A review by kylegarvey
Carrie Soto Is Back by Taylor Jenkins Reid

adventurous lighthearted medium-paced

2.0

After some bits of Argentine Spanish, and after some years shouted -- 1971! 1975! -- I should have guessed those peripheral, less-than-necessary elements would cover something oddly similar again and again and again: a timeless, super-thin, incidental girl sport story. All fine, the writer signs up for what they sign up for and the reader does too, but 'girl' 'tennis' should very quickly thicken a lot of elements, and it's frustratingly thin, low-stakes to me. 

 

And frankly, quite a lot of spindly emotional breaks throughout the whole of this, like Lars Van van de Berg calls all of a sudden and we never hear from him again; marginal pieces like these would probably be fine in cinema, but here in text they seem ludicrous. Supposed to be real, propulsive, but intensely artificial. "'You are going to do whatever you want to do, pichona,' my father says. 'That is how adulthood works'" (19) Reid starts our book, helpfully enough! 

 

The thin romance that's here  -- I was hoping for a lot more of it, a lot deeper -- "I felt such an insatiable need for him to touch me, a hunger for his body. It felt exactly like the hunger I felt to win" (56). Ok. "This closeness between us, it continued growing, like a balloon filling with air" (92). Lol: ok. I wouldn't have written it like that, but I'm no author! "It is maddening, working just as hard for a less impressive result. Playing with this body is like trying to cut a steak with a dull blade" (122) -- spots like that I admire but they're unfortunately pretty rare. 

 

"'You’re obsessed with tennis.' 'I’m not obsessed with anything,' I said. 'I’m dedicated to winning. And I work hard at that.' 'Right,' Marco said. 'And so let’s just keep doing what we’re doing'" (58) bats around, as later "Just wait until they find out I’m a lesbian.' Nicki looks at me out of the corner of her eye, as if expecting me to spit out my cocktail. But I have long suspected she is gay, and I couldn’t care less. Romantic relationships are so goddamn impossible, I’m honestly impressed with anyone who can keep one going at all… And fuck if it doesn’t make me like her more. Goddamn her" (305) bats around much later. Similar thin energy I find. Ok. 

 

For parallels from contemporary cinema, it's easy to reach for Challengers right away; but I feel like Barbie speaks more to Carrie Soto than that one. I like Gerwig's film quite a bit but don't love it, but even fans stauncher than me ought to concede it's a bit emotionally thin. Philosophical depth could fill in those thin spots, whereas here in Reid's book there's just Zen sport vapor. All fine in theory, but in practice I need some more.