On My Father’s Watch: Is Knowing The Truth Always Better?

Teddy Deweyer, the narrator, is a likable, grounded voice. He doesn’t posture as a hero, which is refreshing. Instead, he processes his world with a mix of pragmatism and wonder, especially when confronted with the disappearance of his father, Dirk, and the assassination of his godfather, Sjon. The novel doesn’t give us easy answers, and that’s part of its charm. Amstel respects the reader enough to let the silences speak volumes.

One of the strongest themes throughout the novel is how personal history is shaped by what isn’t said. Teddy grew up with questions he was never encouraged to ask—and as readers, we begin to see how those questions become ghosts in the background of every chapter. As he says, “There was this curtain between Before and After,” and Amstel uses that metaphor to explore grief, maturity, and the search for meaning in the aftermath of loss.

The women in this novel, particularly Anita and Marella, offer a much-needed counterbalance. Anita is elegant and emotionally opaque, holding back key truths until the timing is right. Marella, a coach and medical student, gives the narrative emotional texture and a contemporary lens. Her presence alongside Teddy during his impromptu trip to Switzerland adds levity and depth. Their conversations aren’t just flirtatious—they push Teddy to confront questions he’s buried. “Are you just going to mope through life never knowing what really happened?” she challenges him, and that one line captures the emotional propulsion behind the story’s second half.

Amstel excels at painting the texture of family life, particularly in Amsterdam. Aunt Pet, the housekeeper-turned-family anchor, is an understated yet essential presence. So is young Justin, Teddy’s cousin, who becomes both comic relief and a symbol of continuity. These quieter moments, such as sandwiches at the Artis Zoo or awkward family dinners, provide a welcome rhythm between the more cinematic plot points.

Even side characters have a distinct presence. Uncle Jim is a perpetual sleaze, clearly included to highlight what proper family support should not look like, but he’s also a foil to Sjon’s over-the-top, yet genuine, care for Teddy. Sjon’s role is particularly fascinating. A man tied to alleged criminal networks, he is also a godfather in the truest sense: present, generous, and consistent. That dichotomy, crime lord vs. caretaker, is one that the novel explores with subtlety and restraint.

This isn’t just a crime novel. It’s a book about identity, about how the stories we inherit shape who we become. It’s about what we choose to believe in the absence of truth. “Do you look like him?” Marella asks Teddy. That deceptively simple question echoes through the novel’s quieter moments, revealing how memory, loss, and love entwine across generations.