Source of book: NetGalley (thank you)
Relevant disclaimers: I share publisher and an editor with this author; we’ve had no personal contact
Please note: This review may not be reproduced or quoted, in whole or in part, without explicit consent from the author.
Apparently despite talking about a few specific incidents in vague detail and no elements of the plot that are not established in the opening chapters or else are not obvious from the fact the book is a romance, this review needs a spoiler warning. You have, therefore, been spoiler warned.
I wouldn’t have heard of this book except for an extraordinarily bad take: so, y’know, make of that what you will. If you ask me, there are few powers stronger than the need to disagree with someone.
Anyway, The Stand-In is a surprisingly sincere and grounded book, despite its self-consciously absurd premise. But I guess, for me, that’s the appeal of a really good romcom: you start with a daft idea or a particular trope, but then you treat your characters and their lives seriously. In this case the daft idea is that the heroine, Gracie Reed, just so happens (for the record this is explained later) to look notably similar to the famous Chinese actress, Wei Fangli. After losing her job due to shenanigans from her sexually harassing boss (a job she felt she couldn’t leave because she’s paying for her mother’s medical care), Gracie is offered a frankly bizarre opportunity from Fangli: Fangli is in Canada, performing in a play, and her management team want her to be seen “out and about” with her usual escort, the gorgeous and equally famous Sam Yao. Fangli is tired though and wants to rest, so she offers to pay Gracie a hundred and fifty thousand dollars to pretend her to be in public while she’s rehearsing for the play. It’s clearly a bananas idea but Gracie has felt trapped in her life for a long time—and the money would big help—so she agrees.
What follows is … remarkably unbananas. Yes, there’s some romcom-style zaniness here, including some towel-dropping and Spanx-related incidents, but mostly this is a book about people: about how see ourselves, versus how the world sees us, and the complexities of navigating the difference. As a theme it’s incredibly deftly explored, whether it’s the heroine’s multiracial identity, the reality of lives in the public eye for Sam and Fangli, Gracie’s mother history, the details of which she’s gradually losing to Alzheimer’s, the distorted mirror offered by depression and anxiety, or the way we can lose ourselves in abusive situations. There is no getting away from the fact the heroine starts the book in a bad place—an entirely understandable bad place by the way—lonely, concerned for her mother, still grieving her father, her confidence eroded by a toxic work environment she feels unable to escape. For the record, and because I feel it’s important to say this explicitly, I never felt Gracie was weak or passive: I felt she’d been forced by circumstances into situations that made her feel that way. Those are very different things. And watching her learn to see herself with clarity again—to find her confidence and her independence again—while it’s a slow and slightly painful journey, rather than a big dramatic moment of triumph, was, to me, incredibly satisfying.
It sounds a strange thing to say about something that has the premise of “wouldn’t it be cool if you got to pretend to be a movie star and hang out with an incredibly sexy man, desired by millions” it’s actually a very … quiet book. And I mean that in an entirely positive way. It’s a book that understands the value of ordinary things as much as it seems to celebrate extravagant ones. And while, I admit, there’s sort of something very “have your cake and eat it” about having people with access to extraordinarily privileged lifestyles secretly hanker after emotional connection, ferry rides, and bubble-gum, it’s done in an incredibly sincere and charming way. I think, overall, the book does a good job of handling the complexities of its own premise, balancing the advantages of wealth and fame that Sam and Fangli experience against the very real sacrifices (especially in terms of privacy) they’ve made for their careers.
I also loved that, while Gracie’s developing romantic relationship with Sam (obviously she was getting with the absurdly sexy film star, obviously) was a significant element of the book, it was no more significant than her developing (non-romantic, I hasten to add) relationship with Fangli. I didn’t measure it with a teaspoon but my sense was that the book gives equal weight, and almost equal page count, to both relationships: when things go wrong, as they inevitably do, Gracie actually gives priority to repairing things with Fangli. I think what’s extra notable about this—above and beyond the fact that it’s rare to find a romance that is willing to make such space for other relationships—is that I personally didn’t find that it diminished the romance at all. I looked forward to the scenes between Sam and Gracie, because they have great chemistry and their relationship (once they get past their initial mistrust of each other) is genuinely lovely, but I also looked forward to the scenes with Gracie and Fangli because they both so clearly needed a friend, and this relationship, too, is genuinely lovely. I know I said above that The Stand-In is a quiet book, in terms of its storytelling, and its focus on small change over grand gestures, but it’s choices like these that make it a bold book too.
There’s also some fairly heavy subject matter in here, in terms of mental health, workplace harassment, toxic family dynamics, and the fact Gracie’s mum has Alzheimer’s. I can, of course, only talk about my own reactions but, for me, I really appreciated how the book handled these subjects. Gracie is essentially living with anxiety and depression: she’s on medication, she’s had therapy, her internal thoughts reveal her tendencies towards catastrophising and anxiety spirals, and she mentions having previously experienced episodes of depression, but because she’s sought help she’s self-aware about her own behaviour. I really enjoyed spending time with a heroine for whom struggles with mental health are a fact of life rather than a crisis she’s in the middle of: I like that it was a natural part of the book, but not—for Gracie—the point of the book. Similarly, I found the sections with Gracie’s mother very poignant. But, while they’re sad, for sure, they’re not … presented as irredeemably and unremittingly tragic.
I think because we’re all terrified of dementia (as well we might be, and I’m definitely not trying to claim it’s anything other than a bad thing), there’s a tendency to treat such conditions as the end of life, rather than part of life. Obviously caring for her mother takes an emotional and financial toll on Gracie (the problem with her current care facility is simply that it is competent and utilitarian, and Gracie would simply like her to be somewhere nicer) but we are allowed to see her mother having good days, as well as bad days, and it’s clear the relationship continues to have value for everyone involved in it. The situation is hard, yes, because it would be, but it's not presented as an impossible sacrifice that is consuming or ruining Gracie’s life. Again, I felt this was an unusually balanced perspective on something that is often presented in a highly unnuanced way.
And now I’ve probably made the book sound like it’s about a lot of grim stuff. It’s not at all. While it’s not necessarily the com-iest of romcoms (Spanx and towel-dropping aside) I will say that the heroine’s wry, down-to-earth, endlessly engaging voice guides the reader gently through the heavier sections. Gracie is, honesty, a pleasure to spend time with. Her narration made me laugh out loud several times. On top of which, there’s a subplot about her developing her own planner system which … as someone obsessed with planners and planning … I found really well observed and highly relatable. Especially the way every single one of her to-do lists in the early section of the book includes a failed attempt to do laundry. I feel so seen it’s practically an attack.
My main niggle revolves around the crisis point of the book: the possibility of a newstation getting hold of information about Gracie and Fangli’s identity-swap. The person ultimately responsible for this does it because they’re jealous of Gracie’s closeness with Sam and … ehhh. I’m not sure the world really needs any more “a jealous womanz did it” plot points? Or perhaps it would have landed better if the character had been better developed all round, I don’t know. I also got a teeny bit weary of the amount of times Fangli and Sam tell Gracie they’re just friends. I think they must say it about … like … I mean, it felt like ten times each by the end of the book. And while I do understand we’re not fully rational creatures, especially where love is concerned, and especially in the context of two gorgeous, talented film stars, but like … just believe them girl, come on. I did wonder, though, if this was a bit of a straight thing. Like, if I was uncomfortable with every close, long-standing relationship my partner has with a dude … well … I’d be crawling up the walls every Wednesday when six or seven of them come round to lock themselves in a dark room together and breathe heavily while pretending to be elves. I mean, in a rolling dice way. Not as a … like … a sex thing. At least, I don’t think it’s a sex thing. Oh my God.
And, finally, there’s an emotionally significant scene where Gracie’s mum thinks Sam is her long-lost brother and Gracie essentially forces Sam to pretend he his. This is partially about comforting her mum, who is distressed, but it’s also about making Sam do something for her that he doesn’t want to do to prove her cares at least as he cares about Fangli. It’s a really taut, beautifully written scene, with lots of complicated emotional dynamics in play. And I don’t mean to overly celebrate a heroine behaving badly but it felt like a realistically insecure reaction to a messed-up situation, and I appreciated that it felt like such a mean little piece of relatable human ugliness, rather than any sort of grand or glamorous betrayal. Because I think there’s a degree to which, in fiction at least, we are more comfortable portraying and forgiving dramatic acts of cruelty over small acts of selfishness. As I said: this is a book that makes bold choices. Unfortunately—while I didn’t need Gracie to do a full on grovel—the plot sweeps on and she never really gets an opportunity to properly apologise. And it felt important to me that she did, because while it WAS a minor act of being a bad person, it was also one that struck against Sam in some vulnerable places.
But anyway: this book is a rare pleasure. It’s one of the most usual romcoms—sweet, but complex, subtle but daring, and admirably in control of its themes and its storytelling—I’ve read for a while. I strongly encourage anyone with an interest in the subgenre, or who never quite manages to cross laundry off their to-do list, to pick it up.