The Plot by Jean Hanff Korelitz (2021) (read in 2022)
Published by marco on
Standard disclaimer[1]
This is a kind of a meta-plot-twist book: it’s a book with multiple pretty inventive plot twists about an author who becomes famous for having written a book with a nearly shockingly inventive and unique plot twist.
Jacob Finch Bonner is an author who stormed out of the gate, more or less, with a highly critically acclaimed first novel that never landed on the NYT best-seller list, but garnered a few industry awards that left everyone waiting for his next book. He takes a swipe at it, but fails utterly, selling only a few hundred copies. His agent doesn’t give up, but it looks grim.
The next few years are tough, as he parlays his initial fame into a living of sorts, working at writer’s retreats. he kinda sorta genuinely tries to help, but he can barely hide his contempt for them, for his peers, and for himself. So it’s years later and he’s dragging around a laptop with the corpse of his never-published third book and the desperate scraps that make up what he would only the most desperate and hopeful person could even call something that might become his fourth book.
He’s a pretty sad dude until, at one of these writer’s retreats, he meets an arrogant young man whose confidence in his own completely unproven abilities rest upon his having thought of the most amazing plot for a book. He shares a few pages with Jacob, who deems the writing style surprisingly solid, though not stellar.
The young man spills the rest of his plot in order to prove to Jacob that he really will be unstoppable. After having heard the plot, Jacob can’t disagree, grinding his teeth in his mind at the absolute injustice of such a brilliant plot having found its way into the head of a hack like that young man when an author of more stature and talent like Jacob would have been a much more-deserving target.
A few more years pass, during which Jacob spirals more, never publishing again. He eventually looks up the young man and discovers that he’d died of a drug overdose scant months after their interaction at the retreat. It doesn’t take long before Jacob convinces himself that it would be unfair to the amazing story to never let it fly free.
Cut to a year later. Jacob is a world-famous author, having written Crib, which, as predicted by its progenitor, blew through all of the bestseller lists, got a top-flight movie option with Spielberg, and otherwise put the author’s star into the firmament. He’s enjoying a busy schedule and his rich lifestyle when, on a book-tour stop, he meets an amazing woman whose personality fits with his perfectly.
They start long-distance dating and he finds himself falling in love—his life is totally working out. And then he gets a message, “I know what you did.” He’s an incredibly insecure person so, instead of ignoring it, he lets it eat at him. His productivity drops, he starts going a bit crazy, and his relationship suffers. She’s there with him, even though he doesn’t tell her what’s going on.
The messages continue occasionally. He proposes marriage. He manages to finish his follow-up book, cementing his career and his fortune. Another message arrives, threatening to blow everything out in the open.
He takes to the road to investigate what had happened to his old student. He finds out that he’d died under suspicious circumstances. He finds out that the young man’s sister had been an odd duck, and had had a very clever, if not brilliant daughter, who’d been kept shut up in their home with her mother, who’d had her when she was very young—and very brilliant herself. Bitter that her life had been wasted, she was determined to not let her daughter breathe.
Jacob finds out that the daughter had applied to university against her mother’s wishes—and had been accepted. The mother offers to drive with her daughter to college, taking a trip together. He find out that the mother had died in a mysterious tent fire at a campsite. He finds out that maybe it was the daughter who’d died, and the brilliant mother who’d taken her daughter’s place at the university to which they were headed. Yup, that’s what happened. The mother killed her daughter and took her place. Then she killed her brother with a fake drug overdose to make sure that he wouldn’t write the book he’d been trumpeting about to his seminar teacher.
And then, when Jacob ended up writing the book anyway, she finagled a cute-meet on a book tour, and made him fall in love and marry her. Once he’d published his second bestseller—but especially once he thought he’d figured out the story, although he didn’t at all suspect that it was his wife—she didn’t need him anymore, so she poisoned him slowly, letting him know what was happening. She then goes on a tour herself, reminiscing about her late husband.
Part of the allure of this book for me (and likely for the friend who recommended it) is that a large part of it takes part in upstate and central New York State. The book is well-written and contains both interesting thoughts on being a writer as well as snippets of Jake’s novel Crib interspersed throughout, so it really goes hard on the meta thing—but it pulls it off, I think.
Citations
“[…] pass along the sad, sad advice his own MFA advisor had once tried to give him: You’re only as successful as the last book you published, and you’re only as good as the next book you’re writing. So shut up and write.”
“Again and again he urged his new correspondents to check their spelling, keep track of their characters’ names, and give at least a tiny bit of thought to what basic ideas their work should convey, before they typed those thrilling words: THE END. Some of them listened. Others seemed somehow to believe that the act of hiring a professional writer magically rendered their own writing “professional.””
““I like the idea of a successful writer greeting the guests when they arrive. Gives them something real to aspire to.” Jake opted not to correct this remarkable statement in any of the ways he might have done.”
“Jake hadn’t even realized that Evan was a Vermonter, or that his parents and sister were already dead, which was very tragic in light of the fact that he was fairly young, himself. Not one of these things had ever come up in conversation between them, of course. They’d had no conversation, really, about anything else but Evan Parker’s remarkable novel in progress.”
Are you sure it’s the right one? Is there a picture?
“Jake didn’t believe in much. He didn’t believe that any god had made the universe, let alone that said god was still watching the goings-on and keeping track of every human act, all for the purpose of assigning a few millennia of Homo sapiens to a pleasant or an unpleasant afterlife. He didn’t believe in an afterlife. He didn’t believe in destiny, fate, luck, or the power of positive thinking. He didn’t believe that we get what we deserve, or that everything happens for a reason (what reason would that be?), or that supernatural forces impacted anything in a human life. What was left after all of that nonsense? The sheer randomness of the circumstances we are born into, the genes we’ve been dealt, our varying degrees of willingness to work our asses off, and the wit we may or may not possess to recognize an opportunity. Should it arise.”
“But if you spend even a few minutes with other people’s stories and learn to ask yourself: What if this had happened to me? Or What if this happened to a person completely unlike me? Or In a world that’s different from the world I’m living in? Or What if it happened a little bit differently, under different circumstances? The possibilities are endless. The directions you can go, the characters you can meet along the way, the things you can learn, also endless. I’ve taught in MFA programs, and I can tell you, that’s maybe the most important thing anyone can teach you. Get out of your own head and look around. There are stories growing from trees.””
“Facebook had seemed harmless until the 2016 election, when it bombarded him with dubious ads and “push” polls about Hillary Clinton’s supposedly nefarious deeds.”
Literally every book anchors this Russiagate fiction further into reality. Incredible.
“Most of her classmates—all of the boys, if you believed them, except maybe the shyest and most backward—were busy deflowering most of the girls, and if you didn’t count the trashed reputations of those two young ladies who’d already left school, nobody seemed especially exercised about it.”
“[…] it took her no time at all to ramp up to the speed with which every other New Yorker raced down the streets, and within days of her return to the city she seemed to become yet another overworked Gothamite, perpetually rushing and with a baseline level of ambient stress that would probably have alarmed anyone outside the five boroughs.”
“Also, Maria was a lesbian, which meant that whatever else might happen, she was hardly going to drop the ball just short of the goalpost, the way her mother had.”
“This had never been about an appropriation, real or imaginary, between two writers. This had been a far more intimate theft: not Jake’s at all but one Evan Parker himself had committed. What Parker had stolen was something he must have seen up close and very personal: the mother and the daughter and what had happened between them, right here, in this house. Of course she was angry. Not for one minute had she wanted her story to be told, not by her close relation and certainly not by a total stranger. That much, at long last, he finally understood.”
“The mistake, a product of his own arrogance, had cost him months. This had never been about an appropriation, real or imaginary, between two writers. This had been a far more intimate theft: not Jake’s at all but one Evan Parker himself had committed. What Parker had stolen was something he must have seen up close and very personal: the mother and the daughter and what had happened between them, right here, in this house. Of course she was angry. Not for one minute had she wanted her story to be told, not by her close relation and certainly not by a total stranger. That much, at long last, he finally understood.”
““And that’s where the dividing line is?” his wife asked. “Between something any of us might do under the circumstances and something only a truly evil person would do? Planning it?” He shrugged. His shoulders felt impossibly heavy as he lifted them and let them fall. “It seems like a good enough place to put the dividing line.””