About the Book:
Pretending : A Novel
Holly Bourne
On Sale Date: November 17, 2020
9780778331506, 0778331504
Trade Paperback
$17.99 USD
416 pages
ABOUT THE BOOK:
In this hilarious and heartbreaking debut novel perfect for fans of Fleabag, a woman struggling to move on after a traumatic relationship pretends to be “the perfect girl” in an act of vengeance that goes awry when she finds herself emotionally compromised.
He said he was looking for a 'partner in crime' which everyone knows is shorthand for 'a woman who isn't real'.
April is kind, pretty, and relatively normal - yet she can't seem to get past date five. Every time she thinks she's found someone to trust, they reveal themselves to be awful, leaving her heartbroken. And angry. Until she realizes that what men are really looking for is Gretel.
Gretel is perfect - beautiful but low maintenance, sweet but never clingy, sexy but not a slut. She's a Regular Everyday Manic Pixie Dream Girl Next Door With No Problems.
When April starts pretending to be Gretel, dating becomes much more fun - especially once she reels in the unsuspecting Joshua. Finally, April is the one in control, but can she control her own feelings? And as she and Joshua grow closer, how long will she be able to keep pretending?
Holly Bourne is a bestselling UK-based YA and Adult Fiction author and is an Ambassador for Women’s Aid. In 2019, she was an Author of the Day at the London Book Fair, and was named by Elle Magazine’s weekly podcast as one of “Six Female Authors Changing the Conversation in 2019”. Pretending is her US debut.
Excerpt:
I hate men.
There, I’ve said it. I know you’re not supposed to say it. We all pretend we don’t hate them; we all tell ourselves we don’t hate them. But I’m calling it. I’m standing here on this soapbox, and I’m saying it.
I. Hate. Men.
I mean, think about it. They’re just awful. I hate how selfish they are. How they take up so much space, assuming it’s always theirs to take. How they spread out their legs on public transport, like their balls need regular airing to stop them developing damp. I hate how they basically scent mark anywhere they enter to make it work for them. Putting on the music they want to listen to the moment they arrive at any house party, and always taking the nicest chair. How they touch your stuff instead of just looking; even tweak the furniture arrangement to make it most comfortable for them. All without asking first—never asking first.
I hate how they think their interests are more important than yours—even though twice a week all most of them do is watch a bunch of strangers kick a circle around a piece of lawn and sulk if the circle doesn’t go in the right place. And how bored they look if you ever try to introduce them to a film, a band, or even a freaking YouTube clip, before you’ve even pressed Play.
I hate their endless arrogance. I hate how they interrupt you and then apologize for it but carry on talking anyway. How they ask you a question but then check your answer afterward. I hate how they can never do one piece of housework without telling you about it. I hate how they literally cannot handle being driven in a car by a woman, even if they’re terrible drivers themselves. I hate how they all think they’re fucking incredible at grilling meat on barbecues. The sun comes out and man must light fire and not let woman anywhere near the meat. Dumping blackened bits of chicken onto our plates along with the whiff of a burp from their beer breath, acting all caveman, like we’re supposed to find it cute that we may now get salmonella and that we’re going to have to do all the washing up.
I hate how I’m quite scared of them. I hate the collective noise of them when they’re in a big group. The tribal wahey-ing, like they all swap their IQs for extra testosterone when they swarm together. How, if you’re sitting alone on an empty train, they always come and deliberately sit next to you en masse, and talk extra loudly about macho nonsense, apparently to impress you. I hate the way they look at you when you walk past—automatically judging your screwability the moment they see you. Telling you to smile if you dare look anything other than delighted about living with stuff like this constantly fucking happening to you.
I hate how hard they are to love. How many of them actually, truly, think the way to your heart is sending you a selfie of them tugging themselves, hairy ball sack very much still in shot. I hate how they have sex. How they shove their fingers into you, thinking it’s going to achieve anything. Jabbing their unwashed hands into your dry vagina, prodding about like they’re checking for prostate cancer, then wondering why you now have BV and you still haven’t come. Have none of them read a sex manual? Seriously? None of them? And I hate how they hate you a little just after they’ve finished. How even the nice ones lie there with cold eyes, pretending to cuddle, but clearly desperate to get as far away from you as possible.
I hate how it’s never equal. How they expect you to do all the emotional labor and then get upset when you’re the more stressed-out one. I hate how they never understand you, no matter how hard they try, although, let’s be honest here, they never actually try that hard. And I hate how you’re always exhausting yourself trying to explain even the most basic of your rational emotional responses to their bored face.
I hate how every single last one of them has issues with their father.
And do you know what I hate most of all?
That despite this, despite all this disdain, I still fancy men. And I still want them to fancy me, to want me, to love me. I hate myself for how much I want them. Why do I still fancy men so much? What’s wrong with me? Why are they all so broken? Am I broken for still wanting to be with one, even after everything? I should be alone. That’s the only healthy way to be. BUT I DON’T WANT TO BE ALONE. I hate men, that’s the problem. GOD I HATE THEM SO MUCH—they’re so entitled and broken and lazy and wrong and…and…
Hang on…
My phone.
HE MESSAGED BACK!!!
WITH A KISS ON THE END!
Never mind.
Forget I said anything. It’s all good.
Excerpted from Pretending by Holly Bourne, Copyright © 2020 by Holly Bourne. Published by MIRA Books.
Review:
My rating:
2 of 5 stars
I was provided an ARC in exchange for an honest review.
I keep grappling with how to review this book. There were some really great things about this book and some things that I wish were handled differently. If you are at all triggered by mentions of sexual assault and mental health, I'd skip this one. This has some great messages and tackles a very sensitive subject. I'm not sure this hits the mark with the execution though.
April has been unlucky in love and in life. She unrealistically thinks that men want Gretel, the manic-pixie-dream-girl she has created in her head. Gretel is perfect and has no problems or emotional baggage, she is low maintenance, and does everything right with men. The catch, Gretel is not real. After another failed attempt in dating, April creates a fake profile on a dating app as Gretel and pretends to be her on a date. As a one time thing this pretending would have been fine, but she decides to carry on a relationship with him which is quite frankly weird. As things progress with nice guy Joshua, she realizes that maybe there are some nice guys out there and Josh might be one of them. Unfortunately she quickly finds that keeping up her Gretel persona is quite problematic for lots of reasons, especially if she wants to have an honest relationship with Joshua. She finds her mental health is slipping because of her lies and the stress associated with her job.
April hates men for a good reason. She had an abusive ex who committed the most heinous crime he could have against her. Rightfully so, April has some unpacked baggage that she while she thinks she has dealt with, she really hasn't. April works for a charity that deals with assault victims, yet not once was she counseled about her own trauma or given resources to help her deal with the aftermath of her own assault. I take issue with this. As a former sexual assault victim advocate, that is the first thing you offer to a victim of this kind of trauma. I find it unrealistic that she would or could work for said charity organization without having had any sort of help or being required to have had help. I'm not sure about in the UK, but in the US there are tons of free resources for victims to talk to someone and get treatment for the PTSD that comes with this kind of assault. Now eventually, the counselor at her job suggests that she take a boxing class to help with some of the aggression she's feeling but she's been working at her job for some time before this comes up. Now I will say that in the end I liked the way that things were handled and that she eventually got the support she needed to begin the mental healing process. I feel like it took far too long for someone to mention to April that she needed therapy, her so called friends just let her fumble around until she figured it out on her own after quite a bit of destructive behavior I found this unrealistic and a bit cruel. In real life you can’t make people do anything they don’t want to do, especially when it comes to situations like this, but the advocate in me is irritated that not one person who knew her situation and was supposed to care about her ever suggested resources to help her deal with her trauma for years afterwards.
I do wish this had focused more on April finding her voice and being able to say what she wanted like saying no in situations she was uncomfortable with instead of just letting things happen. The whole point of her being Gretel was to take power back in her life but she never said "No" or "I like this or that" in any situation versus pretending to be what she thinks other people want. Other than hurting Joshua when he finds out she’s not really Gretel, I don’t really see how she gained the upper hand at all.
Many of the women are portrayed as needing to have men in their lives to be fulfilled and being unhappy in their relationships when they find one. Most of their unhappiness stems around a lack of communication. Even in April’s case when she tells people things they are uncomfortable with she feels like it is her problem not theirs. Instead of having open communication the women are deemed crazy. I’m not OK with this portrayal of women, and maybe that is the narrative the author is trying to bring to light and change. I would have liked to see healthy relationships portrayed as the likely audience of this book is women. Women should feel empowered to speak their minds as April was to Neil about their not being a spectrum of sexual assault. This was an excellent scene and I would have liked more like it in the book, there were far too few of them. They should also feel inclined to talk to their partners about what they need and what is acceptable in a relationship. Healthy relationships take work on both sides and that wasn’t really presented as a scenario here.
Overall I applaud the author for tackling this sensitive subject and feminist message, but the execution just didn’t work for me. I think this book will be a really important read for some and it will fall flat for others.
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