Book-It '22! Book #6: "Nine Perfect Strangers" by Lianne Moriarty
So wait, we're more than DOUBLE where we were last year at this time?! That's pretty cool.
Thank you so much to all of my readers! I'm so grateful for all of you.
The all new 50 Books Challenge!
Title: Nine Perfect Strangers by Lianne Moriarty
Details: Copyright 2018, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing
Synopsis (By Way of Front Flap): "Could ten days at a health resort really change you forever?
These nine perfect strangers are about to find out...
Nine people gather at a remote health resort. Some are here to lose weight, some are here to get a reboot on life, some are here for reasons they can’t even admit to themselves. Amidst all of the luxury and pampering, the mindfulness and meditation, they know these ten days might involve some real work. But none of them could imagine just how challenging the next ten days are going to be.
Frances Welty, the formerly best-selling romantic novelist, arrives at Tranquillum House nursing a bad back, a broken heart, and an exquisitely painful paper cut. She’s immediately intrigued by her fellow guests. Most of them don’t look to be in need of a health resort at all. But the person that intrigues her most is the strange and charismatic owner/director of Tranquillum House. Could this person really have the answers Frances didn’t even know she was seeking? Should Frances put aside her doubts and immerse herself in everything Tranquillum House has to offer - or should she run while she still can?
It’s not long before every guest at Tranquillum House is asking exactly the same question.
Combining all of the hallmarks that have made her writing a go-to for anyone looking for wickedly smart, page-turning fiction that will make you laugh and gasp, Liane Moriarty’s Nine Perfect Strangers once again shows why she is a master of her craft.""
Why I Wanted to Read It: A few years ago, a copy of Moriarty's 2014 novel Big Little Lies turned up, hot off the success of its wildly popular 2017 screen adaptation (which to this day I still haven't seen). Although it really didn't seem like my thing, I gave the book a shot and was surprised at how much I enjoyed it. I sought out all of Moriarty's other books published at that time (which with the first book I read, Big Little Lies, made seven) and read and enjoyed them, too.
I've mentioned before that after reading so many of her books, I could make a Lianne Moriarty bingo card (as you can with just about any author, really, especially if you've read that much of their work over a relatively short time). But that by no means means that her books aren't entertaining. I own two of the seven books I'd previously read, and reread them again last year and enjoyed them all over again.
It occurred to me that in the years since I read that big clump of all of Moriarty's then-published works, she's added two more, Nine Perfect Strangers and Apples Never Fall, so I decided to have a look.
How I Liked It: What do I mean when I say something is "enjoyable" and "entertaining"? Does that mean it's great literature? No. Does that mean it's not great literature? Also no!
I've spoken before about the strange dichotomy of a book not having to be good to be good. This is like that, but different. We'll get there.
First! Shifting viewpoints, always a hallmark of Moriarty's novels, appear here in her most ambitious form of them yet. Yes, nine perfect strangers, but not only does each stranger get a view point, so do the proprietors of the health resort, particularly the main proprietor.
Meet Frances Welty! A fifty-something romance novelist whose career has hit a slump. Fresh victim of a romance scam online (turns out her new boyfriend that lives in the States for whom she was planning to move and ready to be a stepmother to his son that she met does not exist and there's a string of women like Frances that he's scammed), and smarting with physical as well as emotional pain (her literary agent lets it slip that a particularly nasty and hurtful review of her work exists).
Meet Lars! A very attractive family lawyer, he doesn't want kids but his partner desperately wants children and Lars loves him, so what to do?
Meet Carmel! Mother of four little girls, her husband has dumped her for a younger woman and she thinks losing weight is the answer.
Meet Napoleon, Heather, and Zoe! School teacher Napoleon is dealing with a loss with his midwife nurse Heather and their nearly-21-year-old daughter Zoe.
Meet Tony! Former famous footballer, currently depressed divorced father who never sees his adult children (or little grandchildren).
Meet Ben and Jessica! Twenty-something lottery winners that were high school sweethearts and then married, their lives have changed but not necessary for the better and they're on the brink of divorce.
Meet Delilah! One of the head staff of the resort, she's not sure how much of this she believes.
Meet Yao! Second-in-command former paramedic who is devoted to the vision of the founder of the resort.
Meet Masha! Formerly of the Soviet Union when it was the Soviet Union, she came to Australia to build a new life on many fronts and has a strong vision for the resort she founded and is mostly captivating and charismatic enough to make it happen.
While Frances and Masha are the characters we tend to focus on the most, the others are by no means neglected. The backstories of each character is unraveled a bit, like mini mysteries, and the woman at the center of it all, Masha, has plenty of mysteries of her own to be unraveled. Before the end of the novel, we know about all characters and each has a more or less satisfying conclusion.
Given that it's been so long since I read a new work of Moriarty's and the fact that this is arguably her first work post massive success (although obviously she couldn't have written the entire thing before the success of the HBO adaptation), I was interested to see how it would read.
If it seems a bit different from previous Moriarty works (although that's frankly too difficult to separate from the fact I haven't read a new one in so long), it's thankfully no less without her appeal. However, there are some changes that came with Moriarty's widespread success (and we'll get to that) and it was completely unsurprising that this was adapted into a TV series (that I also haven't seen).
What got to me about the first book of hers that I read got to me about all of her books got to me about this one, too. She lavishes full lives on her characters. No character, seemingly, is without consideration or Moriarty's unique touch. While some have apparently criticized this approach to character development, I honestly haven't found it slows the pace any, and her books remain fast-paced, compelling, and immersive reads, and this one is no different, despite the many characters (there are nine perfect strangers, but they aren't the only voices we hear).
Which isn't to say Moriarty is perfect. Some of the previous gender and sexual politics of her books can occasionally produce a cringe, and she takes some curious turns in this book (and I'll get to some of them).
But endings being too happy seems a bit of an absurd complaint, particularly when Moriarty seems to have sharpened her realism in her happy endings. Her wit and distinct sort of whimsy remain intact in a way I suspect is missing from the TV adaptations.
So is an "enjoyable" book a well-written one? In this case, fortunately yes. Moriarty's love of characterization and ability to blend multiple storylines comes together beautifully here, and the premise of strangers in a health resort ties them together better than some of her previous works did with fewer characters/viewpoints. She's also surprisingly good at taking a stock trope and turning it just slightly to subvert it completely, usually in a pleasant twist.
I suspect Moriarty's received some criticism for her books being too "feel good" (and incidentally, there's a whole other complaint about "grim-dark" fiction being considered more serious than "feel good" when it does not deserve that reputation), but honestly, if a book and an author are enjoyable? Just enjoy them.
Notable: Moriarty doesn't have the best history with writing Queer characters, so I was pleased to see one here, and with relatively little stereotype, although another character knowing he's gay without him actually saying in the text made me twitch a bit. Probably a bit oversensitive, but the trope of a character being "obviously" gay (meaning stereotypically) to straight people still persists. Otherwise, good job! Not a sassy token, and he has legitimate problems to overcome and is given a (presumably) happy ending with his partner (I can't remember if he's actually referred to as his husband, but it's clear they have that relationship).
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At the time she wrote this book, Lianne Moriarty was in her fifties. Why does this make a difference? Something I noticed briefly in Big Little Lies is in full force here. Young People™ can't believe Old People™ exist. Like, at all. They can't believe they're even human.
Not even a generational thing (which is good because no more generational 'discourse', thanks!), just some nebulous Old People™ (some of them not even that much older than the Young People™) and being shocked that Old People™ want things.
The bulk of this talk comes from two twenty-somethings, the lottery winners Jessica and Ben. Frances (the romance novelist) is in her fifties. Carmel is thirty-nine. Helen I don't think they give an age, but she's the mother of a twenty-one-year-old.
He could see straight down the chasm of her cleavage; he couldn't help it, there was literally no where else to look. It wasn't bad, but she was old, so it wasn't good either. She wore red lipstick and had a lot of curly gold-colored hair pulled back in a ponytail. She reminded him of one of his mum's tennis friends. He liked his mum's tennis friends-- they were uncomplicated and didn't expect him to say much-- but he preferred them without cleavage. (pg 39)
"That author we met is in the room next to us," he said. He picked up an apple from the fruit bowl and tossed it from hand to hand like a baseball. "Frances. Why do you reckon she's here?"
"I expect she wants to lose weight," said Jessica. Like, duh. She thought it was kind of obvious. Frances had that padded look middle-aged women got. Jessica herself would never allow that to happen. She'd rather be dead.
"You reckon?" said Ben. "What does it matter at her age?" He didn't wait for an answer.(pg 64)
On reflection, Jessica decided not to bother her. It was the middle of the night. People her age really needed their sleep. (pg 136)
"Sorry," said Carmel. She lowered her head. "It's probably just envy."
"Envy? You're, like, jealous of me?" said Jessica. Wasn't this woman too old to feel jealous? "Why?"
"Well..." Carmel laughed a little.
The money, thought Jessica. She's jealous of the money. It had taken her a while to realize that people of any age, people she considered grown-ups, of her parents' generation, who you would think wouldn't care that much about money because their lives were virtually done, could still be jealous and weird about it.
"Well, you're thin and beautiful," said Carmel. "I know it's embarrassing to admit this at my age-- I've got four beautiful daughters, I should be way beyond this-- but my husband left me for a..."
"Bimbo?" suggested Lars. (pg 314)
Okay, again, Carmel is shown to be thirty-nine, not even in her fifties.
The three of them laughed that self-satisfied middle-aged-woman laugh that made you want to stay young forever. (pg 316)
(Okay, these are women that range decades in age: when exactly does "middle-aged" start and when does it end? One of the many reasons I don't care for that term and think we need to phase it out.)
I get that the concept is that "young people" have no concept of age and think anyone older than them is old. In reality, a very many "young people" absolutely think that. Given that the age we currently are is the oldest we've ever been because that's how time works, of course we feel like we're "old" so anyone even older than us must be really old. It's the kind of lack of nuanced thinking that many teenagers (myself as a teen included) have, but thankfully generally grow out of, sometimes while they're still technically in their teens. The fact Moriarty has taken it to this depressing extreme... why?
I understand this is possibly her own take on the age (Frances who suffers hot flashes throughout the book, notes "Girls who wore fuck-me boots in the eighties were now wearing mother-of-the-bride outfits with pretty bolero jackets to conceal their upper arms." ((pg 100)) and also that "[c]hildren were taking over the world. Everywhere Frances looked there were children: children sitting gravely behind news desks, controlling traffic, running writers' festivals, taking her blood pressure, managing her taxes, and fitting her bras." pg 28). Given that I'm currently between Jessica and Frances in age myself (and closer to Jessica), it's not really my place to tell someone how ageism (and aging) affects them. But why put it to this level in fiction? This contains a romance (no spoilers) between fifty-something characters which is a nice bit of diversity, I'm sorry to say (the fact people past some nebulous, shifting age could still have a romance in a culture that is more comfortable seeing underaged characters have sex than they are with senior citizens is still downright remarkable). Also, it takes place in the modern day (of 2018), so those fifty-somethings would be Gen-Xers, or late Boomers, not members of a generation where you were supposed to forfeit any youthful autonomy before your late twenties.
Moriarty's not the only author I've seen do this, but she is so far the most extreme example. Given that there was just a hint of this in Big Little Lies (a character turning forty reflects to a twenty-something that they can't even imagine turning forty, to which the twenty-something internally reflects they can't believe someone that old is still celebrating a birthday).
The character of Jessica is shown to be obsessed with social media and plastic surgery and thus somewhat superficial (although there's layers to it), but she's literally addicted to a certain reality TV family whose name begins with K, the most famous of whom is now in her forties. Wouldn't that shape or change her perception of "those women" at all? Besides, it's not just Jessica with the constant ageism, it's her lunkhead car-obsessed husband, too, who refused to get turned on by cleavage that's "old" (ew).
I freely admit that some of this might be a cultural thing, as I'm from the United States and Moriarty's books are very Australian (and yet the screen adaptations are always American, at least so far) and this book in particular (maybe more than any of her others) talks a lot about the Australian character.
Again, I get that this absurdity about age is (probably) supposed to demonstrate the ridiculousness of that mindset (and given insight into Jessica's insecurities and ignorance) and even be funny, but after awhile it just gets tedious and depressing. There's several multi-billion dollar industries working their hardest to enforce Jessica's mindset and make it the norm, it really doesn't need to be taken to this extent in fiction, too.
I have to say, if given a choice between the "anything over twenty-five is ancient and therefore not human" mindset and the " WOW THEY ARE OLD AND YET STILL SOMEHOW ATTRACTIVE AND STYLISH!" I'll take the latter, since it's at least more novel and upbeat (and those characters were at least in their eighties, not some barely past the "youthful" characters).
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She said, "What was your sister like? Before the drugs? Or beneath the drugs?"
"Beneath the drugs," repeated Ben. He thought about it: Lucy beneath the drugs. (pg 296)
Credit to Moriarty, that is a beautiful turn of phrase. Drugs play an interesting role in this book, particularly psychedelics, and Moriarty credits several books as her research including none other than The Doors of Perception by Aldous Huxley, of Jim Morrison Doors fame.
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Masha said, Some of you may have heard of the word koan. A koan is a paradox or puzzle that Zen Buddhists use during meditation to help on their quest toward enlightenment. The most famous one is this: What is the sound of one hand clapping?"
Oh, Lord. The website had given the impression that this place leaned more toward luxury wellness. Lars had a daily yoga and meditation practice, but he preferred his health retreats to avoid too much embarrassing cultural appropriation.(pg 132)
I genuinely laughed at "embarrassing cultural appropriation". Good job.
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She couldn't shake the feeling that if she didn't record this moment on her phone then it wasn't really happening, it didn't count, it wasn't real life. She knew that was irrational but she couldn't help it. (pg 137)
I know this is about a character obsessed with shallow things, but credit to Moriarty for aptly capturing a feeling many struggle with in the current social media sphere, or even several of the most current social media spheres (as someone on social media since I was a teenager, I can tell you that animal has mutated wildly). I realize this is by no means a brave new subject for authors to tackle and "think pieces" about it go back for over a decade at least, but it's still hard to get right and Moriarty does.
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He went to stand up for the two hundredth time to get relief for this pain from the fridge before remembering for the two hundredth time that there was no relief to be found. No refrigerator. No pantry. No TV to turn on for a distracting documentary. No internet to surf mindlessly. No dog he could summon with a whistle, just to hear the obedient patter of paws. (pgs 148 and 149)
Interesting hearing "surfing" the internet rather than "scrolling" it. People "surfed" the internet in the 1990s. Given that this is for a character who would've been an adult when that term was popularized (and it's established that he doesn't really keep up with some things), I approve this usage and hope it was intentional.
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"Yeah, that's bad," said Frances. She felt energized in that bossy female way that she knew drove men crazy, but there was really nothing you could do about it once you felt that sense of righteousness surge through you, because they were such idiots. (pg 320)
Unfortunately, one of the squares in the Lianne Moriarty bingo card is "toxic masculinity" since there is always at least one character to spew off some form of misogyny that's treated by other characters as some kind of silly personality quirk. While that absolutely happens in real life all the time, it's frustrating in fiction, and while among other things this book contains a character with a really lengthy, annoying diatribe against feminists that makes no sense (and to be fair, is mostly portrayed as him overthinking a reaction), I was more twitchy about this passage. Probably because I absolutely know what Frances is talking about, but I wouldn't have chosen to put it that way and justify some insecure culture's misogyny.
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The acknowledgements have an amusing little note:
Maria (Masha) Dmitrichenko was the winning bidder at a Starlight Children's Foundation charity event to have a character in one of my books named after her and I thank her for the use of her name. (pg 451)
Several news articles claim to have found this woman and I wonder what she thinks about the character the author chose to name after her. I also wonder if the character of Masha was formed before or after the auction.
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The last bit is perhaps the most distracting, honestly.
I've now read all of Moriarty's adult work (she has also written several YA books), save for her most recent one, which means I've read her early fiction, too. This is the first work I've read of Moriarty's since she's arguably become a bonafide star writer, complete with a highly successful adaptation and hobnobbing with celebrities (she super causally thanks none other than Nicole Kidman in the acknowledgements, for her "extraordinary faith in this book" before she'd read a single word, who played significant roles in both screen adaptations of Moriarty's work).
Obviously, pieces of authors' real lives go into their work, and when your life over the course of your writing becomes that of "highly successful author", it'd be impossible for it not to come up somewhere. Stephen King's novels and short stories have had authors as characters since the 1980s, understandably. As far back as one of Moriarty's first books contained a children's book author.
So given Moriarty's massive success in the past five years, it would have to come up some time, and unlike Frances Wilty, Lianne Moriarty is not an unmarried, childless romance novelist.
Still, they are both authors and plenty of Frances's storyline feels at risk of breaking the fourth wall (to the point where on a trip, Frances fears a vision will actually break the fourth wall). Frances, remember, is a successful novelist in a slump with changing tastes and a retired editor (and her new one is much younger and gushes over reading Frances's work as child and pushes her to actually use social media for promotion). Her agent, when delivering the sad news that no one wants to buy her new book (even her "Plan B" people for selling her books aren't buying), also accidentally drops that a harshly critical review of Frances's work as whole came out and is possibly hurting sales.
"You've just had such a bad trot of luck lately, darling-- speaking of which, I want you to know that review had absolutely no impact on their decision."
"What review?" said Frances.
There was silence. She knew Alain was smacking his forehead.
"Alain?"
"Oh God," he said. "Oh God, oh God, oh God."
"I haven't read a review since 1998," said Frances. "Not a single review. You know that."
"I absolutely know that," said Alain. "I'm an idiot. I'm a fool."
"Why would there be a review when I don't have a new book out?" Frances wiggled upright in her seat. Her back hurt so much she thought she might be sick.
"Some bitch picked up a copy of What the Heart Wants at the airport and did an opinion piece about, ah, your books in general, a mad diatribe. She kind of linked it to the Me Too movement, which gave it some clickbait traction. It was just ridiculous-- as if romance books are to blame for sexual predators!" (pg 30)
Frances reads the review despite not reading reviews, and takes it very personally:
It was written by someone called Helen Ihnat. Frances didn't know the name and there was no picture. She read it fast, with a wry, dignified smile, as if the author was saying these things to her face. It was a terrible review: vicious, sarcastic, and superior, but, interestingly, it didn't hurt. The words-- Formulaic. Trash. Drivel. Trite-- slid right off her.
She was fine! Can't please everyone. Comes with the territory.
And then she felt it.
It was like when you burn yourself on a hot plate and at first you think, Huh, that should have hurt more, and then it does hurt more and then all of a sudden it hurts like hell. (pg 31)
From that initial reaction, she then fears she's having a heart attack and this was why she'd given up on reading reviews, because they hurt too much.
It's still on her mind later when she's feeling guilty for finding a twenty-something man attractive ("Possibly bordering on pedophilia, darling, Alain would say." pg 43) and is sure that she's imitating the behavior of the lecherous older men that used to sexually harass her at publishing parties.
They used to be particularly hideous if they'd recently won a literary prize. Their dialogue was so powerful and impenetrable it didn't require punctuation! So naturally they didn't require permission to slip-slide their hairy hands over the body of a young writer of genre fiction. In their minds, Frances virtually owed them sex in return for their unseemly mass-market sales of "airport trash."
Stop it. Don't think about the review, Frances.
She'd marched in the Women's March! She was not "a blight on feminism" just because she'd described the color of her hero's eyes. How could you fall in love with someone if you didn't know the color of his eyes? And she was obliged to tie everything up at the end with a "giant bow." Those were the rules. If Frances left her ending ambiguous, her readers would come after her with pitchforks. (pg 43)
But still, that's keeping it about romance novels, right? Which is not what Moriarty herself writes, right?
Frances is on a walk with the group and has her career on her mind:
She considered the pace of her life. The world had begun to move faster and faster over the last decade. People spoke faster, drove faster, walked faster. Everyone was in a rush. Everyone was busy. Everyone demanded their gratification instantly. She'd even begun to notice it in the editing of her books. Pace! Jo had begun to snap in her editorial comments, where once she would've written: Nice!
It seemed to Frances that readers once had more patience, they were content for the story to take its time, for an occasional chapter to meander pleasurably through a beautiful landscape without anything much happening, except perhaps the exchange of some meaningful eye contact.
Of course, Jo's editing had probably taken on that frenetic tone in response to Frances's declining sales. No doubt Jo could see the writing on the wall and that accounted for her increasingly feverish pleas: Add some intrigue to this chapter. Maybe a red herring to throw the reader off the scent? (pg 146)
I guess I don't have to tell you that this particular chapter contains both significant eye contact and also the chapter ends on a bit of intrigue.
Things get even more winking when Frances goes on a trip thanks to hallucinogenic drugs. She goes on a starlight sleigh ride with friends and family (some of them deceased):
A pile of books filled her lap. They were all the books she'd ever written, including foreign-language editions. The books were open at the top like cereal boxes. Frances dipped her hand into each book and pulled out great handfuls of words to scatter across the sky.
"Got one!" said Sol, from the back of the sleigh, where he and Henry sat smoking cigarettes and killing off unnecessary adjectives with catapults.
"Leave them be," said Frances snappily. (pg 241)
"Readers get impatient if they have trouble working out which character is which," explained Frances. "You've got to help them out. None of us is getting any younger."
"Except this isn't a book," said Gillian.
"I think you'll find it is," said Frances. "I'm the protagonist, obviously."
"I feel like that tall Russian lady is giving you a run for your money," said Gillian.
"She is not," said Frances. "It's all about me. I'm just not sure of my love interest yet."
"Oh my God, it's so obvious," said Gillian. "Blind Freddy could pick it." She shouted at the sky, "You knew it from day one, right?"
"Gillian! Did you just try to break the fourth wall?" Frances was shocked.
"I did not," said Gillian, but she looked guilty. "I'm sure no one noticed." (pg 242)
Breaking the fourth wall about breaking the fourth wall. But perhaps most tellingly is Frances's insecurities that come forth in her trip:
She dared to look up and the stars were a million darting eyes on the lookout for rule-breaking in her story: sexism, ageism, racism, tokenism, ableism, plagiarism, cultural appropriation, fat-shaming, body-shaming, slut-shaming, vegetarian-shaming, real-estate-agent-shaming. The voice of the Almighty Internet boomed from the sky: Shame on you!
Frances hung her head. "It's just a story," she whispered.
"That's what I'm trying to tell you," said Gillian.
An endless gossamer-like sentence embroidered with jewel-like metaphors, far too many clauses, and a meaning so obscure it had to be profound wrapped itself around Frances's neck, but it really didn't suit her, so she wrenched it off and flung it into space, where it floated free until at last a shy author on his way to a festival to accept a prize grabbed it from the sky and used it to gag one of his beautiful corpses. It looked lovely on her. Gray-bearded critics applauded with relief, grateful it hadn't ended up a beach read.
"Will younger readers even recognize the term 'Blind Freddy'?" asked Jo, who floated alongside Frances doing a line-edit. She sat astride a giant lead pencil. "Could it be ableist?" (pg 243)
Oof. Although credit to Moriarty's exquisite imagery there otherwise.
Do I think that people, particularly on social media, are terrible about nuance and/or just love to troll and pile on, in a space where there is relative anonymity and little to no consequence? Absolutely.
Do I think that a negativity bias draws clicks and a clickbait "think piece" claiming that something popular is "problematic, actually" is less about media criticism and more about "engagement"? Absolutely.
BUT.
Authors and writers and all content creators should obviously try to avoid bigotry and bigoted tropes because bigotry is, you know, wrong, and leads to real life oppression, not because a bunch of sour little scolds are going to shake their internet fingers because you did a Problematic™ (insert long-winded nonsense about "cancel culture" and "woke mobs" and whatever other terms are being made more meaningless by right wing ideologues). What's more, the hand-wringing about how "we can't say anything anymore" and "people are so overly offended these days!" has existed for decades and is a popular song of bigots who don't like their bigotry being interrupted/called out.
So it's kind of at best eyeroll-inducing to see real world issues like racism and sexism put with "real-estate agent-shaming", as though being criticized for bigotry is in anyway the same as experiencing that bigotry yourself.
And it's kind of hard not to think these might be the author's thoughts more than the character's thoughts. We know Frances is feeling defensive about her first professional rejection in decades and also an overzealous review of her work, but you do have to wonder if there isn't a least a kernel of the author's own sentiments in there.
Speaking of the review Frances received, the eventual fate of the reviewer is anything but subtle:
Of course, not everyone gets a happy ending or even the chance of one. Life doesn't work like that. Case in point: Helen Ihnat, the reviewer of Frances's novel, What the Heart Wants, lost her entire life savings in a mortifying, high-profile cryptocurrency scam and lived in a state of quite profound unhappiness for the rest of her days.
But as she despised neatly tied-up happy endings, she was fine with that.(pg 449)
Burned! Although she wasn't killed off, at least.
I did appreciate Frances roasting male authors, though:
The book she was reading now was a debut novel that had received rave reviews. There was a lot of "buzz" about it. It was described as "powerful, muscular" and it was written by a man Frances had met at a party last year. The man had been pleasant, shy, and bespectacled (not especially muscular), so Frances was trying to forgive him for his lavish descriptions of beautiful corpses. How many more beautiful young women had to die before they could get on with the job of tracking down their murderer? Frances made little "tch" sounds of disgust.
Now the craggy detective was drunk on single-malt whiskey in a smoke-hazed bar and a long-legged girl half his age was whispering into his ear, without quotation marks (this being powerful, literary fiction): I want to fuck you so bad.
Frances, who had reached her limit, threw the book across the room. In your dreams, buddy!
She lady back with her hands clasped across her chest, and reminded herself that her own debut novel featured a piano-playing poetry-reciting firefighter. It was cute that the bespectacled author imagined twentysomething girls ever whispered "I want to fuck you so bad" into the ears of fiftysomething men. She would give the author a consoling little pat on the shoulder the next time she saw him at a festival. (pgs 123 and 124)
Final Grade: A
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Thank you so much to all of my readers! I'm so grateful for all of you.
The all new 50 Books Challenge!
Title: Nine Perfect Strangers by Lianne Moriarty
Details: Copyright 2018, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing
Synopsis (By Way of Front Flap): "Could ten days at a health resort really change you forever?
These nine perfect strangers are about to find out...
Nine people gather at a remote health resort. Some are here to lose weight, some are here to get a reboot on life, some are here for reasons they can’t even admit to themselves. Amidst all of the luxury and pampering, the mindfulness and meditation, they know these ten days might involve some real work. But none of them could imagine just how challenging the next ten days are going to be.
Frances Welty, the formerly best-selling romantic novelist, arrives at Tranquillum House nursing a bad back, a broken heart, and an exquisitely painful paper cut. She’s immediately intrigued by her fellow guests. Most of them don’t look to be in need of a health resort at all. But the person that intrigues her most is the strange and charismatic owner/director of Tranquillum House. Could this person really have the answers Frances didn’t even know she was seeking? Should Frances put aside her doubts and immerse herself in everything Tranquillum House has to offer - or should she run while she still can?
It’s not long before every guest at Tranquillum House is asking exactly the same question.
Combining all of the hallmarks that have made her writing a go-to for anyone looking for wickedly smart, page-turning fiction that will make you laugh and gasp, Liane Moriarty’s Nine Perfect Strangers once again shows why she is a master of her craft.""
Why I Wanted to Read It: A few years ago, a copy of Moriarty's 2014 novel Big Little Lies turned up, hot off the success of its wildly popular 2017 screen adaptation (which to this day I still haven't seen). Although it really didn't seem like my thing, I gave the book a shot and was surprised at how much I enjoyed it. I sought out all of Moriarty's other books published at that time (which with the first book I read, Big Little Lies, made seven) and read and enjoyed them, too.
I've mentioned before that after reading so many of her books, I could make a Lianne Moriarty bingo card (as you can with just about any author, really, especially if you've read that much of their work over a relatively short time). But that by no means means that her books aren't entertaining. I own two of the seven books I'd previously read, and reread them again last year and enjoyed them all over again.
It occurred to me that in the years since I read that big clump of all of Moriarty's then-published works, she's added two more, Nine Perfect Strangers and Apples Never Fall, so I decided to have a look.
How I Liked It: What do I mean when I say something is "enjoyable" and "entertaining"? Does that mean it's great literature? No. Does that mean it's not great literature? Also no!
I've spoken before about the strange dichotomy of a book not having to be good to be good. This is like that, but different. We'll get there.
First! Shifting viewpoints, always a hallmark of Moriarty's novels, appear here in her most ambitious form of them yet. Yes, nine perfect strangers, but not only does each stranger get a view point, so do the proprietors of the health resort, particularly the main proprietor.
Meet Frances Welty! A fifty-something romance novelist whose career has hit a slump. Fresh victim of a romance scam online (turns out her new boyfriend that lives in the States for whom she was planning to move and ready to be a stepmother to his son that she met does not exist and there's a string of women like Frances that he's scammed), and smarting with physical as well as emotional pain (her literary agent lets it slip that a particularly nasty and hurtful review of her work exists).
Meet Lars! A very attractive family lawyer, he doesn't want kids but his partner desperately wants children and Lars loves him, so what to do?
Meet Carmel! Mother of four little girls, her husband has dumped her for a younger woman and she thinks losing weight is the answer.
Meet Napoleon, Heather, and Zoe! School teacher Napoleon is dealing with a loss with his midwife nurse Heather and their nearly-21-year-old daughter Zoe.
Meet Tony! Former famous footballer, currently depressed divorced father who never sees his adult children (or little grandchildren).
Meet Ben and Jessica! Twenty-something lottery winners that were high school sweethearts and then married, their lives have changed but not necessary for the better and they're on the brink of divorce.
Meet Delilah! One of the head staff of the resort, she's not sure how much of this she believes.
Meet Yao! Second-in-command former paramedic who is devoted to the vision of the founder of the resort.
Meet Masha! Formerly of the Soviet Union when it was the Soviet Union, she came to Australia to build a new life on many fronts and has a strong vision for the resort she founded and is mostly captivating and charismatic enough to make it happen.
While Frances and Masha are the characters we tend to focus on the most, the others are by no means neglected. The backstories of each character is unraveled a bit, like mini mysteries, and the woman at the center of it all, Masha, has plenty of mysteries of her own to be unraveled. Before the end of the novel, we know about all characters and each has a more or less satisfying conclusion.
Given that it's been so long since I read a new work of Moriarty's and the fact that this is arguably her first work post massive success (although obviously she couldn't have written the entire thing before the success of the HBO adaptation), I was interested to see how it would read.
If it seems a bit different from previous Moriarty works (although that's frankly too difficult to separate from the fact I haven't read a new one in so long), it's thankfully no less without her appeal. However, there are some changes that came with Moriarty's widespread success (and we'll get to that) and it was completely unsurprising that this was adapted into a TV series (that I also haven't seen).
What got to me about the first book of hers that I read got to me about all of her books got to me about this one, too. She lavishes full lives on her characters. No character, seemingly, is without consideration or Moriarty's unique touch. While some have apparently criticized this approach to character development, I honestly haven't found it slows the pace any, and her books remain fast-paced, compelling, and immersive reads, and this one is no different, despite the many characters (there are nine perfect strangers, but they aren't the only voices we hear).
Which isn't to say Moriarty is perfect. Some of the previous gender and sexual politics of her books can occasionally produce a cringe, and she takes some curious turns in this book (and I'll get to some of them).
But endings being too happy seems a bit of an absurd complaint, particularly when Moriarty seems to have sharpened her realism in her happy endings. Her wit and distinct sort of whimsy remain intact in a way I suspect is missing from the TV adaptations.
So is an "enjoyable" book a well-written one? In this case, fortunately yes. Moriarty's love of characterization and ability to blend multiple storylines comes together beautifully here, and the premise of strangers in a health resort ties them together better than some of her previous works did with fewer characters/viewpoints. She's also surprisingly good at taking a stock trope and turning it just slightly to subvert it completely, usually in a pleasant twist.
I suspect Moriarty's received some criticism for her books being too "feel good" (and incidentally, there's a whole other complaint about "grim-dark" fiction being considered more serious than "feel good" when it does not deserve that reputation), but honestly, if a book and an author are enjoyable? Just enjoy them.
Notable: Moriarty doesn't have the best history with writing Queer characters, so I was pleased to see one here, and with relatively little stereotype, although another character knowing he's gay without him actually saying in the text made me twitch a bit. Probably a bit oversensitive, but the trope of a character being "obviously" gay (meaning stereotypically) to straight people still persists. Otherwise, good job! Not a sassy token, and he has legitimate problems to overcome and is given a (presumably) happy ending with his partner (I can't remember if he's actually referred to as his husband, but it's clear they have that relationship).
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At the time she wrote this book, Lianne Moriarty was in her fifties. Why does this make a difference? Something I noticed briefly in Big Little Lies is in full force here. Young People™ can't believe Old People™ exist. Like, at all. They can't believe they're even human.
Not even a generational thing (which is good because no more generational 'discourse', thanks!), just some nebulous Old People™ (some of them not even that much older than the Young People™) and being shocked that Old People™ want things.
The bulk of this talk comes from two twenty-somethings, the lottery winners Jessica and Ben. Frances (the romance novelist) is in her fifties. Carmel is thirty-nine. Helen I don't think they give an age, but she's the mother of a twenty-one-year-old.
He could see straight down the chasm of her cleavage; he couldn't help it, there was literally no where else to look. It wasn't bad, but she was old, so it wasn't good either. She wore red lipstick and had a lot of curly gold-colored hair pulled back in a ponytail. She reminded him of one of his mum's tennis friends. He liked his mum's tennis friends-- they were uncomplicated and didn't expect him to say much-- but he preferred them without cleavage. (pg 39)
"That author we met is in the room next to us," he said. He picked up an apple from the fruit bowl and tossed it from hand to hand like a baseball. "Frances. Why do you reckon she's here?"
"I expect she wants to lose weight," said Jessica. Like, duh. She thought it was kind of obvious. Frances had that padded look middle-aged women got. Jessica herself would never allow that to happen. She'd rather be dead.
"You reckon?" said Ben. "What does it matter at her age?" He didn't wait for an answer.(pg 64)
On reflection, Jessica decided not to bother her. It was the middle of the night. People her age really needed their sleep. (pg 136)
"Sorry," said Carmel. She lowered her head. "It's probably just envy."
"Envy? You're, like, jealous of me?" said Jessica. Wasn't this woman too old to feel jealous? "Why?"
"Well..." Carmel laughed a little.
The money, thought Jessica. She's jealous of the money. It had taken her a while to realize that people of any age, people she considered grown-ups, of her parents' generation, who you would think wouldn't care that much about money because their lives were virtually done, could still be jealous and weird about it.
"Well, you're thin and beautiful," said Carmel. "I know it's embarrassing to admit this at my age-- I've got four beautiful daughters, I should be way beyond this-- but my husband left me for a..."
"Bimbo?" suggested Lars. (pg 314)
Okay, again, Carmel is shown to be thirty-nine, not even in her fifties.
The three of them laughed that self-satisfied middle-aged-woman laugh that made you want to stay young forever. (pg 316)
(Okay, these are women that range decades in age: when exactly does "middle-aged" start and when does it end? One of the many reasons I don't care for that term and think we need to phase it out.)
I get that the concept is that "young people" have no concept of age and think anyone older than them is old. In reality, a very many "young people" absolutely think that. Given that the age we currently are is the oldest we've ever been because that's how time works, of course we feel like we're "old" so anyone even older than us must be really old. It's the kind of lack of nuanced thinking that many teenagers (myself as a teen included) have, but thankfully generally grow out of, sometimes while they're still technically in their teens. The fact Moriarty has taken it to this depressing extreme... why?
I understand this is possibly her own take on the age (Frances who suffers hot flashes throughout the book, notes "Girls who wore fuck-me boots in the eighties were now wearing mother-of-the-bride outfits with pretty bolero jackets to conceal their upper arms." ((pg 100)) and also that "[c]hildren were taking over the world. Everywhere Frances looked there were children: children sitting gravely behind news desks, controlling traffic, running writers' festivals, taking her blood pressure, managing her taxes, and fitting her bras." pg 28). Given that I'm currently between Jessica and Frances in age myself (and closer to Jessica), it's not really my place to tell someone how ageism (and aging) affects them. But why put it to this level in fiction? This contains a romance (no spoilers) between fifty-something characters which is a nice bit of diversity, I'm sorry to say (the fact people past some nebulous, shifting age could still have a romance in a culture that is more comfortable seeing underaged characters have sex than they are with senior citizens is still downright remarkable). Also, it takes place in the modern day (of 2018), so those fifty-somethings would be Gen-Xers, or late Boomers, not members of a generation where you were supposed to forfeit any youthful autonomy before your late twenties.
Moriarty's not the only author I've seen do this, but she is so far the most extreme example. Given that there was just a hint of this in Big Little Lies (a character turning forty reflects to a twenty-something that they can't even imagine turning forty, to which the twenty-something internally reflects they can't believe someone that old is still celebrating a birthday).
The character of Jessica is shown to be obsessed with social media and plastic surgery and thus somewhat superficial (although there's layers to it), but she's literally addicted to a certain reality TV family whose name begins with K, the most famous of whom is now in her forties. Wouldn't that shape or change her perception of "those women" at all? Besides, it's not just Jessica with the constant ageism, it's her lunkhead car-obsessed husband, too, who refused to get turned on by cleavage that's "old" (ew).
I freely admit that some of this might be a cultural thing, as I'm from the United States and Moriarty's books are very Australian (and yet the screen adaptations are always American, at least so far) and this book in particular (maybe more than any of her others) talks a lot about the Australian character.
Again, I get that this absurdity about age is (probably) supposed to demonstrate the ridiculousness of that mindset (and given insight into Jessica's insecurities and ignorance) and even be funny, but after awhile it just gets tedious and depressing. There's several multi-billion dollar industries working their hardest to enforce Jessica's mindset and make it the norm, it really doesn't need to be taken to this extent in fiction, too.
I have to say, if given a choice between the "anything over twenty-five is ancient and therefore not human" mindset and the " WOW THEY ARE OLD AND YET STILL SOMEHOW ATTRACTIVE AND STYLISH!" I'll take the latter, since it's at least more novel and upbeat (and those characters were at least in their eighties, not some barely past the "youthful" characters).
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She said, "What was your sister like? Before the drugs? Or beneath the drugs?"
"Beneath the drugs," repeated Ben. He thought about it: Lucy beneath the drugs. (pg 296)
Credit to Moriarty, that is a beautiful turn of phrase. Drugs play an interesting role in this book, particularly psychedelics, and Moriarty credits several books as her research including none other than The Doors of Perception by Aldous Huxley, of Jim Morrison Doors fame.
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Masha said, Some of you may have heard of the word koan. A koan is a paradox or puzzle that Zen Buddhists use during meditation to help on their quest toward enlightenment. The most famous one is this: What is the sound of one hand clapping?"
Oh, Lord. The website had given the impression that this place leaned more toward luxury wellness. Lars had a daily yoga and meditation practice, but he preferred his health retreats to avoid too much embarrassing cultural appropriation.(pg 132)
I genuinely laughed at "embarrassing cultural appropriation". Good job.
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She couldn't shake the feeling that if she didn't record this moment on her phone then it wasn't really happening, it didn't count, it wasn't real life. She knew that was irrational but she couldn't help it. (pg 137)
I know this is about a character obsessed with shallow things, but credit to Moriarty for aptly capturing a feeling many struggle with in the current social media sphere, or even several of the most current social media spheres (as someone on social media since I was a teenager, I can tell you that animal has mutated wildly). I realize this is by no means a brave new subject for authors to tackle and "think pieces" about it go back for over a decade at least, but it's still hard to get right and Moriarty does.
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He went to stand up for the two hundredth time to get relief for this pain from the fridge before remembering for the two hundredth time that there was no relief to be found. No refrigerator. No pantry. No TV to turn on for a distracting documentary. No internet to surf mindlessly. No dog he could summon with a whistle, just to hear the obedient patter of paws. (pgs 148 and 149)
Interesting hearing "surfing" the internet rather than "scrolling" it. People "surfed" the internet in the 1990s. Given that this is for a character who would've been an adult when that term was popularized (and it's established that he doesn't really keep up with some things), I approve this usage and hope it was intentional.
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"Yeah, that's bad," said Frances. She felt energized in that bossy female way that she knew drove men crazy, but there was really nothing you could do about it once you felt that sense of righteousness surge through you, because they were such idiots. (pg 320)
Unfortunately, one of the squares in the Lianne Moriarty bingo card is "toxic masculinity" since there is always at least one character to spew off some form of misogyny that's treated by other characters as some kind of silly personality quirk. While that absolutely happens in real life all the time, it's frustrating in fiction, and while among other things this book contains a character with a really lengthy, annoying diatribe against feminists that makes no sense (and to be fair, is mostly portrayed as him overthinking a reaction), I was more twitchy about this passage. Probably because I absolutely know what Frances is talking about, but I wouldn't have chosen to put it that way and justify some insecure culture's misogyny.
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The acknowledgements have an amusing little note:
Maria (Masha) Dmitrichenko was the winning bidder at a Starlight Children's Foundation charity event to have a character in one of my books named after her and I thank her for the use of her name. (pg 451)
Several news articles claim to have found this woman and I wonder what she thinks about the character the author chose to name after her. I also wonder if the character of Masha was formed before or after the auction.
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The last bit is perhaps the most distracting, honestly.
I've now read all of Moriarty's adult work (she has also written several YA books), save for her most recent one, which means I've read her early fiction, too. This is the first work I've read of Moriarty's since she's arguably become a bonafide star writer, complete with a highly successful adaptation and hobnobbing with celebrities (she super causally thanks none other than Nicole Kidman in the acknowledgements, for her "extraordinary faith in this book" before she'd read a single word, who played significant roles in both screen adaptations of Moriarty's work).
Obviously, pieces of authors' real lives go into their work, and when your life over the course of your writing becomes that of "highly successful author", it'd be impossible for it not to come up somewhere. Stephen King's novels and short stories have had authors as characters since the 1980s, understandably. As far back as one of Moriarty's first books contained a children's book author.
So given Moriarty's massive success in the past five years, it would have to come up some time, and unlike Frances Wilty, Lianne Moriarty is not an unmarried, childless romance novelist.
Still, they are both authors and plenty of Frances's storyline feels at risk of breaking the fourth wall (to the point where on a trip, Frances fears a vision will actually break the fourth wall). Frances, remember, is a successful novelist in a slump with changing tastes and a retired editor (and her new one is much younger and gushes over reading Frances's work as child and pushes her to actually use social media for promotion). Her agent, when delivering the sad news that no one wants to buy her new book (even her "Plan B" people for selling her books aren't buying), also accidentally drops that a harshly critical review of Frances's work as whole came out and is possibly hurting sales.
"You've just had such a bad trot of luck lately, darling-- speaking of which, I want you to know that review had absolutely no impact on their decision."
"What review?" said Frances.
There was silence. She knew Alain was smacking his forehead.
"Alain?"
"Oh God," he said. "Oh God, oh God, oh God."
"I haven't read a review since 1998," said Frances. "Not a single review. You know that."
"I absolutely know that," said Alain. "I'm an idiot. I'm a fool."
"Why would there be a review when I don't have a new book out?" Frances wiggled upright in her seat. Her back hurt so much she thought she might be sick.
"Some bitch picked up a copy of What the Heart Wants at the airport and did an opinion piece about, ah, your books in general, a mad diatribe. She kind of linked it to the Me Too movement, which gave it some clickbait traction. It was just ridiculous-- as if romance books are to blame for sexual predators!" (pg 30)
Frances reads the review despite not reading reviews, and takes it very personally:
It was written by someone called Helen Ihnat. Frances didn't know the name and there was no picture. She read it fast, with a wry, dignified smile, as if the author was saying these things to her face. It was a terrible review: vicious, sarcastic, and superior, but, interestingly, it didn't hurt. The words-- Formulaic. Trash. Drivel. Trite-- slid right off her.
She was fine! Can't please everyone. Comes with the territory.
And then she felt it.
It was like when you burn yourself on a hot plate and at first you think, Huh, that should have hurt more, and then it does hurt more and then all of a sudden it hurts like hell. (pg 31)
From that initial reaction, she then fears she's having a heart attack and this was why she'd given up on reading reviews, because they hurt too much.
It's still on her mind later when she's feeling guilty for finding a twenty-something man attractive ("Possibly bordering on pedophilia, darling, Alain would say." pg 43) and is sure that she's imitating the behavior of the lecherous older men that used to sexually harass her at publishing parties.
They used to be particularly hideous if they'd recently won a literary prize. Their dialogue was so powerful and impenetrable it didn't require punctuation! So naturally they didn't require permission to slip-slide their hairy hands over the body of a young writer of genre fiction. In their minds, Frances virtually owed them sex in return for their unseemly mass-market sales of "airport trash."
Stop it. Don't think about the review, Frances.
She'd marched in the Women's March! She was not "a blight on feminism" just because she'd described the color of her hero's eyes. How could you fall in love with someone if you didn't know the color of his eyes? And she was obliged to tie everything up at the end with a "giant bow." Those were the rules. If Frances left her ending ambiguous, her readers would come after her with pitchforks. (pg 43)
But still, that's keeping it about romance novels, right? Which is not what Moriarty herself writes, right?
Frances is on a walk with the group and has her career on her mind:
She considered the pace of her life. The world had begun to move faster and faster over the last decade. People spoke faster, drove faster, walked faster. Everyone was in a rush. Everyone was busy. Everyone demanded their gratification instantly. She'd even begun to notice it in the editing of her books. Pace! Jo had begun to snap in her editorial comments, where once she would've written: Nice!
It seemed to Frances that readers once had more patience, they were content for the story to take its time, for an occasional chapter to meander pleasurably through a beautiful landscape without anything much happening, except perhaps the exchange of some meaningful eye contact.
Of course, Jo's editing had probably taken on that frenetic tone in response to Frances's declining sales. No doubt Jo could see the writing on the wall and that accounted for her increasingly feverish pleas: Add some intrigue to this chapter. Maybe a red herring to throw the reader off the scent? (pg 146)
I guess I don't have to tell you that this particular chapter contains both significant eye contact and also the chapter ends on a bit of intrigue.
Things get even more winking when Frances goes on a trip thanks to hallucinogenic drugs. She goes on a starlight sleigh ride with friends and family (some of them deceased):
A pile of books filled her lap. They were all the books she'd ever written, including foreign-language editions. The books were open at the top like cereal boxes. Frances dipped her hand into each book and pulled out great handfuls of words to scatter across the sky.
"Got one!" said Sol, from the back of the sleigh, where he and Henry sat smoking cigarettes and killing off unnecessary adjectives with catapults.
"Leave them be," said Frances snappily. (pg 241)
"Readers get impatient if they have trouble working out which character is which," explained Frances. "You've got to help them out. None of us is getting any younger."
"Except this isn't a book," said Gillian.
"I think you'll find it is," said Frances. "I'm the protagonist, obviously."
"I feel like that tall Russian lady is giving you a run for your money," said Gillian.
"She is not," said Frances. "It's all about me. I'm just not sure of my love interest yet."
"Oh my God, it's so obvious," said Gillian. "Blind Freddy could pick it." She shouted at the sky, "You knew it from day one, right?"
"Gillian! Did you just try to break the fourth wall?" Frances was shocked.
"I did not," said Gillian, but she looked guilty. "I'm sure no one noticed." (pg 242)
Breaking the fourth wall about breaking the fourth wall. But perhaps most tellingly is Frances's insecurities that come forth in her trip:
She dared to look up and the stars were a million darting eyes on the lookout for rule-breaking in her story: sexism, ageism, racism, tokenism, ableism, plagiarism, cultural appropriation, fat-shaming, body-shaming, slut-shaming, vegetarian-shaming, real-estate-agent-shaming. The voice of the Almighty Internet boomed from the sky: Shame on you!
Frances hung her head. "It's just a story," she whispered.
"That's what I'm trying to tell you," said Gillian.
An endless gossamer-like sentence embroidered with jewel-like metaphors, far too many clauses, and a meaning so obscure it had to be profound wrapped itself around Frances's neck, but it really didn't suit her, so she wrenched it off and flung it into space, where it floated free until at last a shy author on his way to a festival to accept a prize grabbed it from the sky and used it to gag one of his beautiful corpses. It looked lovely on her. Gray-bearded critics applauded with relief, grateful it hadn't ended up a beach read.
"Will younger readers even recognize the term 'Blind Freddy'?" asked Jo, who floated alongside Frances doing a line-edit. She sat astride a giant lead pencil. "Could it be ableist?" (pg 243)
Oof. Although credit to Moriarty's exquisite imagery there otherwise.
Do I think that people, particularly on social media, are terrible about nuance and/or just love to troll and pile on, in a space where there is relative anonymity and little to no consequence? Absolutely.
Do I think that a negativity bias draws clicks and a clickbait "think piece" claiming that something popular is "problematic, actually" is less about media criticism and more about "engagement"? Absolutely.
BUT.
Authors and writers and all content creators should obviously try to avoid bigotry and bigoted tropes because bigotry is, you know, wrong, and leads to real life oppression, not because a bunch of sour little scolds are going to shake their internet fingers because you did a Problematic™ (insert long-winded nonsense about "cancel culture" and "woke mobs" and whatever other terms are being made more meaningless by right wing ideologues). What's more, the hand-wringing about how "we can't say anything anymore" and "people are so overly offended these days!" has existed for decades and is a popular song of bigots who don't like their bigotry being interrupted/called out.
So it's kind of at best eyeroll-inducing to see real world issues like racism and sexism put with "real-estate agent-shaming", as though being criticized for bigotry is in anyway the same as experiencing that bigotry yourself.
And it's kind of hard not to think these might be the author's thoughts more than the character's thoughts. We know Frances is feeling defensive about her first professional rejection in decades and also an overzealous review of her work, but you do have to wonder if there isn't a least a kernel of the author's own sentiments in there.
Speaking of the review Frances received, the eventual fate of the reviewer is anything but subtle:
Of course, not everyone gets a happy ending or even the chance of one. Life doesn't work like that. Case in point: Helen Ihnat, the reviewer of Frances's novel, What the Heart Wants, lost her entire life savings in a mortifying, high-profile cryptocurrency scam and lived in a state of quite profound unhappiness for the rest of her days.
But as she despised neatly tied-up happy endings, she was fine with that.(pg 449)
Burned! Although she wasn't killed off, at least.
I did appreciate Frances roasting male authors, though:
The book she was reading now was a debut novel that had received rave reviews. There was a lot of "buzz" about it. It was described as "powerful, muscular" and it was written by a man Frances had met at a party last year. The man had been pleasant, shy, and bespectacled (not especially muscular), so Frances was trying to forgive him for his lavish descriptions of beautiful corpses. How many more beautiful young women had to die before they could get on with the job of tracking down their murderer? Frances made little "tch" sounds of disgust.
Now the craggy detective was drunk on single-malt whiskey in a smoke-hazed bar and a long-legged girl half his age was whispering into his ear, without quotation marks (this being powerful, literary fiction): I want to fuck you so bad.
Frances, who had reached her limit, threw the book across the room. In your dreams, buddy!
She lady back with her hands clasped across her chest, and reminded herself that her own debut novel featured a piano-playing poetry-reciting firefighter. It was cute that the bespectacled author imagined twentysomething girls ever whispered "I want to fuck you so bad" into the ears of fiftysomething men. She would give the author a consoling little pat on the shoulder the next time she saw him at a festival. (pgs 123 and 124)
Final Grade: A
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