Control – William Goldman (1983)

Control, written by William Goldman and published in 1982, is a gripping and multifaceted psychological thriller that blends science fiction with espionage and existential questions about power, identity, and the manipulation of human potential. Goldman, known for his screenwriting (Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, The Princess Bride), constructs a narrative that unfolds through interwoven character arcs and escalating suspense, grounded in the Cold War-era paranoia and the possibilities of government overreach into the human mind.

Plot Summary

In Bloomingdale’s, under the false security of familiarity and good fortune, Edith Mazursky made her final appearance. A woman of cultivated grace and unwavering calm, she had built a life of quiet excellence – wife to the upright Phillip Holtzman, mother to three daughters, and a painter whose art, though not publicly celebrated, was rooted in a deep understanding of life’s sadness and beauty. Her best friend Sally, caustic and loyal, adored her, though she carried the lifelong weight of unrequited love for Edith. The two were bound by more than shared youth – they were soul mirrors, though only one ever truly knew the extent of that reflection.

Edith’s death came as no great cinematic event. No hail of gunfire, no great scene. She simply vanished from the flow of her day. One moment she was there, the next she was not, and in that absence, a hollow opened in the lives she had shaped. For Phillip, it was a collapse of the scaffolding he had leaned on through years of business triumphs and personal purpose. For Sally, it was a private cataclysm – Edith was the anchor to a stormy inner sea she could never quite still. For the children, it was the sudden erasure of certainty.

But Edith’s death was no random tragedy. Beneath the surface of her serene life swam darker currents. And somewhere far from Bloomingdale’s, Billy Boy ran. He ran with the smell of prison still clinging to his clothes and blood on his hands, though none of it his own. Billy Boy didn’t think the way most did. He sensed things, felt pulls and warnings in the air. That instinct had guided him through the chaos of the prison yard, past panicked guards and sirens, through a stolen car and into the shadows of downstate Illinois. Violence was his language, but not his only skill – he could drive like the wind, vanish like smoke, and when the moment called, kill with precision and no remorse.

He needed clothes, cash, a vehicle that would take him where his senses told him to go. And in a dim service station under a cold Midwestern sky, he met the Shrimp. The Shrimp had pale eyes and an unshakable stillness, and Billy Boy, predator that he was, didn’t move against him. Instead, he obeyed a feeling. He got into the Shrimp’s Cadillac and didn’t ask questions when the man said they were heading to New York City. That was right. That was where he needed to be.

In the city, a different kind of control was being exercised. Behind locked doors and bureaucratic euphemisms, a government program – hidden and nameless – studied the limits of human behavior. Not what people did, but why they did it. The subtle art of manipulation, of bending minds instead of breaking them, fascinated men who had never fired a gun but wielded silence and secrecy with deadly efficiency. They watched people like Billy Boy. They documented anomalies, catalogued instincts. They believed they could create control itself.

Into this invisible machinery fell Theo Duncan, a pale wisp of a man, brilliant and poetic, burdened by self-loathing and longing. He tutored the sons of Charlotte Stewart, a woman sculpted like a Botticelli goddess and locked in a mansion that felt more like a museum than a home. Charlotte had married Nelson Stewart out of duty and logic, not love. Nelson, a titan in the market, had no use for softness or spontaneity. Children were investments to him, and Charlotte, a beautiful asset.

Yet in Theo, Charlotte saw the ghost of something lost. He was delicate and wounded, with the eyes of someone who felt too much. Their affair was not born of lust, but of aching loneliness. In the quiet of her opulent house, amid walls that never echoed laughter, they reached for each other. Theo, ashamed of his thin body and uncertain of his desires, struggled even as he yearned. Charlotte, scarred from childbirth and dulled by years of emotional absence, longed to be seen without being consumed. For a time, they succeeded. They touched, they whispered, they almost believed they could change.

But no secret stays hidden. Not in a world built on observation and patterns. The Shrimp, who brought Billy Boy to the city, was no simple driver. He was a facilitator, a gatekeeper to rooms where ethics had long since been dismissed. Billy Boy, unknowing subject of fascination, was watched. Not just for what he had done, but for what he might do. He was part of a test, an experiment wrapped in plausible deniability and funded in silence.

Phillip, grieving and desperate, followed thin threads that led him to rooms where suits with blank faces spoke in careful riddles. He didn’t know who they were, only that they had questions. About Edith. About her life. About a chance encounter, perhaps. They wanted her records, her routines, the minutiae of her world. They wanted to understand why someone like her would end up dead with no enemies, no reason. He began to see shadows where once there had been certainty.

In the heart of this sprawling web, Billy Boy kept moving. Not because he understood it, but because he felt the trap tightening. People began to disappear around him. Some quietly, others with spectacle. The city itself seemed to shift beneath his feet, and for the first time, his senses were unsure.

Theo, caught in an affair that was never meant to survive, began to crumble. Charlotte drifted, unable to reach her children or husband, increasingly detached from her own image. The boys, pushed beyond childhood by a father who saw them as projects, began to show cracks too. The quiet control that had governed so many lives started to fail.

And Sally, mourning Edith in her TriBeCa gallery, began to dig. She was not naive. She knew how power worked, and how it erased its footprints. She pushed, pulled favors, leaned on old connections. What she found was never concrete – just whispers, denials, misfiled documents – but the shape of it terrified her. Edith had stumbled into something. Or been led.

It all came undone in fragments. A confession, a disappearance, a sudden resignation. Control, once perfect and calculated, revealed its flaw: people don’t always do what they’re supposed to. Billy Boy, never meant to survive this long, vanished again. Theo broke down. Charlotte stood in the ruins of her marriage, beautiful and unreachable. Phillip returned to an empty home that had once held laughter, love, and canvases full of unspoken grief.

And Sally stood before one of Edith’s paintings – one of The Blues – where sadness clung to the color like a second skin. She lit a cigarette with shaking fingers, stared at the woman in the painting, and whispered a name no one else remembered.

Edith.

Main Characters

• Edith Mazursky – A refined, intelligent woman from a wealthy New York family, Edith’s life is defined by tranquility, control, and artistic yearning. Her deep decency and unshakable poise mask the inner turbulence and quiet strength that anchor the emotional core of the narrative. Her unexpected death acts as a seismic rupture in the story, catalyzing the plot.

• Phillip Holtzman – Edith’s devoted husband, Phillip is a self-made, principled businessman who initially resists privilege but ultimately thrives in it. He is both emotionally tethered to Edith and thrust into chaos following her loss. His stoic resilience and moral center provide a grounded counterpoint to the unfolding conspiracy.

• Sally Levinson – Edith’s lifelong friend and a fiercely independent art gallery owner. Sally, a lesbian with unrequited love for Edith, provides sharp wit and emotional depth. Her loyalty is unwavering, and her character serves as a lens on authenticity, heartbreak, and suppressed longing.

• Billy Boy – A violent, near-feral prison escapee whose raw instincts and mysterious sensory perceptions make him a subject of interest for shadowy governmental forces. His character operates on pure survival instinct, offering a dark mirror to the controlled and structured lives of others.

• Theo Duncan – A fragile, poetic young man who tutors the children of Charlotte Stewart and finds himself drawn into an affair with her. Theo’s sensitivity, intellectualism, and vulnerability position him in stark contrast to the brutal characters around him. He embodies innocence and idealism in a corrupted world.

• Charlotte Stewart – A stunning but emotionally stagnant woman trapped in a loveless marriage. Her relationship with Theo represents a fleeting grasp at passion and individuality. Her beauty masks inner decay and frustration, contributing to a recurring theme of facades.

• Nelson Stewart – Charlotte’s husband, a powerful, cold financier obsessed with perfection and legacy. Nelson’s detachment from human warmth is chilling, and his obsession with shaping his children’s futures underscores his controlling nature.

Theme

• Control vs. Chaos: As the title suggests, the concept of control permeates every layer of the narrative – from the individual (Edith’s internal discipline, Phillip’s emotional regulation) to systemic manipulation (the government’s interest in psychological control). This tension between maintaining order and the inevitable breakdown of that order drives the novel’s suspense and philosophical undertones.

• Identity and Transformation: Characters are often torn between who they are and who they’re expected to be. Billy Boy’s primal identity, Theo’s yearning to become “Ted,” Charlotte’s cosmetic elegance vs. internal emptiness – these tensions reflect a broader meditation on authenticity, masks, and self-construction.

• Love and Unrequited Desire: Love in Control is often imbalanced or impossible. Sally’s quiet, lifelong love for Edith, Charlotte’s loveless marriage, Theo’s uncertain sexuality – these emotional standoffs enrich the narrative with longing and a profound sense of emotional inaccessibility.

• Power and Manipulation: Institutions loom large in the background – prisons, the government, the art world – always seeking to mold or monitor individuals. Whether through experimental science or social conditioning, the theme of manipulation underscores the vulnerability of human autonomy.

• Isolation and Connection: The novel returns repeatedly to the image of people alone – physically, emotionally, philosophically. The desire to connect is constant, whether through sex, art, or rebellion, yet the characters often find themselves further estranged in the attempt.

Writing Style and Tone

William Goldman’s prose in Control is cinematic and psychologically astute. He balances sharp dialogue with rich internal monologues, allowing readers intimate access to the inner lives of his characters. His narrative voice shifts fluidly between high-tension action sequences and delicate emotional beats, sustaining engagement through tonal variety. Goldman often juxtaposes lyrical passages with blunt, raw emotion, creating an atmosphere that is both unsettling and deeply human.

The tone of the novel is laced with melancholy, urgency, and undercurrents of cynicism. It resonates with Cold War-era dread, yet its emotional core is intimate and tragic. Goldman exhibits a talent for character nuance—portraying Edith’s gentleness with the same clarity as Billy Boy’s primal brutality. The result is a novel that feels simultaneously like a thriller, a meditation, and a requiem. There is an ever-present sense of inevitability and loss that permeates the text, creating a reflective tension as the plot unfolds.