I think Taylor Jenkins Reid is one of the smartest, most exciting, and most creative authors writing today. Bold statement? Sure. Are her books my favorite books? Not necessarily. But there is something about the way she crafts narrative both within and across her books that sends a jolt of electricity through me every time I see her structure and choices come to fruition in a way that is both unexpected and satisfying.
I first heard of Reid when her first book, The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, came out, but I didn’t really clock her as an author making a mark until Daisy Jones and the Six came out a few years later. Daisy Jones and the Six blew up the book-ternet as something wholly inventive and new. Being a novel about sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll, it also wasn’t my jam, so I noted it and moved on, despite my friend, Chris, asking repeatedly if I had read it yet. And then came Malibu Rising.
In 1980s Malibu, the Riva siblings, children of Mick Riva, a famous singer in the style of Sinatra, are all searching for something, despite seeming to have it all. Nina, the eldest and now a famous model, has kept her family together and the family restaurant alive through their father’s abandonment and their mother’s resulting decline by sheer force of will. Jay, a famous surfer, and Hud, a photographer, are joined at the hip, seemingly as close as two brothers can be. And Kit, the youngest, is trying to find herself as she navigates the transition from childhood to adulthood. The novel opens on the day of Nina’s annual party, a legendary affair that draws the full range of the Hollywood set, those who have made it and those hoping to. But tensions are simmering among the Riva siblings, and by the end of the night, relationships will have broken and solidified, the police will have arrived, and Malibu will be on fire.
Y’all. I. Loved. This. Book. It’s a gorgeous, swirling mass of tension, emotion, and nuance, all subtly shifting under the characters like the ocean waves they are so devoted to surfing. Malibu comes alive under Reid’s pen: the roar of the ocean, the sharp curves of Highway 1, the contradictions between the lives of the locals and the elite who come to play in paradise. Reid crafts each of her four protagonists so specifically and weaves their individual and collective relationships together so precisely, that they all feel like people I’ve known for years. They walk fully-formed onto the page, having lived entire lives before we open the book. It’s so exciting to read characters who have been crafted that way because it means any exposition is vital to the narrative while still allowing the characters to drive that narrative forward. The real star, though, is Nina. Tightly-wound, practical, competent Nina. She has spent her life ensuring that her siblings could have a life, making choices that seem glamorous to the public but in reality were out of necessity only. Her strength has become brittle, and she is a tinderbox just waiting for a match. Nina’s emotional journey through the book is a thrilling and breathtaking roller coaster, and Reid writes it with such honesty and grace.
But here’s the thing. If you go by the press and the review blurbs, you would be forgiven for thinking that Taylor Jenkins Reid is the next big thing in beach reads. Some review blurbs from the Malibu Rising book covers include,
“High drama at the beach, starring four sexy, surfing siblings and their deadbeat, famous-crooner dad,” (People)
“The perfect beach read with the emotional depth of the ocean.” (Holly Bourne)
“A sex-on-the-beach cocktail of a book.” (Pandora Sykes)
I almost didn’t pick it up because I wasn’t looking for a beach read. But if you’re thinking, “Elizabeth, the book has Malibu in the title and so of course people might describe it that way,” her other books get similar marketing/blurb treatments. Most of Daisy Jones‘ blurbs are Reese Witherspoon saying she “devoured it in a day” and Dolly Alderton describing it as “so fun.” The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo fares better, but a promotional blurb from Bustle calls it out as a “beach read” and “the one book to take on holiday this summer.” So from the beginning, Reid has been marketed as a particular type of writer: a writer of smart beach reads and light novels for book clubs that are really about the wine. Not that there’s anything wrong with that kind of book club. Sounds like a fun night, actually. And not that there is anything wrong with beach reads either. There are some authors writing really great beach reads, and there is absolutely a place for beach reads in the pantheon of literature. However, as Michael Chabon would argue, there is no such thing as genre because all writing is genre, and so what genre becomes is a marketing tool to quickly communicate key ideas about a book. A beach read is something light and fun that you take on vacation, something you don’t have to think too much about, that you can just read to feel good.
However, this framing creates a cognitive dissonance for me when reading Reid’s novel because it undermines the intelligence and subtlety of the story she has crafted. (I use the word “crafted” very intetionally here.) What Reid is actually doing is taking genres and remaking them, creating stories of depth and nuance and surprising connections spanning across her three novels. And she’s doing so with silky prose that shocks you with delight when you realize how purposeful and evocative it is.
One of the most breathtaking scenes in Malibu Rising occurs during Nina’s party, and it really has nothing to do with any of the Riva siblings. Reid takes us on a tour of the house, weaving us in and out of the guests, stopping to observe a conversation or listen in on an inner monologue, intentionally spending time with people who we have not yet met and will never meet again. It would be easy to think these characters don’t matter, so why spend any time, however fleeting, with them at all? But Reid is creating context, place, and texture, building a scene that becomes a living, breathing thing. This party does not just upend the lives of the Rivas. It upends the lives of every person there, from the loud, jerky actor pulling stupid stunts in front of the crowd to the young woman who misses a connection that would send her life down a new path. Reid builds whole lives in a couple of paragraphs over and over and over again, and I found myself loving and rooting for some of these people and expressing an undue amount of frustration toward others. It is truly cinematic, a single shot winding its way through the party, but so much richer and enriching to the larger novel.
That scene and the novel as a whole are why I will continue to shout loudly for the people in the back that Taylor Jenkins Reid is a writer of intentionality, nuance, and complexity and vastly oversimplified by those that market her. That being said, she has had huge success as a commercial writer, which is no mean feat, and it would be interesting to hear from her about what kind of writer she views herself as. I, however, deeply hope that at some point she will also be properly recognized as a world-class prose stylist. Malibu Rising transcends the genre it has been assigned, and I beg you not to turn your brain off as you read it or you will miss some stunning writing.