What Writers Can Learn from Thomas Perry’s The Butcher Boy

I’m interviewing writer Thomas Perry in a few days, and I thought it might be fun to return to his first book, The Butcher’s Boy, his first novel and the winner of the Edgar Award that year. It’s easy to see why it separated itself from the competition. It exemplifies everything a great thriller and, even more pointedly, a great suspense novel should be. The pacing is relentless. The prose is razor-sharp. The methodical protagonist (the bad guy) operates with unnerving precision, which is nothing less than chilling.

What sets Perry apart from many other writers I read is his ability to strip a story down to its most essential elements while maintaining rich psychological depth. He creates an experience that is both intellectually engaging (always) and emotionally gripping (always). I’m interviewing Perry because, as a writer and an educator, I admire how Perry trusts the reader. By this, I mean he never over-explains. He uses tension as a tool that propels the narrative forward. For me, and this essay, Perry’s The Butcher’s Boy isn’t just a great, award-winning story, it is a masterclass in suspenseful storytelling for authors of any genre.

I want to focus on this essay from the perspective of suspense and thrillers. One of the most common questions I get from writers at Killer Nashville International Writers’ Conference (which I founded) and from my many public presentations throughout the year is, what makes a great thriller or suspense novel? While there are many answers to that question, I think one of the best ways is to walk you through The Butcher’s Boy, as Thomas Perry is such a great master of it and has continued to be so throughout his long and prolific career since The Butcher’s Boy was first written in 1982.

Tension and Suspense Through Relentless Pacing

Consistency is the key to a mystery/thriller/suspense. The Butcher’s Boy doesn’t waste a single moment, paragraph, or section. The story moves quickly following the perspectives of the unnamed killer and Elizabeth Waring, a member of the Justice Department. Interestingly, the protagonist is really the bad guy, who is never named, and the antagonist (the one trying to stop him) is the good guy, Elizabeth Waring.

The story moves fast, and the locations change quickly across the U.S. The plotting is direct. There are no unnecessary detours. The story is tight. I’ve always believed that every sentence in a novel should have a purpose and serve the integrity of the entire story. Perry does that incredibly well.

What I got out of this (and I read to learn as much as I read for entertainment) and what I think you, as a writer, can learn from Perry is the precision focus of going through everything you write and cutting out any unnecessary exposition and backstory that does not apply to the immediate “now” or not applicable in providing necessary information to push the story “forward.” Perry also starts scenes at just the right time. There’s no unnecessary building. He starts the scene as late as possible, and then he gets out of it as early as he can. There is no rambling at the beginning or end of any segment. Doing so keeps readers eager to keep turning pages. Why? Because there is no break. There is no slow point where the reader can say, ah, this is a good place to take a break from reading. There are no breaks because Perry doesn’t allow those lulls. It’s a great technique and so often little utilized.

Complex and Unpredictable Characters

A great thriller is not just about what happens; a great thriller is about who things are happening to and who is acting to make things happen. Thriller writers sometimes fall into the trap that thrillers are based on plot. Nothing could be further from the truth. Plot is vital in any story—thrillers included—but how we feel about the characters makes any story matter. Perry’s protagonist in The Butcher’s Boy is methodical and intelligent; we know just enough about him for the story to make sense. Even with this minimalism, Perry has the uncanny knack of telling us just enough to keep us firmly glued and clear on the story and leaving us with unanswered questions that propel us to continue reading until we find the answer. And, as Perry proves, you don’t have to answer everything. We often think and are frequently told by writing teachers that we need to wrap everything up. Life is not like that. We go to our graves, not knowing the truth about the people who are close to us. And we know we don’t know. For example, we never really learn who the protagonist (the killer) is. One would think that important. No, it drives us forward to find out, but—in the end—the fact that we don’t know makes the story even that much more chilling. The point of this is that characters, by their nature, are complex. They are not one-dimensional villains or heroes. They believe in what they are doing, right or wrong. And this makes a character real: the solid belief in himself.

When I write my characters, it is important to me to ask what this person believes. People (and characters) act out of beliefs. The best antagonists (and, in this case, the protagonist) are never acting out of “evil for evil’s sake.” That’s a trap, especially for beginning writers. They are acting instead out of their beliefs. The best characters---good or bad—have clear motivations that make their actions understandable and, sometimes, because of this, horrifying.

To achieve this effect, while even maybe studying The Butcher’s Boy, give all your characters a strong internal logic. Make the heroes and the villains equally well-developed and executed. And, lastly, defy the logic that the plot will drive your thriller. It is your characters who are the drivers. Let your character’s choices drive the plot. By doing so, you have a much more realistic story. The characters' belief systems will realistically drive a story much more than any intricately convoluted plot. The plot will come, but it will come directly from the characters themselves: the hopes, beliefs, goals, desires, pains, and guilts.

Minimalist Yet Effective Prose

Perry’s work is tight. One of his prose strengths is his ability to say more with less. He avoids over-explaining. I appreciate that he values the intelligence of the reader. He trusts the reader to connect the dots. He also does this with approachable prose. I don’t see Perry with a dictionary or thesaurus beside his keyboard for repetitive and quick reference. Simple prose has value for the reader. We don’t get tripped up with words we don’t know, words with too many syllables. Instead, we follow the flow of action and the suspense of what will happen rather than stumble along in the telling. The story is what matters. It is not individual words. This is not to say that Perry’s words aren’t poetic, but they are not poetic for poetic sake. They serve the story. It’s all about clarity, and Perry hits it directly.

I remind myself, especially in my younger days, that I don’t have to sound literary or educated. All I must do is tell a story that keeps a reader glued or a screenplay that keeps the viewer from not coming back after a commercial break (commercials were my greatest fear). In the end, the story, populated by characters, is all that matters. We writers need to use simple and precise language. That’s not to say it can’t be pretty, but don’t overstuff the pillow. We must give a little benefit of the doubt to the reader. Trust your reader to infer meaning even when you don’t outright say it. There is no need to beat a reader over the head. Readers are an intelligent group. They’ll follow you. And, following Perry’s example, don’t over-explain emotions. Let the actions speak. Perry’s character’s actions speak loud and clear.

High-Stakes Conflict

High stakes are vital. There’s a big difference between what to have on one’s hamburger and how we will take Rome. Most of the writers that I read write about hamburgers. Let’s up the ante. Every scene in The Butcher’s Boy feels urgent because Perry continually raises the stakes. From the Chapter 1 union meeting, we have already started big. Perry keeps getting bigger. When I write my thrillers, I always ask what happens if my character (protagonist, antagonist, anyone) fails. Whatever that is, it must be catastrophic to the character. The stakes are not high enough if the answer isn’t big enough or compelling. In those instances, I must—no choice—up the stakes.

When you are writing, constantly escalate the tension. Keep raising the stakes. Make sure that there is always a chance of failure and that the failure will be costly for your character. Ensure that each decision a character makes has consequences. Running out of special sauce at McDonald’s is not catastrophic. Getting rear-ended in the pickup line in a car you “borrowed” from your parents that you and your friends are not supposed to be driving is. See the difference? When in doubt, always take the car.

Masterful Use of Action and Motion

Action scenes are tricky to write. The effect seems shallow and complicated to follow if you don't give enough information. If you give too much information, the scene gets bogged down and, as a reader—or this reader anyway—I tend to jump to the end of the action sequence to see whose nose is broken or who is still alive because, in the end, that’s all I need to know anyway to keep the story moving forward.

You do want the action sequence to appear cinematic, though, but you must balance that with just enough, and not too much, detail. As someone who has worked in film as both a writer and a director, I approach action sequences when I write the same way that I build a movie scene: What does the camera see? What sounds fill the screen? How does the tension, action, and all-important damage escalate? Perry is an excellent example of how to keep action immediate and visceral: not too much, not too little, neat and tight description. He describes just enough to keep the reader oriented while allowing their imagination to fill in the rest.

I think you might be advised to follow Perry’s lead on this when you write action scenes. Use short and punchy (pardon the pun) sentences during high-action moments. Get those sentence lengths short and to the point. Avoid excessive description. Keep the focus on motion. And think visually. The reader’s mind is going to take an action sequence and visualize. Help the reader out. When you write it, think of yourself watching a movie. Again, what does the camera see? What does the audience hear? 

Psychological Depth and Motivations

It’s not enough to see a character do something. We, as readers, need to know why they are doing it. Sometimes, the why is much more important than the what. The most realistic characters are the ones who believe that they are doing the right thing, even if the right thing is heinous to us; it must be the only logical choice or the best choice for the person who is doing it. I’ve written characters who terrify me, not because of their actions so much, but because of their rationale. And when it works, I understand their awful but understandable reasoning, and that terrifies me even more personally that I can even see the legitimacy of this dark side. Yet, as an author, you must.

When writing, get inside your characters’ heads, but even more so, into your own. Get past your prejudices and biases. Truly understand, accept, and embrace why even your worst moral characters do what they do. Give them internal conflicts that mirror their external struggles and let the reader not only see what they are doing but also allow them to dive deep inside a character’s head. It is the internal struggles that make literary storytelling exceptional and the exception. Use that. Get inside those characters’ heads. When your characters act, make their choices feel inevitable rather than contrived. Again, let the characters drive the plot, not vice versa.

Layered Narrative and Twists

Excellent writing keeps a reader guessing, but this is especially true when writing mystery, thriller, and suspense. Throughout The Butcher’s Boy, Perry weaves multiple layers of deception, even in the final chapter, where everything is usually straightforward. Right up to the last, Perry keeps us guessing. The objective is to make the reader feel she understands the story and that her assumptions are accurate and then pull the rug out from under them. Studying how Perry does this is an excellent exercise in understanding how you can do it, too. I love constructing plots where the reader’s assumptions are constantly challenged. I love writing them, too, and learning new things as I go along.

Pulling this off like everything in writing takes effort, but this is how to go about it. Withhold key information until just the right moment, but always feel free to foreshadow so that, had the reader been paying better attention, they would have seen the cause-and-effect that led to it, or indeed, when they get to a climactic moment, they will think back and see how they go there, even if it wasn’t where they expected to go. Plant clues early, very early, but disguise them in the narrative. Always set things up. Not to do so is “writer’s convenience.” They should never suddenly find the needed knife. The knife was introduced three scenes before and disguised in the narrative only to be given prominence when the time was right. Continually surprise the reader, but make sure that every twist, turn, and surprise is appropriately set up so that, when it happens, the reader knows that what did occur was inevitable; if they had only thought about it more, they could have seen it coming.

Thematic Resonance Without Preaching

Sometimes, we think thrillers are all about action. They are about action, but they are not all about it. Thrillers say something more profound about human nature. Perry explores crime, justice, and morality in a way that feels organic rather than forced. How do you do this? How do you hit the theme without preaching? The best way, I think, is to incorporate themes through the decisions characters make. In my work, I try hard not to tell readers what to think. I want them to come to their conclusions. I try to let the story raise the questions, not me. You can do this, too. Let the themes emerge naturally through the character and plot. Avoid heavy-handed exposition and trust that the reader will find the meaning independently. Always ask the big questions for the theme, but don’t allow yourself as the writer to answer them; let the story play out. Let the reader see it, not be told it.

Final Takeaway

If you want to write a mystery, thriller, suspense story—or any story that grips readers from start to finish, take a gander at The Butcher’s Boy. It’s a fantastic case study and a truly enjoyable textbook. You’ve read my essay here. Now, read the book. Then, come back to this essay and dialogue with me here about what you’ve discovered and how you can apply it to your current work in progress. Perry’s mastery of pacing, character, and suspense make this novel a must-read and must-study for any writer serious about their craft. There is much to learn from these pages.

Great stories and mysteries, thrillers, and suspense stories don’t happen by accident. They are built deliberately. They are layered. The process progresses quickly but also with a balance of complexity and simplicity. The writer knows where to deploy what is needed. Regardless, in any excellent writing, the tension stays high, the characters remain complex, and the pacing stays relentless because, in the end, stories are not about what happens next. Stories are about why it matters. In Thomas Perry’s The Butcher’s Boy, the why is the most important. See how you can apply this to your writing.