The Cephalopod Coffeehouse: Gone Girl

In a world where everything dark is in and chick lit is out, Gone Girl fits right in. This is one of those books that grabs you by the collar, shakes you up a bit and won’t let go until you raise your head 489 pages later and utter a “what the hell just happened?” to whoever might be standing (or sleeping) next to you. The odd thing is within the constraint of its genre (film noir, mystery) it offers some interesting insights about marriage and gender expectations.

The story is told by two narrators: husband Nick and wife Amy. Nick wakes up on his fifth anniversary with bitter thoughts about his wife. Due to their mutual layoffs, Amy—a once-successful-New Yorker with famous writer parents and a book series inspired by her (Amazing Amy)—has been dragged out of her milieu and transplanted in a small mid-western town to assume the role of perfect housewife. Amy, apparently, is not happy about the move and doesn't seem as Amazing as Nick once thought. The encounter between the two of them this particular morning promises to be explosive, but instead of a collision between these two forces, we’re taken to another scene—a few hours later—in the bar Nick now co-owns with his twin sister. After a disturbing phone call, Nick returns home to find that his wife is missing and the house has been broken into. The police comes in and questions Nick, but there is no trace of Amy.

The next chapter goes into one of Amy’s diary entries—five years prior—when she first met Nick and gives us an insight of what those earlier days were like.

In alternating chapters between the two narrators in two different timelines, we get a sense of who they are. Well, at least we think we do. Pretty soon, Amy’s disappearance turns into a media frenzy. Nick keeps saying the wrong things, gets caught in a few lies and can’t explain what he did the day of Amy’s disappearance between breakfast time and the bar. Even worse, he can't figure out the clues his wife left him on their anniversary's Treasure Hunt. Before he knows it, he becomes the number one suspect in her disappearance.

So far, it seems like a pretty standard Lifetime movie, right?

Wrong.

This novel is so cleverly written that halfway through the book it takes a twist that challenges everything you thought and believed. That, and the fact that Flynn’s style is so engaging and unique (particularly when it comes to Amy’s voice). Someone called it a nice blend between literary and commercial. I have to agree with this assessment. While the plot moves quickly, there are reflections about gender relationships and marriage that I believe many readers may feel identified with. Having said this, there were situations that seemed too convenient for one of the characters, plus I wasn’t fully satisfied with the ending—though I would say that it was original and unexpected.

Despite its qualities (voice, character complexity, interesting plot) this novel is not for everybody. Like the cover suggests, the book is somewhat sinister, the characters extremely flawed and not very likable, and some may even consider it contrived. But there is something about the premise—that famous hook—that makes you keep reading until the big question is answered. I recommend this book to those readers who love suspense, plot twists and murky characters.

If you've read this book, care to share your thoughts with me?

Check out these other reviews:

1.	The Armchair Squid	2.	Subliminal Coffee
3.	The Beveled Edge	4.	Blue Sky Gazing
5.	Hungry Enough To Eat Six!	6.	Servitor Ludi
7.	V's Reads	8.	Julie Flanders
9.	Trisha @ WORD STUFF	10.	Rebecca @ The Dusty Cellar
11.	Scouring Monk	12.	The Writing Sisterhood
13.	The Random Book Review	14.	Wikes! Hikes on the Long Trail
15.	Ed & Reub	16.	M.J. Fifield
17.	StrangePegs -- Fortunately, the Milk	18.	StrangePegs -- "My Killbot Buddy"
19.	Katie O'Sullivan	20.	Gladiator's Pen
21.	Em Dashes and Ice Cream	22.	StrangePegs -- Fahrenheit 451
23.	Words Incorporated	24.	http://sallys-scribbles.blogspot.co.uk
25.	Spirit Called	26.	Denise Covey

Spoiler Alert: Juliet Dies

Because we get most of our TV streamed from Netflix or Hulu, we are always behind on everyone's favorite shows. I am all caught up now on Downton Abbey, but we did not watch the season finale with everyone else. Only it almost felt like we did, because everyone was live-tweeting the thing as it unfolded. And when that big shocker ending happened, the entire Internet gasped in unison. I couldn't have missed it without going on a total information blackout till the hubbub died down. 

That said, most people were extremely careful not to reveal the exact nature of the shocker, because we've all been indoctrinated not to spoil endings — or at least to write "spoiler alert" before we give anything away. This rigid social training helps protect that delight we all feel at the totally-unexpected plot twist. After all, why do we keep turning the pages? To find out what happens next. Even if we're not anticipating a twist, we get invested in a story because we want to know how it all turns out.

But have we gotten a little too fanatical about spoilers? I got hollered at not long ago after I revealed a detail of Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy. For a few minutes I felt horribly guilty, then my guilt shaded into annoyance. That series was published in the mid-1990s: if you wanted to be kept in the dark about all the plot details, why have you waited so long to read the dang books? How long do we have to keep book contents secret? Guess what: Cleopatra hugs an asp (I just spoiled the ending of Antony and Cleopatra). The South loses at Gettysburg (I just spoiled the ending of The Killer Angels). Rosebud is a sled (I just spoiled one of the biggest — and weirdest — reveals of all; although I will refrain from mentioning which story I'm referring to in case you've been living off the grid since 1941).


I do get that big twists can "ruined" by a premature reveal, but surely there's a statute of limitations on spoiler alerts. If they are old enough and famous enough, stories are pre-spoiled for us — do Adam and Eve live happily ever after in the Garden of Eden? Shhh! Don't tell me! And yet, knowing how it ends, we read the story anyway. There's even some evidence that knowing how it ends adds to a story: think of the literary device that puts the epilogue as prologue: you start with the shocker ending, and the whole point of reading the story is to find out how we got there.

In addition to getting people mad at you, spoiler fanaticism has another downside: it prevents us from discussing the stories we love. I finished Jojo Moyes' Me Before You recently, and I so wanted to discuss it with friends who'd also read it. But I couldn't, because to do so might have "spoiled" the book for those who haven't read it. The only way around this is to create rigid book-discussion groups, either online or off, where select people seal themselves off to discuss a book. But the formality of these private groups kills something you get from a spontaneous public discussion. On Facebook or at a social gathering, I'd like to be able to say something about Nick and Amy in Gone Girl, or talk about who died in the last episode of Game of Thrones. (You know someone's going to bite it.) But I can't risk it. People get seriously upset. I've seen less rancor in religious debates than when someone accidentally mentions — spoiler alert! — what happens to Wash in Serenity.

"I'm a leaf on the — whoops, wrong show!"

In short, I think spoiler alerts are considerate, especially when a story is new and the twist is huge. But I don't think it's reasonable to expect all aspects of a plot to be completely sealed off from you until you get your lazy behind around to reading or watching the thing. (She says, with the utmost affection.) If you don't know that Wesley and the Dread Pirate Roberts are the same person, don't be angry at the person who let this slip at a dinner party. Be mad at yourself for not watching The Princess Bride sooner.

How do you feel about spoilers? Are you in the "never ever" camp, or do they not bother you so much? Do you think spoiler sensitivity has gone too far—or not far enough?

via the comic "xkdc"