Euphoria

by Lily King

[jamiereadthis]

I’ll say it— I really want to read the version that’s genre, where the emotions aren’t left simmering politely under the surface because Literary Fiction. Forget restraint and denial. This is loosely inspired by Margaret Mead, and from what I know of that story, real life far exceeds the half-baked, pallid, predictable love triangle here.

There’s a great book in here somewhere, but every time I thought we might get there, I was left baffled by King’s choices. It’s told from such a remove despite being (mostly) first person. Everything to do with the tribe(s) only exists for Nell/Fen/Bankson’s story. Fen (the abusive husband, natch) seems to be the only one with agency. King takes the fascinating, unconventional life of Mead and makes it as bland and conventional as possible. And the ending planted my forehead directly in my palm. Instead of reflecting real life, it’s as overwrought and cliched as a made-for-tv movie. And I’m left saying, WHY?

It looks like I’m in the minority, but truly, I’d rather read nonfiction about Mead than microwaved leftovers. It wasn’t a bad read, there’s just so much wasted potential. Ah, what could have been.