Quincy Carpenter survived a massacre at a cabin when she was in college. She was the only one of her friends to survive. It’s been ten years, and she’s managing pretty well. She has an almost fiancee, a successful baking blog, and a Xanax subscription that never ends. Dubbed by the media as one of the infamous Final Girls, she has tried to move on from the night she cannot remember. Then Lisa, one of the other Final Girls, turns up dead in what appears to be a suicide. Then Samantha Baker, the other Final Girl, shows up on Quincy’s doorstep, and forces her to confront her past.
It’s important to note that “debut” author Riley Sager is really established author Todd Ritter, and that the deliberate use of a female-sounding pseudonym to publish this thriller is a calculated marketing move that doesn’t sit quite right with me as a reader. While the book is fairly fast-paced and has a few genuine twists (however implausible they might be), it’s also not very good. The writing is mediocre at its best moments and laughably terrible at its worst. Still, it’s a thriller with a “fresh” perspective, it’s been blurbed by one of the greats, and it will find a reader base.
It’s a book that demands to be gobbled up quickly, and readers will oblige. But the truth of the matter is that the longer I’ve sat thinking about this book, the more uncomfortable I become with some of the book’s glaring issues: the internalized misogyny, the tired trope of the sexy bad girl, the reinforcement of the idea that women can never truly be friends with one another because they’re always secretly in competition for men, and on and on and on. There was never a moment while reading the book where felt as though any of the characters were at all authentic or even realistic, and that still nags at me. I know that this is basically a horror movie put to paper, but that doesn’t mean it has to suck this badly.
Also, there’s a scene where Quincy and Sam become vigilantes and search Central Park for people who need saving. They immediately come across a female in trouble, and her assailant is the only person of color in the entire book–and his skin color is mentioned. Not only does the scene itself fall apart under even the slightest scrutiny, but it feels like something an editor should have excised from the text prior to publication.
But it hardly matters, right? This book is what we are gifted in a post-Gillian Flynn world. We love our pretty white girls in peril, and this book perpetuates all those same sexist tropes. It’ll fly off shelves for a while, but there’s much better fare out there.
Final Girls by Riley Sager. Dutton: 2017. Library copy.