Pretty Guilty Women

I was first attracted to Pretty Guilty Women on NetGalley because I thought it was a Liane Moriarty novel, Truly Madly Guilty, so I shouldn’t have been too surprised by lots of similarities to Liane Moriarty novels. Pretty Guilty Women is broken up with conversations with a detective investigating a murder, just like in Big Little Lies, and the identity of the murder victim is obfuscated for most of the novel, just like in Big Little Lies (but don’t worry he’s a total jerk, just like in Big Little Lies, so it’s ok for all the ladies to lie to the cops,  just like in Big Little Lies).

But where Big Little Lies has readers rooting for the women from the start, allowing readers to overlook some of the goofier plotpoints, Pretty Guilty Women seemed like it was checking the female character Tragic Backstory boxes. (High-powered Career Woman Secretly Struggling With Infertility is prob my least favorite archetype, and if a novel’s just gotta use it, at least throw me a lifestyle-porn bone here, and give me some handbags, shoes, and Manhattan real estate.)  The novel has shifting third-person perspective, which can be difficult if the characters are so similar that I had trouble remembering who was who. This was compounded by every character’s desire to strike up friendships with strangers at pre-wedding festivities, offer personal favors, and drop big hints to her Secret Tragic Backstory. Characters all seemed to know the same things and draw the same conclusions, which didn’t help me differentiate them between them.

The women as a whole also managed to be blindsided by things that were super definitely coming. Kate’s interior monologue about how Max is about to dump her is interrupted when Max dumps her, and she’s surprised? Very surprised?  (I really did appreciate naming the rich jerk Max Banks, I got a kick out of it every time Kate charged something else to his room.)

The book’s about a murder and false confessions, but the really memorable moment for me was when Ginger fondly looked over at her husband, noting lovingly that although she was always primarily responsible for looking after kids, house, logistics and holding down her own job, dear Frank would step in, just before she lost it completely. Ugh, a husband who takes the kids on occasion, as his wife’s about to break down? Please spare me from that love story.  But since the other men were flatly evil (Henry, Daniel, Max), this was a rare moment of nuance.

I usually love stories about women’s friendships, so it’s interesting to unpack why this fell so incredibly flat for me. I just didn’t believe in the college friendships on any level,  and the insta-bonding with Lulu and Sydney felt forced.  To feel like there’s a real friendship, I need to see the characters reference the same jokes/songs/movie quotes, or maybe just see the casual intimacy of ordering a friend’s usual. These women shared almost no group memories, and the new friendships didn’t feel like they were based on a connection. 

I received an eARC from Netgalley to  review. As always, all opinions are my own.