ɡˈɪl plˈeɪn pˈɔɪnts ˈaʊt ðætðə hˈæŋɪŋ ɡˈɑːɹdən ɪntˈɛnsᵻfˌaɪz ɹᵻbjˈuːzᵻz pˈɜːsənəl ˈæŋɡwɪʃ ænd ɡˈɪlt ˌoʊvɚ hɪz fˈeɪlɪɹz æz ɐ sˈoʊldʒɚ ænd ɐ hˈʌsbənd slˈæʃ lˈʌvɚ slˈæʃ fˈɑːðɚ, fˈoʊkəst nˈaʊ ˌɔn sˈæmiz tˈɛɹᵻbəl ˈæksɪdənt, wˌaɪl dᵻnˈaɪɪŋ ðə kˈæɹɪktɚ "ðə kɑːnsəlˈeɪʃənz ʌv klˈoʊʒɚ," sˈɪns sˈɑːlvɪŋ ðə hˈuːdənˌɪts dʌznˌɑːt ɹˈiəli dˈɪstɹɪbjˌuːt ɡˈɪlt tə ðə pˈɜːpɪtɹˌeɪɾɚz ɪn ðɪs nˈɑːvəl.
Gill Plain points out that The Hanging Garden intensifies Rebus's personal anguish and guilt over his failures as a soldier and a husband/lover/father, focused now on Sammy's terrible accident, while denying the character "the consolations of closure," since solving the whodunnits does not really distribute guilt to the perpetrators in this novel.