What a load of crap. For at least 97% of the novel. Who cares about the lives of this shallow cast of self-absorbed group of faux-celebrities? Oh, maybe we care about Nina after a while, but so very late in the novel. And Kit. Turine? Casey? Maybe near the end? But briefly—between the tabloid snapshots of the who-cares lives of the ‘rich and famous’ physically flawless magazine cutouts of 2-dimensional sex-crazed, unfaithful, cliché characters presented to us in rushed tableaux. The pages are so full of name-dropping and excessively rich narcissists mistaking sex for love and lengthy descriptions of people’s plastic-perfect features and designer clothing and mentioning a song or a hairdo in place of creating any real sense of setting…ugh.

The total chaos at the party was funny—though not likely meant to be (felt more like a judgement on these shallow people by this point)—and you could see there was an attempt at making a social-moral statement. Ish. But gosh. What a lot of senseless rubbish. And maybe that was the whole idea. Cos when you think of it, it’s exactly what that scene and the sick desire to be involved in that scene is all about. How pathetic. How supremely sad… (Yes. Reader acknowledges agreement with moral judgement being made by author. Reader would have preferred/enjoyed a story about Nina escaping this whole scene and finding self in the freedoms of sunshine.)

Of course, it all burns to hell at the end with a colossal show of cosmic justice and redemption, but we know this from page one (a la Little Fires Everywhere, though not quite addressing the socially challenging plot and complex characters of that novel). And in the burning, there’s a kind of clearing refreshment given to the landscape. Supposedly. ‘[R]enewal rising from the ashes. The story of fire.’ Okay. Thanks.

Someone compared this to The Great Gatsby, but it would need to be well-written with inspiring phrasing and beautiful words…hmm. The best I can say for this debacle is that it ended fairly well, though I’m glad it’s over.