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I found myself more irritated than I expected that this is not a memoir, but a novel that is a lightly-fictionalized account of the author’s own experience. I was constantly wondering what was actually true and what was invented, which was distracting. I was also bothered by the author’s hatred toward “The Defendant,” which, though understandable, came across as amateurish writing, describing him at one point as a “booger-eating alcoholic who had picked up a heroin habit on the inside.” I appreciate that her intent was to counter the image of him in the press as clever and cunning, but the message is much more effective when she does so in more subtle ways, such as describing his courtroom interrogation of her as a witness. The author centers the story on the many “bright young women” involved, rather than on the killer, which is admirable and makes for an interesting narrative. But ultimately, I struggled to finish it.

Cunningham writes dialogue and relationships in a way that feels natural, and I liked the fact that nobody really takes dramatic action — they edge gradually towards their choices — the way real people usually do. And conceptually, I liked the conceit of visiting a group of characters on 3 distinct days: Before COVID, during the beginning of COVID, and then a year later. But ultimately, I found it difficult to care about the people in the story, and I struggled to understand the message Cunningham was trying to convey. One theme is the difficulty of avoiding “the marriage plot,” both in novels and in life. Another is the isolation created by the fact that we each live in our own interior worlds, fundamentally separate from each other. But these are neither new ideas nor are they presented in a fresh or interesting way. Ultimately, I enjoyed the experience of reading this relatively short book, but I’m not sure how much it will stick with me.

“What if Forrest Gump were very smart… and an artist?” seems to be the question posed by this book, which is ultimately a series of character sketches that doesn’t quite work as a novel. In the first 1/3 of the book, I was hooked — I really enjoyed the alternate America the author describes, and the protagonist’s journey to learn about her wife’s past. But then it simply went on too long, with an endless parade of characters describing their relationship with X as a different person, and I stopped thinking that any one new character added anything to the story. It comes around towards the end, to the idea that we all inhabit multiple characters as we move through life, even if we don’t recognize it as such. If there is a point to the novel, I think it’s that “X” is a placeholder for whoever in the reader’s past continues to control their life in the present, becoming mythic in their absence, and to invite reflection on who that person might be.