The book started out okay but took such a nosedive halfway. It certainly had potential, but it didn't live up to it.
From the very beginning, I wasn't a fan of the snarky prose. It had a heavy-handed ironic overtone and the third-person narrator was not a neutral observer, but didn't have the actual wisdom to pull it off. Instead it just felt like some Twitter-person's gossipy opinions. It tried to be clever and funny at times but it just wasn't. From Chapter 2 (the moment I prepared myself for the injections of cheap Internet humor): Although Madame Esmeralda hated other felines, she cherished her humans for their opposable thumbs. They were lousy gymnasts and alarmingly hairless, but they opened her chicken cans, and that was not nothing. I'm not sure who this humor is for (Facebook moms?) but it ain't me. It felt like maybe the author was trying to avoid self-serious prose and went too far in the other direction.
I also had a problem with the depth of the characters, or lack thereof. Depth was maybe hinted at but never fulfilled. In life, even the most apparently shallow, unlikeable people have depth: a recent Anna Nicole Smith documentary does a good job of revealing the depth of a person dismissed by society as a shallow gold-digger. Dissecting "shallow" people can make for the most satisfying and enlightening content. But the literary trend of adding a million little "realistic" details to make a character believable has replaced the need to give them any real depth in contemporary fiction.
Speaking of believability, mid-way, as I said, is when the novel really nosedives: for some reason, the narration switches to first-person for Luke and that was a mistake. His musings and apparent self-awareness were not believable for a posh fuckboy (I'm probably too American to care if his mom was a temp worker: you go to Oxford, you're posh now, my condolences). That's another shallow trope that could've been dissected (if one so felt the need) but instead his insights into his own relationship and society at large felt like the author using him as a mouthpiece, and his narration wasn't different enough from the third-person narration to counter this feeling--the narration really wasn't different at all. This chapter needed some serious red-pen action, basically. It was actually really hard to get through because it was both so boring (especially reiterating much of what already happened but from "Luke's" [really just the same narrator's] perspective) and so entirely unbelievable. It was the only part of the book where the content felt truly, entirely unnecessary. Basically, the Luke chapter felt like some kind of mundane shark jump. There was a point in his chapter where he gives the obligatory criticism of capitalism spiel (this novel is "very online") and it's hard to tell if this is, again, just the author pointing out the obvious, or trying to make him believably Millennial (relevant canned opinions and all), or if she was accurately trying to portray a man's poorly-concealed resentment of his female companion's artistic talent and drive, being himself just an overpaid capitalist cog. I really want it to be the lattermost because that's the most interesting to me, but it certainly doesn't land that way.
One more thing I really disliked about the Luke chapter: apparently we're supposed to believe he's writing this whole diatribe in an untitled Word document or something? Shark jump hoo-ha-ha. Where's the red pen when you need it. Even just keeping it in the third-person would've helped immensely: Luke's magical Freudian-level self-awareness as a fuckboy could've been just more omniscient-narratorial awareness.
This issue of believability was at its worst with Luke, but wasn't totally avoided with any other character. For instance, I didn't really buy Celine either, because "concert pianist" as a profession for a literary character feels a bit like making a male love interest in a rom-com an architect--it's too niche, you don't actually encounter that many IRL. I don't really need characters to be believable if the novel is intentionally flouting believability, like with magical realism or something, but for a novel that's trying to accurately or even satirically portray modern people it doesn't work for me. I also sensed the author maybe venting some of her own frustrations at being a working artist: the whole, "My own family doesn't want to see the process, they just want the magic of the result like everyone else," etc etc. (There is some unambiguously intentional and highly self-indulgent meta-commentary on p. 180: The more unaccustomed we are to seeing faces like theirs in the art world, the more crudely we compare them to the last person who made it, even if the two artists have nothing in common stylistically or philosophically or really vis-a-vis anything that's not an accident of birth. lol get it off your chest girl). Maybe if the author had taken Celine's alienation all the way we would've gotten that depth: again, it's just hinted at, a detail for realism's sake instead of a real literary opportunity.
Celine's sister, Phoebe, also comes across as a caricature of a rebellious little sister. Despite this she was by far the most entertaining and interesting (alongside Maria) and didn't get nearly enough air-time. But Phoebe's obsession with her sister's bad relationship reflects another issue: the novel's weird narcissism (for lack of a better word) surrounding Luke and Celine. It's not just Archie or Phoebe who harbor these obsessions, it's demonstrated by every character, who seem to have nothing better to talk about. For example, in the scene where Maria is talking to Luke at the hotel, the dialogue is truly reminiscent of something from a Hallmark movie, where Maria gives this off-the-cuff, in-depth analysis of someone else's relationship from both psychological and societal perspectives. When does that actually ever happen? IRL the conversation would've gone more, "You nervous?" "I guess." "Don't be, you'll be fine." Then everyone moves on.
Just for the sake of argument, a lot of this could be intentional. The novel could be described as an anti-romance novel, maybe poking fun at the unrealistic dialogue and narcissism of that kind of narrative art (nobody in a Hallmark movie has anything better to do but think about the main character, or the niche jobs of the main characters), but that feels like giving the novel too much credit considering how wobbly it all lands. Also, I've noticed a lot of contemporary litfic is unconsciously imbued with a TV/film-sense: dialogue and mannerisms truly meant to portray realism are actually never seen outside of B-level TV shows and movies, the shit we grew up on. So someone wants to write a scene in a novel and accidentally refers to a scene from a movie instead of a scene from their own life, but most readers don't catch it because lands as "realistic" to them too, having also grown up watching a lot of TV. We are the Screentime Generation, after all.
Bouncing off of that though, I do think the novel's structure was well-crafted and switching POVs, breaking the novel down into easily-digestible bite-sized chunks, etc, is a good idea for contemporary novels at this stage where our collective attention span is atrophying at the speed of climate change. Besides, the author has a good intuition for pacing, apparently, and the zooming in, zooming back out, moving ahead, etc, all generally flowed together really nicely (save for that cystic zit of the Luke chapter). I would definitely read the next novel this author writes because I think her intuition for pacing and her natural talent with language could produce something special, maybe, if she scaled back on the snark and gave the characters more real depth.