Whistlejacket delves into the labyrinth of human cruelty and the intricate justifications people concoct for it. The narrative tiptoes in as a domestic romance, painting a picture of Michael, a fashion photographer who was nurtured by Harold (Hal) Van Fleet, the affluent proprietor of Steepleton—a majestic horse breeding farm and the epicenter of lively fox hunts. As the story unfolds, Michael's exploration of his own desires is juxtaposed with the budding romance hinted at between him and Hal's daughter, Virgie. However, this tender path to love is abruptly disrupted when Hal’s widow commissions Michael to craft a photographic memoir of her late husband.

Through this endeavor, Michael unravels the unsettling truth: the man he revered as a father figure was also a masterful manipulator of women. He discovers that Buse, whom he assumed was similarly embraced by the Van Fleets' warmth, was, in reality, Hal's mistress. A mere three years post-marriage to Alex, Hal coldly declared that Buse would join their household as his mistress. Alex faced an impossible choice: depart or endure the unorthodox arrangement where Hal would shuttle his affections between them. This heartless scenario grew even more sordid as Hal brazenly brought home a parade of young women, compelling Alex and Buse to confront these newcomers.

Enveloped in a delusional love, Buse had abandoned her husband, becoming Hal's willing mistress, and rationalized his heartless ways, content in sharing any fragment of his carnal attention. Meanwhile, Alex, in bitter resignation, tolerated the unbearable situation. Hal, with a cavalier attitude, attributed his unkind behavior to an inherited affliction, claiming satyriasis coursed through his family lineage.

In the realm of Whistlejacket, Hawkes employs animals as profound symbols. Whistlejacket, a celebrated Thoroughbred of the eighteenth century, had his likeness captured by the renowned artist George Stubbs. Stubbs, in his relentless quest for realism, went to grisly lengths, dissecting dogs, cats, and ultimately a horse, all to ensure the authenticity of his work. The meticulous study of their anatomy was nothing short of gruesome, culminating in the horse's tragic demise.

In a fervent moment, Lord Nelthorpe confronts Stubbs with fury outside the barn, where the painter's morbid dissections unfold day after day. "'Not one of mine, Stubbs!'" he bellows, brandishing the handle of his crop toward the shadowy, windowless outbuilding. "'Not one of mine!'" For Stubbs, the physical beauty of horses eclipses their souls. This narrow focus leaves him astonished when Whistlejacket, in a spirited moment of rebellion, attempts to trample his own life-sized portrait. It had never dawned on Stubbs that his subjects could harbor feelings.

Hawkes masterfully intertwines the destinies of horses and humans, unveiling a haunting comparison. He recounts the tale of Stubbs, who undertakes the dissection of a woman who perished in the eighth month of her pregnancy. A doctor, in dire need of illustrations for a midwifery guide, enlists Stubbs to capture the essence of the deceased in his drawings. Under the cloak of night, after laboring over a portrait of Lord Nelthorpe's son by day, Stubbs methodically unravels the woman’s intricacies, crafting painstakingly detailed illustrations of her anatomy. She is treated with the same detached indifference Stubbs reserves for dissecting animals.

Assisting him in this grim endeavor is his common-law wife, Mary Spencer, who struggles to endure the relentless stench that emanates from the woman's slowly decomposing body amidst the bitter chill of winter. Mary is trapped in this macabre ritual, much like Alex is ensnared by Hal’s callous insensitivity to her emotions. Both women are subjected to the relentless pursuits of men driven by their obsessions—Stubbs with the secrets of anatomy,...

The torment inflicted upon Alex and Mary Spencer takes on an even harsher hue as they become complicit architects of their own suffering. For Mary, the dilemma is stark—turning her back on Stubbs means relinquishing him altogether. In parallel, Alex finds herself entangled in this web of anguish, forced to accept a degrading arrangement lest she lose Hal. With a brave yet heavy heart, she opts to stay, confronting the presence of his mistress in her daily existence. Her resolve to warmly embrace each new youthful paramour of Hal is both poignant and painful.

Both Mary and Alex cling to a fragile justification for their plight, asserting that their endurance is rooted in love for the very men who wound them. This love, they claim, binds them to a reality they themselves have helped to create.

The manner in which Alex and Virgie orchestrate Hal's demise is nothing short of heartless. As Hal stands in the stable alongside his cherished steed, Marcabru, they slyly introduce a mare in heat into the scene. The arrival of Lady Di incites a frenzy, causing Marcabru to rear and kick with wild abandon, ultimately trampling Hal to death.

Alex's rationale for her actions is disturbingly twisted. Rather than confronting her own culpability in her victimhood, she insists that her decision to kill Hal stemmed from his confession of past wrongs and his pledge of future fidelity. To her, this admission trivialized her years of sacrifice, rendering them meaningless. Virgie, however, harbors straightforward intentions. Her childhood adoration for a father who showed her disdain festered into a quest for vengeance over years of emotional abandonment.

In a final act of savagery, Alex and Virgie have Marcabru castrated to suppress any behavior that might suggest Hal's death was anything but accidental. This symbolic emasculation is a reflection of their desire to strip all men of power. Moreover, Alex defies tradition by stepping into the role of Master of Foxhounds, a position traditionally held by men. Virgie, on the other hand, brazenly exploits Michael for sex, reducing his desires to mere trivialities.

Critics have observed that the novel thrums with an undercurrent of eroticism. Michael, the protagonist, is unashamedly enamored with beauty, equating it with the essence of womanhood. In his relentless venture as a fashion photographer, he hunts for the unique allure within every woman he encounters. Breaking the conventional molds of attractiveness, he captures images of women of all forms and sizes: the plump, the slender, the petite, and the plain. Yet, Michael remains oblivious to how much of the beauty he idolizes is a crafted illusion.

For example, when a woman's face falls short of his ideal, he layers it with makeup, morphing it into something new. Michael speaks with fervent admiration about capturing the sensual curves of lips, the contours of buttocks, and other aspects of the female form. In doing so, he reduces women to mere pieces of a puzzle, focusing on parts rather than embracing the entirety of their being.