In which I finally talk about The Likeness (and also talk a bit more about In The Woods)
Once again, there's an element of near-to-but-not-really-fantasy to French's work, and with The Likeness the premise is quite a bit more uncanny, and is the driving force of the plot rather than something winking from the edges.
Many reviewers read the entire damn thing but still mostly criticized it for the unlikelihood of the central whammy, being of course that Maddox has had a double running around in Dublin, wearing the name of her old alias and thus somewhat chillingly erasing any traces of where she really came from. I'm sure all of those reviewers are really fun to bring to the movies. I mean, come on. If an author thinks up a premise as uniquely ridiculous as that, it's practically their responsibility to write it. This book could be a disaster, but it's not. As with the first book, it may not please those looking solely for a mystery, but the premise would have been tragically wasted on a less character-studied plot.
The introspective style of the novel is very similar to In The Woods, which at first would seem to just be French's style rather than a narrative aspect, but her third novel is quite a bit more straightforward. I like the idea that Rob and Cassie are a lot alike on paper, and they are, the main difference being that Cassie seems a bit more in the moment that she's telling, while Rob often spoke from far forward with more of a reflecting wisdom. Where INW had the slightest bits of foreshadowing, you feel a bit more suspense with Cassie's story, like she could pull a fast one on you at any moment. (And to me, she definitely does.)
There's a rather hefty amount at the beginning before the operation actually gets underway, but a lot of what happens before Cassie goes under is important and interesting; the novel doesn't overlook that making the decision Cassie makes is no casual affair. One of my favorite parts in the whole book is the grueling little confab Frank arranges between UCD and Murder, when Cassie suddenly and helplessly starts to miss Rob. We know that her reasons for transferring out of Murder were way bigger than the mess she got into with her partner, but it's hard to deny there that she could have easily dealt with all the memories if she'd stayed on the squad either way. (I have to add that Frank Mackey was a type of character this book really needed. His sort-of-friendship/professional rapport with Cassie is a breath of fresh air for a reader expecting her primary social connection in the novel to be her boyfriend.)
Once the operation starts, the book is the most mundane page-turner imaginable; even when nothing is happening, you can't put it down. I remember feeling this little bit of dread, this "Oh, please don't make me care about these characters" as the Whitethorn students are finally developed from inside the privacy of their lives, because you know that there's such a nasty turn waiting for them. French takes care to develop a complex web of relationships between all of the characters and how they all individually felt about Lexie, but not without acknowledging that there's another half to it that Cassie can't quite understand. In some ways, Cassie projects her own ideals onto them as she becomes more emotionally involved and at times sees it all as more simple than it turns out to be, but we want to believe that there are times when she was right.
The genius of this book is that the way in which it shows rather than tells is woven right into the plot - the parallels are there, but hardly ever pointed out by the narrator. There's that amazingly evocative and emotional scene when Cassie runs out in the yard with all the other students and gets in a violent fight with the vandalizer; there's that little pinprick of Cassie remembering Rob when she sees Abby and Daniel on the porch swing together. But for the most part there are connections between these two fraudulently interlocked lives that only sometimes make sense to us, as if we are only privy to Cassie's emotionally irrational connections. After all, Cassie hardly belongs with these people, but she becomes fooled by the feeling of safety in the house so that the flawed structure of these relationships shows its underside to her in an ugly shade of irony; there is a level of fiction-within-fiction because of the staged aspect of Cassie's inclusion in the house, and the only actor in the scenario eventually becomes the unwilling audience. Cassie draws an escapist allegory out of someone else's life, one that begins as comforting but only ends in another emotional disaster.
There were certain themes I thought were at play in In The Woods that I didn't quite talk about when I did a reaction post about it; I'm now convinced those ideas carry into the second novel with a lot of momentum, even though I'm still not really sure how to articulate them. To me, both stories feel like a type of coming-of-age novel, even while their main characters are well into adulthood, confronting inevitabilities that aren't particularly emotionally satisfying with this notion that "Innocence isn't enough." The family-like structure of the Whitethorn group was obviously idealistic to the point of unrealistic - sex with each other or sex with other people was inevitably going to force it to either evolve or fall apart, but they were holding back in more ways than one from graduating into "the real world."
What is never directly pointed out but which I think may have been an intentional reference is that Rob and Cassie had this exact problem, if at a lesser degree. Their relationship was intimate to the point that there wasn't room for anyone else. The friendship certainly didn't outlaw the possibility of either of them becoming romantically involved with another person, but when the two of them clearly spent more time with each other than with any other person - more time than many married couples can say they get to spend together - it's hard to believe that either of them becoming involved with anyone else to the point of espousal wouldn't complicate things. The relationship was, ironically, impenetrable only under the condition that it remained stagnant.
I don't think that Cassie's resolute and sudden commitment to Sam is necessarily meant to be read as an entirely happy ending, not if you really read into it. At the beginning of the novel they've only been together a handful of months, and the relationship could not be more obvious in its emotional inequality in that Sam seems to make Cassie feel vaguely and constantly guilty about nothing in particular, if not the simple fact that she's a cop who's willing to do a dangerous job. What happens in the end of the novel is that Cassie gets her detective mojo back, but as for her personal life, she's done taking risks, and chooses safety over greatness. There is no doubt that Sam will make her happy* because he's a great guy. If we're angry that Cassie isn't apparently meant to be with Rob, I find it hard to believe that this isn't how French wants us to feel. Almost every instance in the book that illustrates how Cassie feels about Sam is described in the essence of what he gives her, how good he is to her, how accepting and forgiving he is of her ("Sam" instead of "Mummy"). Good for Sam, I really don't dislike Sam, but with Cassie and Rob - how they were described throughout INW, how they're described in Cassie's memory - the substance of it was something between them, something effortless and immediate that was there from the start.
*Sam and Cassie can't realistically last if they end up on the same squad again. Policies against fraternization aren't there without a reason, and I can only LOL at these kids for thinking there's any reason they should be an exception to the rule when Sam is anything but rational about Cassie's safety. Why Cassie felt there was a bigger rush to get engaged than secure the job she wants, I don't fucking know, but I'm pretty sure when push comes to shove she'd be unable to choose Sam.
Many reviewers read the entire damn thing but still mostly criticized it for the unlikelihood of the central whammy, being of course that Maddox has had a double running around in Dublin, wearing the name of her old alias and thus somewhat chillingly erasing any traces of where she really came from. I'm sure all of those reviewers are really fun to bring to the movies. I mean, come on. If an author thinks up a premise as uniquely ridiculous as that, it's practically their responsibility to write it. This book could be a disaster, but it's not. As with the first book, it may not please those looking solely for a mystery, but the premise would have been tragically wasted on a less character-studied plot.
The introspective style of the novel is very similar to In The Woods, which at first would seem to just be French's style rather than a narrative aspect, but her third novel is quite a bit more straightforward. I like the idea that Rob and Cassie are a lot alike on paper, and they are, the main difference being that Cassie seems a bit more in the moment that she's telling, while Rob often spoke from far forward with more of a reflecting wisdom. Where INW had the slightest bits of foreshadowing, you feel a bit more suspense with Cassie's story, like she could pull a fast one on you at any moment. (And to me, she definitely does.)
There's a rather hefty amount at the beginning before the operation actually gets underway, but a lot of what happens before Cassie goes under is important and interesting; the novel doesn't overlook that making the decision Cassie makes is no casual affair. One of my favorite parts in the whole book is the grueling little confab Frank arranges between UCD and Murder, when Cassie suddenly and helplessly starts to miss Rob. We know that her reasons for transferring out of Murder were way bigger than the mess she got into with her partner, but it's hard to deny there that she could have easily dealt with all the memories if she'd stayed on the squad either way. (I have to add that Frank Mackey was a type of character this book really needed. His sort-of-friendship/professional rapport with Cassie is a breath of fresh air for a reader expecting her primary social connection in the novel to be her boyfriend.)
Once the operation starts, the book is the most mundane page-turner imaginable; even when nothing is happening, you can't put it down. I remember feeling this little bit of dread, this "Oh, please don't make me care about these characters" as the Whitethorn students are finally developed from inside the privacy of their lives, because you know that there's such a nasty turn waiting for them. French takes care to develop a complex web of relationships between all of the characters and how they all individually felt about Lexie, but not without acknowledging that there's another half to it that Cassie can't quite understand. In some ways, Cassie projects her own ideals onto them as she becomes more emotionally involved and at times sees it all as more simple than it turns out to be, but we want to believe that there are times when she was right.
The genius of this book is that the way in which it shows rather than tells is woven right into the plot - the parallels are there, but hardly ever pointed out by the narrator. There's that amazingly evocative and emotional scene when Cassie runs out in the yard with all the other students and gets in a violent fight with the vandalizer; there's that little pinprick of Cassie remembering Rob when she sees Abby and Daniel on the porch swing together. But for the most part there are connections between these two fraudulently interlocked lives that only sometimes make sense to us, as if we are only privy to Cassie's emotionally irrational connections. After all, Cassie hardly belongs with these people, but she becomes fooled by the feeling of safety in the house so that the flawed structure of these relationships shows its underside to her in an ugly shade of irony; there is a level of fiction-within-fiction because of the staged aspect of Cassie's inclusion in the house, and the only actor in the scenario eventually becomes the unwilling audience. Cassie draws an escapist allegory out of someone else's life, one that begins as comforting but only ends in another emotional disaster.
There were certain themes I thought were at play in In The Woods that I didn't quite talk about when I did a reaction post about it; I'm now convinced those ideas carry into the second novel with a lot of momentum, even though I'm still not really sure how to articulate them. To me, both stories feel like a type of coming-of-age novel, even while their main characters are well into adulthood, confronting inevitabilities that aren't particularly emotionally satisfying with this notion that "Innocence isn't enough." The family-like structure of the Whitethorn group was obviously idealistic to the point of unrealistic - sex with each other or sex with other people was inevitably going to force it to either evolve or fall apart, but they were holding back in more ways than one from graduating into "the real world."
What is never directly pointed out but which I think may have been an intentional reference is that Rob and Cassie had this exact problem, if at a lesser degree. Their relationship was intimate to the point that there wasn't room for anyone else. The friendship certainly didn't outlaw the possibility of either of them becoming romantically involved with another person, but when the two of them clearly spent more time with each other than with any other person - more time than many married couples can say they get to spend together - it's hard to believe that either of them becoming involved with anyone else to the point of espousal wouldn't complicate things. The relationship was, ironically, impenetrable only under the condition that it remained stagnant.
I don't think that Cassie's resolute and sudden commitment to Sam is necessarily meant to be read as an entirely happy ending, not if you really read into it. At the beginning of the novel they've only been together a handful of months, and the relationship could not be more obvious in its emotional inequality in that Sam seems to make Cassie feel vaguely and constantly guilty about nothing in particular, if not the simple fact that she's a cop who's willing to do a dangerous job. What happens in the end of the novel is that Cassie gets her detective mojo back, but as for her personal life, she's done taking risks, and chooses safety over greatness. There is no doubt that Sam will make her happy* because he's a great guy. If we're angry that Cassie isn't apparently meant to be with Rob, I find it hard to believe that this isn't how French wants us to feel. Almost every instance in the book that illustrates how Cassie feels about Sam is described in the essence of what he gives her, how good he is to her, how accepting and forgiving he is of her ("Sam" instead of "Mummy"). Good for Sam, I really don't dislike Sam, but with Cassie and Rob - how they were described throughout INW, how they're described in Cassie's memory - the substance of it was something between them, something effortless and immediate that was there from the start.
*Sam and Cassie can't realistically last if they end up on the same squad again. Policies against fraternization aren't there without a reason, and I can only LOL at these kids for thinking there's any reason they should be an exception to the rule when Sam is anything but rational about Cassie's safety. Why Cassie felt there was a bigger rush to get engaged than secure the job she wants, I don't fucking know, but I'm pretty sure when push comes to shove she'd be unable to choose Sam.