Review: The Girls by Emma Cline
I first saw this book on a front table in Hatchards, London St Pancras. It immediately drew my eye. The sensually summery sunkissed colours, the bleeding lighted image. There was a Lena Headey quote on the front. I knew I was going to like the book.
For those of you who haven't read Girls on Fire, I'd recommend reading this. I read this afterwards and I had a strange feeling left in my mouth; I didn't know if it was better or worse or too similar to have read so closely behind. All I do know is that both of those books riled something in me. Girls and murders and cults and drugs and a different era are most definitely the now thing in the book world.
The story is based on the Charles Manson affair and the murders that ensued when he instructed his “cult family" to brutally murder a number of people including actor Sharon Tate and her unborn child. The Girls flits between naive Evie and her older, very much the opposite of naive, self. Whilst Manson is such a looming figure within contemporary dramas and other novels, the character of Russell, from whom he is based, exists on the periphery of our young narrator Evie's vision. Despite this, his and Manson's joint perception of women eclipses the entire narrative; the main thread thrives around the concept of women as objects for sexual gratification and for dirty deeds. This affects the narrator Evie subconsciously but also quite obviously; she develops a sexual interest in women, particularly Suzanne who also lives on the ranch / squat and is Russell's right hand girl and lover. Evie is the character we can all relate to, the innocent eyes with which we can peer through and see the grime and dirt and gritty detail in a very exploitative manner.
There is no doubt that Emma Cline is a fantastic writer. One of the things I loved about the book was the ripeness of the language. It was syntactic-drooling genius, turns of phrase completely turned on their pretty little heads. She kept the realistic tone of a young teenage girl's voice alongside the maturity of someone older who wants to read the book in their own frame of mind It was a colourful and fruitful blend of gorgeous satsuma segments of mismatched but compelling phrases. My eyes sucked on each one, indulging in them, envying them, wishing I could write as well as her. I wish I could write as well as her.
My favourite part, which a lot of other readers dismissed, was towards the end of the novel. Older Evie is staying in an old friend's rented beach house. His son and girlfriend come to stay and the majority of Evie's older narrative focuses on her dialogue with them. There was one particular scene that stayed with me. The son and Sasha, his girlfriend, have another friend over and the boys start trying to force Sasha to show her breasts to them. Evie steps in, encouraging Sasha to say no, but she is shot down by the boys, one of them referencing her days in the cult (she originally used this as a way to befriend the couple, but which he seems to use against her at this point). Sasha, who dismisses Evie's concern, shows her breasts to the boys anyway despite clearly not wanting to and there is a kind of defeatist, depleted note that the chapter is left on: that even women cannot protect women; an attitude of 'well what is the point?' Because even when you stand up to the men who try to exploit you, they exploit you in other ways. The harsh reality of women being nothing more than toys that can be tossed and grabbed and used whenever they are needed to be used really hit me during this scene. Sasha shows the boys a part of her that she considers both intimate and nothing more than waste; the boys see it as a sexual symbol, something to drape across their egos. It made me feel angry and scared for the women who went through this and the women who still are today.
My only criticism would be the pacing of the novel. And though this may be down to the prior knowledge of the reader about the Manson murders, going in with absolutely no knowledge meant that the plot seemed slow at times. It felt as though it was building to a very epic scene but which felt scarcely lacking in detail. Whilst the murders themselves were incredibly and tragically graphic, it was not the climax the reader had been waiting for. It felt sour and off and slightly off kilter because the main character was not directly involved and because the murders, for me, didn't seem convincingly motivated. In addition, the ending with the looming man walking down the beach with his headphones on, had an added sourness - why did Cline feel the need to emphasise the fact that Evie felt threatened by men, felt like she was always watching her back for the guilt that followed her when this was so enriched in the narrative itself? I did actually like the note that the book left you on - uneasiness and a kind of lump in your throat feeling as though you too were guilty of keeping secrets - but I still felt uncomfortable and disappointed by the way the climax was executed.
Overall, the book is THE summer read for me. The cover, coupled with an interesting subject matter, coupled with debut-defining language really makes this book a must-read. Indulge in it. Let it wash over you. You won't regret it.
The Girls is published by Chatto & Windus (£12.99). You can read my recommended red hot summer reading list here.