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A review by kirabind
The Hive by Gill Hornby
3.0
On its face, The Hive sounds like a blatant play for the attentions of moderately vapid female readers, the type of women who sent Fifty Shades of Grey to the top of the NYT bestseller list. (I say this judgily, but I actually read all three FSOG books). And to some degree, The Hive very much is that book. It's about petty arguments and frivolous conflicts and a cadre of women whose lives revolve entirely around their children and one another (and one-another's children). Some of the conversations in The Hive are even cringe-worthy, particularly if you're a 20-something female who aspires to never sit around a coffee shop discussing your friend's sister's daughter's fifth-grade test scores.
But what makes The Hive tolerable/special/good is exactly what is implied by analogizing it to Mean Girls (both The Hive and Mean Girls are loosely based on the same advice book.) Hornby knows these things—and these women—are ridiculous, and knows that this particular brand of ridiculousness only seems to emerges when one pops miniature humans out of one’s lady parts. And while much of The Hive feels like parody, or at the very least exaggeration, Hornby does highlight how the very school-based communities intended to elevate the experience of students also breed a special brand of adult one-upmanship.
[FULL REVIEW]
But what makes The Hive tolerable/special/good is exactly what is implied by analogizing it to Mean Girls (both The Hive and Mean Girls are loosely based on the same advice book.) Hornby knows these things—and these women—are ridiculous, and knows that this particular brand of ridiculousness only seems to emerges when one pops miniature humans out of one’s lady parts. And while much of The Hive feels like parody, or at the very least exaggeration, Hornby does highlight how the very school-based communities intended to elevate the experience of students also breed a special brand of adult one-upmanship.
[FULL REVIEW]