amalgam of the sacred and profane. Strip joints bump up against cathedrals, which are wedged between malls and stores. You can pray, as well as buy brand-name clothing, beer, and lap dances within a one-block radius." The intersection of opposite worlds is never more evident than the major players in Chloe’s life: Romey, her lesbian stripper roommate; Omar, her dark-skinned, hip-hop-loving, escort service-owning lover; and a group of Hell’s Angels. Sam is in way over her head.

Holtz creates a terrific story where the present-day mystery takes a backseat to the past and personal. Slowly, she breathes the truth to Sam about Chloe’s death. As she gets closer to understanding the conspiracy-theory Chloe was working for her writing, Sam encounters increasing danger.

Ultimately, however, Sam’s initial perception of her sister is validated: "Paranoia, Sam decides, is another way of being at the center of attention." So true.