Trigger Warning: Discussions of abuse, abusive relationships, violence against women, sexually regressive attitudes.
This is one of those particularly awful books that isn’t just incompetent on a technical level, but thoroughly offensive and even dangerous in its content.
From the beginning, the book seems to revel in descriptions of graphic violence against two women, one of whom is the protagonist, beaten and nearly killed by someone with whom she clearly has some kind of close relationship. It then moves into the unnecessarily graphic murder of a minor female character. There is no reason for these scenes to be so graphic beyond shock value, and perhaps that was the author’s intention, since the book certainly doesn’t have much else that’s likely to draw the reader in.
Though the author has not mastered the basics of writing (frequent tense errors, accidentally using the wrong character’s name or the wrong pronouns, and even a few sentences that say the opposite of what the context would imply that they actually mean), she is a master of purple prose. In this book, “Desire raked with erotic claws”, “Humid dark [hangs] over the boulevard lamplight”, and “abandoned coffee [pools] condensation in the cup holder”. Eyes are “orbs”, a man “[fumbles] for protection” and is “sheathed” before sexual intercourse, and when someone knocks on the door of your hotel room, you look through a “Judas hole”, not a peephole. Some of my favourites include the part where Erin could detect the odour of carbon monoxide (which is famously odourless, hence the need for carbon monoxide detectors), and when E-mail had a capital E despite being in the middle of a sentence.
The worst technical failing has to do with the point of view. The author seems to have been going for a limited third-person perspective, but she doesn’t appear to understand that one of those “limits” is that you can only access one character’s perspective per scene. Instead, she’ll write a few paragraphs from Erin’s point of view, then jump into Gabriel’s, then into a random secondary character, then back to Erin. It’s horribly jarring, to say the least, and often unnecessary. Chapter 4 starts off with a paragraph from the point of view of a random cabbie that Erin flags down, thinking to himself how grateful he is for his “trusty unit” (talking about his air conditioning, of course- to what else could a man be referring by that phrase?)
As though that weren’t enough, the author is very fond of “As you know…” conversations and front-loaded, gratuitous backstory. In defiance of Chekhov’s advice, at least a few guns hung up in the first chapters are never discharged. The characters also appear able to read each other’s minds, or at least to be capable of huge, perfectly accurate leaps of logic, which permit them to react to things that another character has just thought as though they had said them aloud.
The characters are where the book takes a turn from incompetent into offensive. The protagonist is Analise Erin Abbott Glover, a genius linguistic prodigy with a doctorate in psychology who was abused in every way (except sexually, and this is important) and nearly killed by her mentor, Nathan Rhodes. After killing him in self-defence, she dumps the body off a cliff and runs away to New Orleans to start a new life as Dr. Erin Abbott, a frumpy professor who teaches “Murder 101”. Oh, and she also happens to be rich and gorgeous, because of course she is.
Her love interest is Gabriel Moss, who hears her laugh while he’s walking down the hall of the college where she teaches and immediately falls in lust with her. Gabriel is a reporter who’s trying to get a new paper off the ground. He’s also apparently a military veteran and has won a Pulitzer prize in his spare time, and is gorgeous and charming and absolutely irresistible.
When Erin literally bumps into Gabriel in the hallway a few minutes later, the problems begin. Gabriel is instantly obsessed with her and constantly touching her inappropriately. On their second meeting, in a police station of all places, he touches her chest on the pretence of drying some spilled soda off her blouse. Despite her repeated demands that he leave her alone, he follows her around, including to her home, and has clearly never heard of consent. In fact, in chapter 8: “She struggled, and he refused to let her go.” Earlier, in chapter 6, “Erin had a protector, whether she liked it or not,” after Gabriel forces her into his car.
The author sometimes makes a half-hearted attempt to justify this as Gabriel being “a nosy reporter” or “scenting a story”, but the fact of the matter is that Gabriel’s behaviour is disgusting and thoroughly unacceptable. Not only does the book never acknowledge this point, it’s framed as necessary and even heroic, because Erin can’t be trusted to make up her own mind (Gabriel explicitly states this near the end of the book: “You don’t know what you want.”) and she needs to be saved from her own independence and desire to self-isolate. She needs someone like Gabriel to draw her back into the light, who won’t take no for an answer. His stalking and lack of respect for her stated wishes are framed as heroic persistence, and the antidote to all of Erin’s problems.
Let us remember the context: Erin is a survivor of an abusive relationship, one in which she was regularly beaten and nearly killed. Unfortunately, many survivors of toxic relationships are drawn back into toxic dynamics in the future, especially if they haven’t healed the wounds and vulnerabilities from the previous relationship. Erin is also a child of emotionally neglectful parents, which raises its own issues around intimacy. And yet, this domineering, disrespectful “hero”, who declares of Erin’s platonic best friend, “Touch him and I’ll break his arms,” who gaslights her by asking “You think I’m crowding you?” while he’s well within her personal space, is framed as the hero, the man who loves her, who will protect her and make her happy. This should be a cautionary tale about noticing red flags and the tendency to fall back into abusive patterns. It should not be framed as Erin’s salvation. And while the author sometimes seems to be aware of the complexity of her subject matter, with lines such as: “Erin felt surrounded. Invaded. What disturbed most was the feeling of safety,” (which itself is contradicted a few chapters later by “Gabriel made her feel a million things, but safety wasn’t one of them.”) she ultimately decides that the force of Gabriel’s obsession is all the love and healing Erin could ever ask for.
Beyond Erin and Gabriel, the book is remarkably sexist and sex-negative. In the aforementioned police station, when Erin threatens to scream and have Gabriel arrested after he’s effectively fondled her breasts and is impeding her from leaving, Gabriel treats it as a joke, even bantering with a (male, of course) officer about the absurdity of his being arrested. While Erin takes it for granted that she wouldn’t be able to flag down a cab on the busy street, Gabriel gets her one immediately. “Deviant” sexuality, such as BDSM, is framed as perverted and not only practiced by multiple villainous characters throughout the story, but also a means by which they advance their nefarious schemes. In contrast, much is made of the fact that Erin is still a virgin, at least until the florid, repeated consummation of her attraction to Gabriel. It echoes the ancient “virgin/whore” dichotomy in an uncomfortable way, particularly given the “twists” at the end, and while I’m certainly glad that the author spared us this horror, it feels unrealistic that she would not at some point have been raped by Nathan, particularly given what we learn about him through the course of the story. However, this creative decision makes sense if the author intends to equate virginity with goodness, purity, and heroism.
The fact that such a book was written by anyone in the 21st century is disheartening, but that it was written by a politician, someone with the potential to influence the trends and development of a culture, is downright terrifying. I sincerely hope that Never Tell does not in any way reflect the author’s current beliefs or world view.