In 'Villanelle', the novel by Luke Jennings, the character of Villanelle is far more enigmatic and psychologically complex compared to her portrayal in the 'Killing Eve' TV series. The book delves deeper into her backstory, exploring her upbringing in Russia and the formative experiences that shaped her into a ruthless assassin. The narrative is more introspective, giving readers a glimpse into her twisted psyche and the reasons behind her sociopathic tendencies. The novel also doesn’t shy away from the darker aspects of her personality, making her both more terrifying and more human.
On the other hand, the 'Killing Eve' TV series, while retaining the core elements of the novel, takes a more stylized approach. The show emphasizes the cat-and-mouse game between Villanelle and Eve, often infusing it with dark humor and a sense of glamour. The relationship between the two characters is more dynamic and charged with sexual tension in the series, which adds a layer of complexity not as prominently featured in the book. The TV adaptation also benefits from the performances of Jodie Comer and Sandra Oh, who bring their own interpretations to the characters, making them more vivid and memorable.
One significant difference is the pacing. The novel is more methodical, taking its time to build the tension and explore the characters’ inner lives. The TV series, in contrast, is faster-paced, with more action and plot twists to keep the audience engaged. This difference in pacing affects how the story is experienced—the novel allows for a more immersive and detailed exploration of the characters, while the series offers a more adrenaline-fueled ride.
Another aspect where the two diverge is the setting. The novel is grounded in a more realistic world, with a focus on the gritty, mundane aspects of espionage. The TV series, however, often feels like a heightened reality, with more dramatic and sometimes surreal elements. This difference in tone reflects the distinct mediums and their storytelling strengths—the novel’s depth versus the series’ visual and emotional impact.
The 'Villanelle' novel and the 'Killing Eve' TV series share the same roots but branch out in different directions. The novel provides a richer backstory for Villanelle, making her actions and motivations more understandable, if not justifiable. It’s a deep dive into her psyche, offering a more nuanced portrayal of a character who is both a predator and a victim of her circumstances. The TV series, while it touches on these elements, focuses more on the thrilling aspects of her life as an assassin and her obsessive relationship with Eve. The show’s visual style and the chemistry between the lead actors add a layer of excitement and intensity that the book, with its more introspective approach, doesn’t quite match. Both versions have their unique strengths, making them compelling in their own ways.
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The dagger goes in before she understands her consort is the one holding it.
———
My consort is the one holding the blade.
I fall into the Forbidden Zone with his voice in my ear — *You were never going to be the queen this kingdom needed, Rose is everything you are not* — and every stroke downward the Hollow drinks my color, my voice, my breath. As I sink through the dark I understand, in a rising tide of memory I can no longer outrun, what I refused to see: my cousin Rose has been his lover for three years. My uncle Rick has been my father's killer for seven months.
I hit the Hollow's floor among the skeletons of seven women who came before me. I should die there. A black pearl pulses in the dark and asks me one question. I say yes.
What rises from the Forbidden Zone is not the princess they pushed.
My scales burn blood-red shot through with molten gold and piercing teal, edged in obsidian. My voice shatters coral when I choose. I can drain a merfolk's power until their scales grey to driftwood, and I can shift any being between human and merfolk form.
But the pearl hungers. Black veins creep across my chest with every life I take.
And the throne I want back? It was never the prize.
It was the trap.
———
Will Irene become the villainess her kingdom fears? Or will she remember the girl they buried long enough to choose what kind of queen to be?
And the older sister who has been waiting two hundred years to use her — what happens when Irene decides the family she was born into is not the one worth dying for?
She died once in fire while the man she loved watched her burn without a single step forward.
Elena Vale was the villainess of a romance novel—written to be hated, destroyed, and discarded at the end of the story.
And she did die exactly like that.
Until she woke up at the beginning of it all.
The night of the Arden Charity Gala.
The night everything was supposed to start.
This time, Elena remembers everything—every betrayal, every humiliation, every moment she was written to lose.
But instead of begging for survival…
She chooses revenge.
Because if the world insists she is the villainess, then she will become one they cannot control.
A woman who does not beg for love.
A woman who builds power instead of tears.
A woman who turns her ending into a beginning of destruction.
And as she rises, something strange begins to happen.
The male lead who once ignored her starts watching.
The heroine who was supposed to replace her starts trembling.
And the system that once promised her survival begins to warn her:
[WARNING: Villainess behavior exceeds original plot limits.]
But Elena is no longer afraid of the story.
She is rewriting it.
And this time… she will be the one they fear.
I was supposed to be collateral. A body left in an alley to settle a blood debt.
Varek was supposed to be my executioner.
Instead, Vespera's most ruthless syndicate boss put a diamond on My finger.
He thinks he bought a terrified pawn. He is dead wrong.
I Maevia isn't a nameless stray from the outer wards. I am the last heir of a slaughtered royal dynasty. The blood in my veins is worth billions on the black market. And the men who butchered my family are finally coming to finish the job.
Varek thought he caged a bird. He's about to realize he locked himself in with a queen.
When the global syndicates kick down his door to claim my bounty, Varek faces one choice. Hand over his wife. Or drown the world in blood to keep Me.
Raven Noir, a lethal assassin scarred by a decade-old rape, infiltrates billionaire Damien Blackwood’s elite nightclub empire as a masked dancer her cover to get close enough to torture and kill the man who unknowingly fathered her daughter. Damien, captivated by her icy control and commanding presence, pulls her deeper with lucrative nights and charged intimacy. But when he encounters her identical twin, the buried memories flood back. Mistaking the twin for his victim, guilt drives him to propose marriage. Devastated, Raven faces an impossible choice, expose the truth, seize her revenge, or let obsession destroy them all in a dark, slow-burn thriller of betrayal and forbidden desire.
Synopsis: The Billionaire’s Vengeful Queen
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But Damien isn’t finished. He forges abortion records, demands custody of the unborn child, and prepares a hostile takeover. Aurora counters with offshore leaks, a turncoat mistress, and two ex-Mossad shadows in the vents. At midnight in Ryder Tower, gun drawn and city watching, she tears up his custody agreement and watches federal agents drag him away.
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I've only read the first two novels, 'Codename Villanelle' and 'No Tomorrow', but from what I've seen, the expansion is more about psychological texture than plot sprawl. The books, especially the first, spend a lot of time inside Villanelle's head in a way the show only hinted at in early seasons. You get her cold, almost alien internal monologue about her kills and her fascination with Eve, which feels less playful and more genuinely pathological than Jodie Comer's portrayal (which I love, but it's a different flavor). The prose is stark and procedural about the mechanics of assassination in a manner the show often glossed over for style.
There's also a deeper dive into the bureaucratic roots of the 'Twelve'. It's less a shadowy cabal and more a depressingly mundane network of ex-KGB and corporate interests, which somehow makes it feel more plausible and grim. Eve's backstory and her marriage to Niko are given more weight early on; you understand her restlessness from the inside out, not just from Sandra Oh's brilliant expressions. Some of the book's plot beats, like the initial Amsterdam encounter, are radically different and much more low-key.
Honestly, the books feel like a bleaker, slower-burning alternate universe. They expand the story by grounding it, paradoxically making the world feel larger because it's less slick and more detailed in its tradecraft and personal damage. The show took the core dynamic and turned up the theatricality and queer tension to eleven, while the novels explore the cost and loneliness of that life with a colder eye. I wouldn't say they're essential for show fans, but they offer a compelling, grittier companion piece if the premise's psychological underpinnings interest you more than the cat-and-mouse glamour.
The first thing that struck me about 'Codename Villanelle' compared to the TV series 'Killing Eve' is how much more internal the book feels. Luke Jennings’ writing dives deep into Villanelle’s psyche in a way that the show, for all its brilliance, can’t quite replicate. The novel’s prose lets you live inside her head—her arrogance, her boredom, her fleeting moments of something almost like vulnerability. It’s fascinating to see how her thought process works, especially when contrasted with Eve’s perspective in later books. The show, of course, has Sandra Oh and Jodie Comer’s electrifying performances, which add layers of charisma and tension that aren’t as palpable on the page. But the book’s quieter moments—like Villanelle’s reflections on her childhood—hit harder for me. There’s a raw, almost clinical detachment in Jennings’ writing that makes her violence feel even more unsettling.
That said, the TV series expands the world in ways the book doesn’t. The supporting characters, like Carolyn and Konstantin, are far more fleshed out on screen, and the dark humor is dialed up to eleven. The show’s aesthetic—those stylish costumes, the globe-trotting locations—adds a glossy, surreal quality that the book lacks. But I miss the book’s grittier edge. The novel doesn’t shy away from showing how messy and unglamorous assassination can be, while the show sometimes leans too much into the 'cool killer' trope. Both are fantastic in their own ways, but if you want to understand Villanelle’s twisted mind, the book is essential.