Richard Matheson is no stranger to pushing the boundaries of storytelling, and Now You See It… is perhaps one of his most unconventional works. While the novel has drawn mixed reactions for its over-the-top antics and intricate plotting, there’s no denying that it’s a bold and audacious experiment in the realm of psychological suspense. Equal parts revenge tragedy, locked-room mystery, and theatrical farce, the book teeters on the edge of brilliance and chaos, challenging readers to decide where it ultimately lands.

The story unfolds almost entirely within a single, elaborately rigged room—a stage of sorts for the twisted mind games of Maximilian Delacorte, a magician bent on revenge. This setting provides both a claustrophobic atmosphere and an arena for Matheson’s love of misdirection and dramatic flair. The cast of characters reads like something from a Shakespearean tragedy, with their tangled motivations and sordid relationships driving the narrative forward.

Emil Delacorte, a stroke-stricken former magician, watches silently from the sidelines as his son, Max, takes center stage in a deadly game of deception. Max’s wife, Cassandra, is a femme fatale whose machinations rival those of any noir villain, while her dimwitted brother, Brian, adds an element of absurdity. Throw in Harry Kendal, Max’s agent with questionable loyalties, and you have a recipe for betrayal, manipulation, and bloodshed—all delivered with a theatrical flourish.

Matheson’s exploration of illusion and identity is at the heart of Now You See It…. The novel plays with the concept of masks—both literal and figurative—as characters are unmasked and revealed to be someone else entirely. This theme is executed with a series of shocking twists that blur the line between reality and performance. Severed heads, hidden shrines, and false murders serve as props in Max’s grand performance, all building toward a final revelation that leaves readers questioning the nature of the narrative.

However, it’s in this execution where the novel risks alienating its audience. Matheson’s penchant for melodrama and wordplay can feel overbearing at times, with dialogue and descriptions that sometimes tip into self-parody. While the pacing is brisk and the plot inventive, some readers may find the constant twists and unmaskings exhausting rather than exhilarating. The novel’s deliberate theatricality is both its greatest strength and its Achilles’ heel, depending on the reader’s tolerance for over-the-top storytelling. Mine is limited.

The characters in Now You See It… are as exaggerated as the plot itself, each one larger than life and steeped in melodrama. Max Delacorte, in particular, is a fascinating yet polarizing figure. His Svengali-like control over events gives him the aura of a puppet master, orchestrating chaos with gleeful malice. Cassandra, on the other hand, is a textbook femme fatale whose scheming knows no bounds, though her character risks becoming one-dimensional in the face of Max’s overpowering presence.

The supporting cast, including the bumbling sheriff and the enigmatic Harry Kendal, adds layers of intrigue and absurdity. But it’s the interplay between Max and his co-conspirators—or victims—that drives the story forward. The dialogue crackles with tension, even when it veers into the overly dramatic, and the characters’ shifting allegiances keep readers guessing until the very end. The dialogue, for me, is the highlight of the book, even if it a bit melodramatic.

Matheson’s love of the theatrical is on full display in Now You See It…. The room itself becomes a character, filled with secret compartments, trapdoors, and props that add to the story’s sense of constant misdirection. The setting is claustrophobic and surreal, with an air of menace that permeates every scene. The atmosphere is heightened by Matheson’s vivid descriptions, which capture the sensory details of the room—the creak of hidden panels, the glint of light on a dueling pistol, the acrid scent of smoke in the air.

The prose itself is energetic and inventive, though it often veers into overwrought territory. Matheson’s wordplay, while clever, can sometimes feel excessive, drawing attention away from the story’s emotional core. The asides from the narrator (the wheelchair-bound Emil Delacorte) reminding us constantly of his “vegetable state” and inability to speak or react are at first clever and fun but soon grow tiresome and tedious. Still, Matheson’s ability to create a sense of unease and maintain a fitting pace is undeniable. Indeed, the story feels like a stage performance with he reader awaiting the final act, the big reveal.

Now You See It… is a novel that defies easy categorization. It’s part revenge drama, part psychological thriller, and part farcical mystery, blending these elements into a narrative that is at times entertaining and far too often polarizing. While the story’s excesses may turn off some readers, those who appreciate bold, boundary-pushing storytelling will find much to admire here.

At its best, the novel is an exploration of deception and identity, filled with twists and turns that keep readers wondering what is really going on. At its worst, it risks becoming a parody of itself, with characters and events so exaggerated that they verge on absurdity. The whole thing plays like an old Laural and Hardy film, or perhaps something starring Abbot and Costello. It’s fun, but it’s hard to take it seriously. But even in its most chaotic moments, Now You See It… remains a compelling testament to Matheson’s creativity and willingness to take risks.

For fans of psychological horror, locked-room mysteries, and stories that blur the line between reality and illusion, Now You See It… is a ride worth taking. Just be prepared to question everything by the time the curtain falls.