Book Review: The Guest by Emma Cline
There’s something sinister happening in women’s fiction.
When I first started reading The Guest by Emma Cline, I was ready to devour it. Messy female con artist trying to make her way in the world? Yes please.
I love stories about con artists and spies because they are active protagonists by necessity. They have to fight their way through the world, and nothing is easy for them. But what’s disturbing about The Guest is that Alex is the most passive con artist in the history of literature — and faces no consequences or conflict the entire book.
I’ll explain, but first…
What I Liked About The Guest by Emma Cline
Emma Cline is a skilled writer: you can’t argue otherwise. She’s got some nice turns of phrase, and her scathing descriptions of rich people hit hard, like this description of wealthy women on a reality show:
“All the women in the show hated each other, hated each other so much, just so they could avoid hating their husbands. Only their little dogs, blinking from their laps, seemed real: they were the women’s souls, Alex decided, tiny souls trotting behind them on a leash.”
― Emma Cline, The Guest
I only wish that Cline turned this gift onto her own characters with a strong spotlight. The social commentary felt more vibrant than any of the characters themselves: the sum of the parts more interesting than each of them individually.
The premise of the book is solid, too: a con artist stranded in Long Island after her rich boyfriend breaks up with her, needing to make ends meet before she crashes his Labor Day party to try and win him back. The plot offers a lot of opportunities for conflict — unfortunately, none of which are capitalized on.
What I Hated About The Guest by Emma Cline
The Guest reminded me of My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh — one of the most painful books I struggled to scrape my eyes over this year.
Both books feature drugged-out messy lumps of "characters” that are really just a collection of aimless vices. These characters — and it’s really a stretch calling them that — have no goals, face no real consequences for their actions, and end the book the same way they started. You can’t even partake in the fun of watching an anti-hero spiral and hit rock bottom, because these characters can do all of the drugs and break all of the hearts in the world and nothing bad ever happens to them.
The Guest gets another strike because the book never really ends: it just drops off into the abyss, as if the author cut off the remainder of the second and third act with a pair of blunt scissors. The last page of the book is a jagged question mark and a lazy “let the reader guess how it ends!” kind of final note that leaves a sour taste in your mouth as you slam the book shut and ask —
Why?
Why did I read that? What was the point?
That’s the question I’ve been asking quite often in the women’s literature space. Watching passive characters do nothing and mean nothing isn’t the spectator sport I signed up for. I read because I want to be moved emotionally in a way that’s actually entertaining. Why is that such a high bar these days?
Final Thoughts on The Guest by Emma Cline
If you read a book featuring a male con artist, they’ll likely be pushing the plot forward in every chapter. My favorite author of the year — Blake Crouch — has books full of active, messy male heroes that do stuff. All of the books I’ve read this year featuring female heroes do nothing: they’re passive people who just rot in bed or exist as near ghosts: never affecting the real world — or being affected — in a way that changes them or makes us care.
The Guest had so much potential but only succeeds (barely) as minor social commentary on rich people’s lives in Long Island. It breaks the most basic rules of good storytelling: write a character who faces conflict and is changed by it.
My final score: 3 out of 5 stars ⭐️⭐️⭐️ — mostly for the strength of the prose and the promise of the plot, but it’s lucky I didn’t give it less.
Do I recommend this book? ❌ No.
