Acclaimed writer Jessica Moor’s second outing is an exceptionally gripping take on the #MeToo era. It’s set in a slightly clichéd version of middle-class London – filled with familiar landmarks from Soho’s cafés to Gordon’s Wine Bar, the Savoy Hotel and the Hampstead Ladies Pond. A young lawyer Emily, now working for a women’s advocacy charity, has a chance encounter with a charismatic, would-be actress Tamsin at a climate change protest. At first their budding friendship plays out like the beginnings of a love story or maybe a potentially dangerous obsession, Emily’s attraction to Tamsin, and Tamsin’s upmarket lifestyle, fuelled by equal parts suppressed desire and envy. But when Tamsin’s past’s linked to a breaking scandal the story takes an unexpected turn. A scandal that revolves around the exposure of a middle-aged, mainstream but arty director. A man who specialises in films that centre women from Billie Holiday to Anaïs Nin, but is now implicated in the sexual coercion and assault of a number of the younger actresses who’ve worked with him.
Viewed from some angles this is a blatantly-manipulative piece reminiscent of novels like Gone Girl. Moor’s central character, the gawky Emily, with her increasingly-disturbing fixation on the glamorous Tamsin, is a recognisable iteration of the unlikeable, vampiric woman who frequently surfaces in the pages of a certain subgenre of literary thriller. But at the same time, it’s an often fascinating, surprisingly fertile and accessible exploration of abusive male power, laced with references to acts of casual and not-so-casual sexual violence perpetrated by entitled, predatory men. Stories that might seem a little too much if they weren’t so horribly, achingly familiar - stories I’ve heard from other women, some I could have told myself. But Moor’s narrative’s less about the men but the women whose lives they’ve blighted, and the complex interactions between them: Emily’s best friend, the women Emily works with, and Emily herself. Women entangled in questions and issues of complicity, trauma, the nature of justice, and the damage they might also inflict on each other.
I was completely caught up in this, at least up until the concluding sections when the pace suddenly faltered and the structure became increasingly uneven. I was less than happy with the rather tokenistic treatment of a "wiser", older, Black, lesbian character; and disappointed that Moor shied away from tackling the intricate, sexual implications of Emily’s fascination with Tamsin. I was also slightly frustrated by the way in which - after a cursory examination of the social and cultural systems that foster damaging manifestations of male power, economic and otherwise - Moor appeared to be backing away from fully confronting wider, underlying political concerns. Instead edging towards, what could be interpreted, as a heavily compromised, not-all-men-are-like-that position. A position that stirred unfavourable comparisons to Eliza Clark’s ferocious, boundary-pushing Boy Parts. Even so, this is a well-crafted, compulsively-readable piece, packed with explicit talking points. A novel I could easily see becoming a summer bestseller, if not a compelling, mini-series.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Manilla Press for an ARC
Rating: 3.5