I read this entire book during layovers at PDX and Sea-Tac on my way back to school from winter break, which probably impacted my experience with it in some capacity, though I’m not sure how. In any case, it kept my attention amidst the horrors of air travel in early January.
The best way I can describe Give Me Everything You’ve Got is horror without the horror. The story is filled with tension—Ellen, Lara, the house, her impending script deadline, the heatwave, and her place in the world are all sources of anxiety for Ruby. The tension never breaks, though. It just sort of dissolves incrementally. There’s no big reveal or climax, and there isn’t much resolution at the end. Still, I kind of liked it. The writing style is very dream-like, and the setting is incredibly vivid. In tone and energy, I would describe this book as Saltburn (2023) meets Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975).
The strongest part of this novel is the depiction of the toxic relationships Ruby has with Ellen and Lara. Ellen is an influential director who prides herself on making room for other women in the industry, and Ruby, along with many other young female filmmakers, is enamored with her. Ruby wants to be Ellen and wants to be admired by her; she wants to be her lover and wants to be her daughter; she is afraid of her and obsessed with her. In addition, Ruby finds Lara’s cold, aloof demeanor both off-putting and intriguing.
Crimp’s writing, told in first person from Ruby’s perspective, paints a clear picture of who these women are, and the power dynamics between them, through their interactions with each other. All three are deeply flawed in different ways, and could be quite unlikable. While I did enjoy reading about them, I suspect that if I had read this book over several days rather than all at once I would have grown tired of their melodrama.
Unfortunately, this book was very tedious and slow. There was very little character development, and my impression at the end was that most, if not all, of the seemingly high-stakes issues in the story were fabricated in Ruby’s mind. The majority of the narrative is just living in the head of a woman with low self-esteem, and I’m not really sure what that accomplishes.
I was also confused by the broader message. What I got from it was “people want women to tell stories that are autobiographical” which… okay? I guess? I’m not sure how much that’s supposed to resonate with a larger audience of mostly non-filmmakers. There was a little bit about media fetishizing women’s pain, which was more coherent, but is not exactly a fresh topic in feminist discourse. The commentary on class discrepancy I thought was a bit better; it was incorporated into the narrative and made sense, though again, felt a little stale.
One final thing, which I didn’t mind, but I know some readers can’t stand: Crimp doesn’t use quotation marks or standard indentation formatting for dialogue in this book.
All in all, I thought this book was fine. It kept me entertained for about five hours of a nineteen-hour travel day, so I can’t be too harsh, but if I had put it down and then gone to sleep, I’m not sure I would have been excited to pick it up again the next day.
I would recommend this book to readers who like reading about the idyllic English countryside, the negative parts of the film industry, and women who make bad choices.
***Thank you to NetGalley and Henry Holt and Co. for an advanced copy in exchange for an honest review.***