As a reader, I’ve been obsessed with Gillian Flynn this year. It started when I read The Grownup as a “suggested” book when I was looking for alternative gothic stories. I wanted haunted house stories that didn’t feel like haunted house stories, and The Grownup seemed to fit. Unfortunately, I didn’t really like it, even though I desperately wanted to. The opening of the novella was unbeatable. The honest, raw voice of a sex worker turned psychic was witty and relatable. And I wanted more ballsy, unapologetic sex workers! But as the story went on, I was less interested in the child and family. Perhaps that was because of my expectations and desires. I wanted a haunted house story, but it was, as most Gillian Flynn books are, a twisted family story with little to no paranormal activity. Not necessarily the book’s fault. It was a misalignment between what I wanted and what the story was actually about.

A side-note: Flynn’s other books trend long. They go deep, and I feel like her strength lies in the layers she explores, which just couldn’t happen in a novella. I think I would have loved the Grown Up if it had really gotten into the family dynamic with the depth that her other books do.

The thing is, I was upset enough by the story — left wanting more — that I started looking for Flynn’s other works, and I stumbled across Sharp Objects. As a recovering cutter myself, I was obsessed. That’s the thing about Flynn: she writes these female characters that are allowed to be messy and complicated. The sex worker is not titillating. The cutter is not used for shock value. They are layered women that I don’t often see, with twisty depths that females are not afforded in literature.

It’s Not You

After Sharp Objects, I was fully hooked. I read Dark Places, which again featured complicated, messy female characters. The mother was not an ideal, the main character was unlikeable, and the girlfriend was pretty much horrible. It was delicious.

At that point, I knew that I wanted to level up my writing in a Gillian Flynn direction. I wanted to understand why her stories worked so well for me. Was it the intensity of mid-west settings, so hot and sticky that I could feel them? Was it the layering of family complexity allowed to create character? Was it the close examination of “broken” females? I wasn’t sure, but I had to understand.

I watched the Sharp Objects miniseries (which was also co-written and produced by Flynn), wrapped up in bed every evening with my computer, descending deeper into the storytelling. Then, with nothing left, I finally went back to Gone Girl.

It’s Me

See, I read Gone Girl back when it came out. There was such a buzz about it that I had to see what was up, and I wasn’t impressed. But why? Gone Girl is arguably her best book (Although I am partial to Sharp Objects). Gone Girl is her most popular/successful. Everyone seemed to love it when it came out. But I barely remember reading it. I do remember not relating to the characters. I found them whiney and entitled. (Which, to be fair, the main character is a trust fund baby from NYC and is meant to be a bit whiney and entitled). But most of all, I didn’t find them relatable.

They were mean to everyone. Nick was defensive. Amy was psychopathically cruel. I didn’t cheer for either of them, and when they got back together I was just kind of disappointed because their relationship was so obviously toxic. And poor that child.

For context, I was freshly married, pregnant, and very much in love.

The Importance of Timing and Context

Fast forward to this second read. I loved it. Absolutely, 100% loved the book. I was so into it.

But why?

I am fresh off a near divorce. My husband and I separated this summer, planned to divorce, and reconciled. Before that came to a head, there were messy years of fighting, slowly peeling disillusionment. It has been painful and exhausting. And it was echoed perfectly in Gone Girl. Every chapter, I found myself identifying with the characters.

“Yep, I felt that. Yes, we went through that. Looking back, I can totally see those phases.” Diary Amy became me before the shit hit the fan. Nick was so relatable as my husband. Real Amy? Okay, I maybe didn’t relate to her so much simply because I am not a long term planner and I lack attention to detail and follow through in my personal life. But I still understood her. The relationship was still nasty and twisted, but I learned to appreciate the complexity of it.

The book became a completely different experience simply because of my life experiences. The book rang true in a way it hadn’t on my first read.

The Takeaway

I’m hopefully taking a LOT away from my deep dive into Gillian Flynn as a writer. Darker characters. More complexity. Twisty plots. Unapologetic females. Yes. I want to write those. A slower writing schedule (Flynn has had four books come out in the past fifteen years. She is not beholden to the indie “I must put out two books a year so people don’t forget who I am” fear). But perhaps the most important is that a reader’s reaction does not determine the value of a book. Sometimes the timing is wrong. Sometimes a reader can’t relate. That’s okay.

As a reader? To take my own context into my reading experience and to be aware of why I love or hate a piece of writing. More awareness of what it evokes in me — whether it inspires me to remember or to dream. Whether a piece bridges a gap to allow me to understand something new or whether it encourages me to self spiral and explore something I have experienced.

In other words, this past year with Gillian Flynn’s work has been more than worthwhile. 10 out of 10, would read it all again.