I picked this up looking for a light beach read about a woman getting revenge on her ex-husband. And while that loosely describes what this book is, it didn’t quite work out for me.
“When you don’t have to worry about rent or heating bills or putting food on the table, the only person you can blame for that nagging discontent is, guess what . . . that clown in the mirror. You.
But in Hollywood, we don’t blame ourselves.
So the blame falls on the other. The person lying in bed next to you.”
Agnes is the 40-something wife of a famous Hollywood producer, with all that entails. But her husband not showing up to her book signing is the first sign of the last gasp of their marriage. Credit cardless, shunned by her social circle, and practically locked out of her exquisitely decorated mansion (which is also a cellphone reception deadzone), Agnes must find a way to navigate her divorce and custody, with the help of her jailbird sister, a trio of El Salvadorean maids, and a psychic.
“My gravestone would proudly state: Here lies Agnes Murphy Nash, more or less satisfied for her entire life.”
Agnes is all over the place. Shocked and grieving her "perfect" marriage, she switches, lightning-fast, between self-deprecating humor, vindictiveness (against her soon-to-be-ex Trevor, the Hollywood couple who want to buy their house, the moms at carpool), and reminiscences about the early (better) days of her marriage. It’s fun, and it’s certainly full of humorous bits and pieces, but it never adds up to a whole, well, anything. After finishing the book, I’m not sure I could honestly tell you what the point was. Seeing the outcome of Agnes’ divorce and seeing who got custody of Pep? Figuring out where her marriage went wrong? Reflections on the shallowness of Hollywood? Well, we get one and a half of those three, so I guess that’s… something.
“Mom,” she said. “You hate the parents at my school. Why would you think I like the kids?”
“Hate is such a strong word.”
“You told Auntie Liz they were stuck-up anorexic buttholes with vagina lips. I heard you.”
“I meant it as a compliment,” I said.”
While she constantly professes her love for her daughter Pep, she seems incapable of actually communicating with her, and doesn’t seem to realize how much she hates her current school or, basically, understand anything about her. I was hoping to see them reconnect as part of the divorce process, but instead Agnes seems to use her like a pawn, pretty much the same thing she accuses Trevor of doing. While there’s definitely some legal shenanigans, so much of it is interspersed with her woe-is-me, where-did-we-go-wrong? takes and Trevor is just… a not very competent villain, which I guess does say something about Agnes, too, doesn’t it?
“Normal is a state of mind,” I said. “It’s like the famous line about porn. I can’t describe it, but I know it when I see it.”
Beat.
“What kind of idiot can’t describe porn?” Fin asked.”
I did like Agnes’ sarcastic and humorous take on life, though some of the humor was in extremely poor taste (jokes about retarded kids, really?). That’s pretty much the only thing that kept me reading, along with the increasingly absurd and over-the-top bits with her sister Fin. In almost any other book, I would be complaining about the ending, but honestly, while it was completely ridiculous, it was a welcome break from the rest of the book.
Overall, this book missed the mark for me, so I’d only recommend this book for readers who’ve got a particular interest in snarky humor about the Hollywood glitterati.
I received this book for free from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review. This does not affect my opinion of the book or the content of my review.