Who Is The Real Villain In 'Verity'?

The real villain in 'Verity' is a twisted game of perception versus reality. On the surface, Verity Crawford appears to be the antagonist—her autobiography reveals disturbing confessions of harming her children, and her current vegetative state feels like karmic justice. But the deeper you dig, the more you realize Lowen Ashleigh, our protagonist, might be the true monster. She alters Verity's manuscript, adding horrific details that weren't originally there, essentially fabricating evidence to fit her own narrative. Jeremy, Verity's husband, isn't innocent either; his blind acceptance of Lowen's version without questioning its validity makes him complicit. The real villain isn't a person; it's the collective willingness to believe the worst without proof, fueled by jealousy and grief.

After dissecting 'Verity' multiple times, I'm convinced the real villain is the manipulation of truth itself. The novel plays with unreliable narration so masterfully that every character becomes suspect. Verity's manuscript paints her as a sociopathic mother, but we never get her actual voice—just Lowen's interpretation of it. Lowen, a struggling writer, benefits enormously from painting Verity as a monster, both professionally (by sensationalizing the autobiography) and personally (by securing Jeremy's affection).

Jeremy's role is equally sinister. He withholds critical information about Verity's condition and subtly encourages Lowen's obsession. The scene where he burns the original manuscript is particularly damning—it's not grief; it's destruction of evidence. Even the house feels like a villain, with its eerie atmosphere amplifying everyone's worst impulses.

The brilliance of 'Verity' is that it makes you question whether villains need intent. Maybe the real evil is the chain reaction of half-truths and unchecked emotions. The ending—where Verity's finger moves—suggests she might have been trapped in her own nightmare all along, making Lowen the unwitting (or witting) architect of her damnation.

Colleen Hoover's 'Verity' doesn't have a clear-cut villain, and that's what makes it terrifying. It's like staring into a funhouse mirror where every reflection is distorted. Verity could be the villain if her manuscript is genuine, but what if it's fiction? Lowen frames herself as a savior but cherry-picks details to manipulate Jeremy. Jeremy seems like a victim until you notice how quickly he replaces Verity with Lowen.

The book's true villain is the absence of objective truth. We never learn if Verity's confessions were real or part of her writing process. Lowen's additions to the manuscript cross ethical lines, turning her into an unreliable narrator. Jeremy's actions—burning the original manuscript, hiding Verity's condition—reek of guilt. Even Crew, Verity's surviving child, becomes a pawn in their games.

What unsettles me most is how ordinary their evil feels. No mustache-twirling villains here—just flawed people making selfish choices. The real horror isn't a monster under the bed; it's the realization that anyone, under the right circumstances, could become the villain of someone else's story.