Everything She Wanted

by Martinette Williams

Madeline is on the lookout for love in her final year of university when she meets Daniel. Attractive, funny, charming, and a musician just like her. He seems to understand her in a way no one has before. Could he be everything she has ever wanted in a boyfriend?

It doesn't take long before something forms between them — but what that is, Madeline isn't sure. As Madeline navigates the rhythms of her connection with Daniel, she also has life's ups and downs to face.

Study stress, family dramas, loss, and friendships both new and old press in on Madeline. It's up to her to find who she wants to be — and who she wants to be with — before stepping into the big world beyond.

Will Madeline be able to deal with the insecurities that have been brought to the surface? Is she destined to remain stuck in toxic relationships or will she find the strength within herself to change her situation?

318 pages, Paperback

First published March 21, 2025

About the author

Martinette is a graduate from the University of Otago in Dunedin, New Zealand.
'Everything She Wanted' is her first novel.
Also a songwriter, her novel includes original music.
You can find her album and EPs on all streaming platforms.

Reviews

[James · Rating 5 out of 5]

Okay - full disclosure before we start. I know Martinette Williams, have done for several years (actually, I suspects she thinks I'm a bit of a jerk — Asperger's makes small talk a minefield that I rarely cross safely). She is a very talented singer-songwriter, and - if this book is anything to go by — also a talented writer. I also know Dunedin well — Otago University is my alma mater as much as it is hers. Having said that, I am going to be as objective as possible in this review, and certainly won't pull punches if there are faults.

And, actually, there aren't that many faults at all. The basic plot line of "girl meets boy who treats her badly, she splits up with him and eventually finds love" certainly isn't an original one, though it is delivered with passion. The book is a bildungsroman, and is largely autobiographical (and likely cathartic to write), and it would be fair to say that Madeline's anguish is delivered from the heart by the writer. There is a good solid flow to the book, and the characters and dialogue are well-written and feel believable. The simple, poignant way the last meeting between Madeline and her grandma is outlined is beautifully conveyed. The sub-plot of Madeline's unhappy home life is deftly handled without being overplayed, and provides a largely unforced explanation for the protagonist's underlying insecurities and social nervousness.

The enjoyable conceit of having the text augmented by online renditions of Madeline's/Martinette's songs by the author is a lovely touch which brings us even closer to the feelings being conveyed. These perfectly complement the storyline, and lend an immediacy to the book's narrative that is stronger than text alone could be.

Williams has chosen the unusual tactic of writing in the present tense throughout, and for the most part this works well - we are caught up in the flow seemingly of something as it is happening, rather than the usual approach of following narration of something past. Slightly less successful is the technique of seeing everything through Madeline's eyes, which would have been perfectly acceptable except that in one chapter (dealing with a concert in the town centre) and briefly towards the end of the book we are jolted into viewing the scene via another person's thoughts. While it does make sense in terms of the information that the author is giving, it did bring me up short and feels like a slight flaw.

Importantly and tellingly, I felt let down by not having more to read. I wanted to keep reading more of the story once I'd finished. That's a feature you find with the best books, but rarely with bad ones.

Overall, I found the book very well written, albeit with the one or two minor blemishes I mention above. For a debut novel, it is fine work. If I could give fractional stars, I'd rate this about 4.6 out of 5.

[Georgia · Rating 4 out of 5]

Based on the author’s personal life experience, this novel centers on Madeline as she navigates university, family and relationships. Music plays a very big part in this book, featuring songs from the author’s debut album. The main character’s parents are horrible, particularly her dad. I was gobsmacked by the things he said. I didn’t like the main love interest. Right off the bat, I knew Daniel wasn’t the right man for the main character. We can see this clearly when he doesn’t help Madeline when her car gets stuck, and the fact that he’s always playing games. I am glad that Madeline gets a happy ending.

[Bronwyn Hegarty · Rating 4 out of 5]

Martinette has written a stunning novel. This is a compelling read, and the premise is close to home for those people who have attended university, know people who moved away to do so, or have daughters who have grappled with relationships. The characters are well-drawn and the pace is good. Hard to put down.

At times I found myself wondering why this young woman let herself be walked all over but when you're in love you put up with a lot. Lots of lessons to be learned from reading this book. Female friendships with men who fancy them are never straightforward.
The father's behaviour left me stunned to think a parent could treat such a talented daughter so badly, and not recognise how amazing she is. Awful.

How wonderful to have links to the songs Martinette has written. A very talented woman indeed.
Looking forward to her next novel.

[Lakinloveslit · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is a debut novel and it made me SO nostalgic for my university days in Dunedin! I miss that wonderful city so much ❤️ I really enjoyed this book and read it over a day on the long weekend.
Madeline is in her final year of study and she wants a boyfriend. When she meets Daniel, she’s convinced he’s the one for her, but he sends mixed signals and she can’t figure out where she stands with him. Trying to figure out their relationship as well as get through her studies, deal with her difficult parents, maintain friendships and just simply get by proves to be a lot for Maddie to handle. But maybe this is the time where she figures out who she’s meant to be, and who she wants alongside her when she does.
Even though this sounds like it’s a romance, I would say it’s more contemporary. Yes, there are romantic relationships portrayed, but it’s more a coming of age story. I will say straight off the bat I wanted to punch Daniel in the face 😂 I also found Madeline a little bit pathetic to start with, but then I thought about how I behaved in my early 20s and internally slapped myself because I was also pathetic at that age - the joys of hindsight haha. Because this was set in Dunedin, which I know so well, I could picture every scene SO clearly, which just made the story feel so real to me. I was so happy at the end of this book to see Maddie starting to thrive and be happy within herself and her relationships. Dear LORD her parents were terrible though! It made me feel so thankful I’ve got such a wonderful relationship with my mum.
Definitely a book I would recommend, and bonus coz if you read it you’re supporting a kiwi author!

[Meagan Kerr · Rating 3 out of 5]

Took me right back to being a teenager, my relationship with my family, escaping a small town to go away and study and build my life (and also the terrible relationships that were oh so bad for me). Nice quick read, good debut novel.

[Philip Williams · Rating 3 out of 5]

A Brother’s Perspective: The Unwritten Characters and Untapped Depths in Everything She Wanted

I’m P. E. Williams, and in my sister Martinette’s debut novel, Everything She Wanted, I am the brother who doesn’t exist. Reading “Madeline’s story” is a disorienting experience—like viewing our shared life through a carnival mirror that erases me entirely. This isn’t just an oversight; it’s a deliberate narrative choice that inflicts a particular kind of wound.

This review is not just about that absence, but about the story’s broader limitations: its flattening of our family, its reliance on simplistic character arcs, and the complex, powerful narrative it could have been.


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The Silence Where a Brother Should Be

My absence from these pages is complete. That decision speaks volumes—especially given our history.

As adults, we had one particularly devastating exchange. Not a childish fight, but a deliberate, cutting confession. Martinette told me that her life was ruined the day I was born. That she had wished our mother had aborted me. In the same breath—fully aware of my history with severe depression and suicidal thoughts—she said she wished I had gone through with it.

These aren’t exaggerations. They are her words. And they cast a long shadow over how I interpret the choices she made in writing this book.

Though there have been moments of reconciliation, they often felt orchestrated—driven more by external pressures or convenience than sincere change. In recent years, and especially recent weeks, I’ve been either stonewalled or gaslit despite my best efforts to rebuild the bridge. She’s my older sister. I love her. Even if it’s not mutual.

Still, I want to be fair—and honest. Not just about my erasure, but about the way this story does a disservice to the truth of all the people it fictionalizes. Those who deserved more than being reduced to caricatures.


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Family Flattened: The Missed Complexity

The portrayal of our parents is a prime example of the novel’s tendency to oversimplify.

Dad is rendered mostly as a cold, critical lawyer. Mum appears as his quiet, enabling partner. But this depiction sidesteps the real complexities and sacrifices they made—like emigrating from South Africa for a better life in New Zealand. Or the substantial financial support they gave Martinette (Madeline), including living expenses during her four years of university, while she accumulated significant student debt for qualifications she has since largely set aside, both professionally and personally.

They also paid for her wedding, and a large deposit on her first home. The novel’s claim that she paid for flights to the “Bay of Islands Airport” is simply untrue—they paid for those, too.

The “abuse” Madeline describes often reads more like a frustrated parent reacting—perhaps harshly—to decisions he viewed as reckless. That context is nowhere to be found in the narrative.

As a writer, I see this as a missed opportunity. Families aren’t binary systems of heroes and villains. They are messy, contradictory tapestries of love, resentment, generosity, misunderstanding, and forgiveness. By reducing our parents to one-dimensional antagonists, the story sacrifices the emotional complexity that would have made them real.


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Madeline’s World: A Narrative Centered on Self

Madeline’s journey is intensely self-focused.

She occasionally admits flaws—calling herself “paranoid and insecure,” or an “idiot” after interactions with Daniel—but these moments rarely lead to meaningful growth. Instead, the story defaults to external blame: Daniel’s unreliability, her parents’ perceived cruelty, her social world’s failures.

This framing—where emotional turmoil always stems from others—lends the book a tone of narcissistic self-preservation.

The male characters suffer the same lack of depth. Daniel, the “bad boy,” is largely a vessel for Madeline’s emotional upheaval. His excuse—“I’m not over my ex”—becomes a repetitive device to justify his commitment issues, even as he initiates intimacy and shows possessiveness. Nick, in contrast, is presented as a nearly flawless savior figure. He enters just as Daniel exits, offering stability and resolution.

This binary—Daniel the tormentor, Nick the redeemer—feels manufactured. It avoids the messiness of real relationships and robs both men of dimensionality.


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The Selective Lens of "Fiction"

The author’s note claims Everything She Wanted is “based on real life.” Indeed, the book contains exact replications of our family’s details—pet names, personal items, and even verbatim conversations. So when key parts of that real-life story are omitted, the “fiction” label begins to feel less like creative license and more like a strategic shield.

I’m not just referring to my own erasure. What’s even more telling is the absence of a defining part of Martinette’s identity during the period in question: her Christian faith.

Martinette claimed that her religious beliefs—particularly her vow of purity until marriage—were central to who she was. Yet none of this appears in Madeline’s story.

This omission raises a difficult question: Was faith truly so central, or was it a performance? Or perhaps worse—was it deliberately excluded to make Madeline more palatable, more universally relatable, less morally conflicted?

Either way, the absence strips the character of internal struggle. It removes what could have been a poignant, relatable conflict: a young woman wrestling with desire, belief, guilt, and identity. Instead, that struggle is smoothed away.

The result? A character who could have been compelling feels emotionally sanitized. A novel that could have offered spiritual and psychological weight instead settles for romantic melodrama.


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Untapped Potential: A Call for Deeper Storytelling

To Martinette’s credit, writing a debut novel of this length is no small feat. The technical polish is there. Some scenes land with sincerity. The Dunedin setting is rendered vividly.

But the story often skims the surface of more powerful themes. It avoids the immigrant experience. It sidesteps the pain and complexity of sibling relationships. It leaves untouched the potential for spiritual crisis and catharsis.

Instead, the narrative remains firmly in Madeline’s world—her disappointments, her romances, her grievances. But a novel that never challenges its own protagonist risks becoming self-indulgent rather than revealing.

This story could have explored the jagged journey of an imperfect young woman trying to navigate a world of faith, family, and fractured identity. Instead, it feels like it’s peering into a mirror—smoothing over the edges, avoiding the cracks.


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In Conclusion

As the brother written out of this version of our family’s life, I may be uniquely positioned to see both the gloss and the gaps. Everything She Wanted captures fragments of youthful chaos and pain. But its commitment to a singular, self-justifying perspective limits its depth.

This could have been a book that healed wounds—or at least acknowledged them. Instead, it polished its surface and pretended the cracks didn’t matter.

But they do.

Because in the space where a brother once stood, there is only silence.

And that silence echoes louder than any line in the book.