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A review by abbywdan
Friendship by Emily Gould
4.0
There was a point when, as a college blogger, I could have applied to work for the internet, but instead I went on my merry way as a nonprofit consultant and an otherwise boring professional life, despite my deep love of the internet. I also wasn't fully occupied during my full time work hours. This meant, as it did for so many people of my generation, that from 2005-2011, I read all of Gawker and then Jezebel daily. The contributors and editors were my internet sentinels and guides, so much cooler than me or anyone I knew in real life, and when I lived in Chicago, they were all things New York. Then I moved to New York and adjusted that reality a LITTLE (they were still so cool, but I've always been too good a kid to smoke, and what is the MATTER with them that they do!?), but I suppose all of this is the reason that I want Emily Gould to succeed, as I want Jessica Grose to succeed and Choire Sicha and Alex Balk and Dodai Stewart and Tracy Egan and all of the old school gang to succeed.
I was really disappointed in Grose's novel a year or two ago, so I was perhaps unfairly prepared to for some level of underwhelmedness with "Friendship," and for the first 20% of the book, underwhelmedness was fully delivered. I texted my friend Sarah Beth to say that "Friendship" was, dreadfully, what would happen if I tried to write a novel: a lot of backstory on where who went to college that reminded me of how bad I am at telling stories that just START, how much the lattes cost, the "dumb" character likes "Eat Pray Love" and the "hip" character has a Comme de Garçons wallet. Eyeroll. There was no plot, there was no novel-worthy challenge, there were just white people problems. If I want to read about white people problems, I will read my own blog. I'm real white, and I have a lot of problems with how the rubbish is picked up in London, for example.
And then at about 40%, something changed. There's an incredible passage about one character losing her virginity--not the mechanics of it or the drama of it, but what it made this midwestern farm gal feel about the rest of her life, not about her body or her non-boyfriend. It's subtle, and it's smart, and it surprised me. There are a few other flashback/character reveal-y moments that breathe through the story like that and take you past the "she swiped through her iPhone photos" and the "would she renew her lease" mundanity.
And then a bunch of shit just falls apart, and suddenly, because you so know who these characters are, you believe the way they deal with everything. The women in the novel selectively compromise like you or me. They are prideful in a good way sometimes and a bad way sometimes, they are believably indecisive and decisive. They are real people, and nothing is perfect, but also nothing is irreparable. I loved that the novel didn't end in a pretty bow or in total desolation. Because life is always somewhere in between.
The thing that struck me the most about "Friendship" is that the women are honest with each other. They talk to one another in a totally veilless, honest way that can only be from years of friendship or that weird feeling of cosmic bonding that happens when you meet someone you have to be friends with in your bones. They are incredible examples of how to do that, and I wish I had the balls to talk to my friends the way these women do. I wish my friends had the balls to talk to me this way. They call out jealousies, they accuse one another of great selfishness, and they love one another so much. I don't know if all of my friendships could withstand all of that or if they should have to. I also grew up in the south, where you would never be that honest about anything, and I live in London, where you would never be that honest about anything, so maybe it's not in the cards for me. But I would certainly like to try to be a better communicator--on the giving and receiving ends--because something about that honesty was SO refreshing.
Anyway. I stayed up till 3am Sunday night finishing "Friendship," and I missed the characters in the morning. I think that means it's a keeper.
I was really disappointed in Grose's novel a year or two ago, so I was perhaps unfairly prepared to for some level of underwhelmedness with "Friendship," and for the first 20% of the book, underwhelmedness was fully delivered. I texted my friend Sarah Beth to say that "Friendship" was, dreadfully, what would happen if I tried to write a novel: a lot of backstory on where who went to college that reminded me of how bad I am at telling stories that just START, how much the lattes cost, the "dumb" character likes "Eat Pray Love" and the "hip" character has a Comme de Garçons wallet. Eyeroll. There was no plot, there was no novel-worthy challenge, there were just white people problems. If I want to read about white people problems, I will read my own blog. I'm real white, and I have a lot of problems with how the rubbish is picked up in London, for example.
And then at about 40%, something changed. There's an incredible passage about one character losing her virginity--not the mechanics of it or the drama of it, but what it made this midwestern farm gal feel about the rest of her life, not about her body or her non-boyfriend. It's subtle, and it's smart, and it surprised me. There are a few other flashback/character reveal-y moments that breathe through the story like that and take you past the "she swiped through her iPhone photos" and the "would she renew her lease" mundanity.
And then a bunch of shit just falls apart, and suddenly, because you so know who these characters are, you believe the way they deal with everything. The women in the novel selectively compromise like you or me. They are prideful in a good way sometimes and a bad way sometimes, they are believably indecisive and decisive. They are real people, and nothing is perfect, but also nothing is irreparable. I loved that the novel didn't end in a pretty bow or in total desolation. Because life is always somewhere in between.
The thing that struck me the most about "Friendship" is that the women are honest with each other. They talk to one another in a totally veilless, honest way that can only be from years of friendship or that weird feeling of cosmic bonding that happens when you meet someone you have to be friends with in your bones. They are incredible examples of how to do that, and I wish I had the balls to talk to my friends the way these women do. I wish my friends had the balls to talk to me this way. They call out jealousies, they accuse one another of great selfishness, and they love one another so much. I don't know if all of my friendships could withstand all of that or if they should have to. I also grew up in the south, where you would never be that honest about anything, and I live in London, where you would never be that honest about anything, so maybe it's not in the cards for me. But I would certainly like to try to be a better communicator--on the giving and receiving ends--because something about that honesty was SO refreshing.
Anyway. I stayed up till 3am Sunday night finishing "Friendship," and I missed the characters in the morning. I think that means it's a keeper.