November 28, 2022 by Ciara Meyer (’23)
People are not simple: not just good, not just bad, but complex amalgamations of traits and identities. These multifaceted elements of personality become even more complex when some must be hidden due to tragic circumstances, as becomes clear in Taylor Jenkins Reid’s The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo (Atria Books. 400 pp. Paper, $10) which tracks Evelyn’s life from the 1950s through the present day.
In this novel that utilizes an embedded narrative through the form of interview content, contemporary novelist Jenkins Reid urges readers to ask themselves what makes someone good or bad, encouraging them to conclude that it is simply impossible to force humans into one of those unbearably constraining categories. For readers seeking a quick but meaningful read with well-written, dynamic characters and amazing LGBTQ+ representation, The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo is a perfect pick. However, in spite of the story’s dynamic characters and brilliantly creative plot, it is not “great literature.”
The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo opens by introducing readers to Monique Grant, an up-and-coming reporter and recent-divorcée who has just been asked to interview iconic starlet and actress Evelyn Hugo. To Grant’s surprise, Hugo insists that, instead of an article, Grant must write a biography of her life covering every aspect of her time in Hollywood and publish it after Hugo dies. Readers follow Grant throughout the interview process, hearing the details of each of Hugo’s seven marriages and of her struggle in balancing forbidden love and career aspirations.
The book is organized into parts named after each husband, but Hugo’s true love remains a character throughout. This organizational style helps readers understand the unique challenges of each of Hugo’s failed marriages, and helps further the complexity of her character. One of her husbands is an abuser, another a gay man who fathers her child, a third the brother of her one true love. There are moments where Hugo sacrifices the well-being of her best friend, her lover, and even her daughter as she desperately seeks to achieve greatness in her career. Readers must grapple with the fact that Hugo is not a perfect starlet, not just a victim of her time and of the men in her life; rather, she is human, she is complex, she is imperfect. The book concludes with a surprising twist that reveals why Hugo selected Grant to write her memoir and why her legacy will never be pristine.
Jenkins Reid creates parallel arcs for her two narrators, Hugo of the embedded narrative and Grant of the frame story, which helps the readers understand how the brief time they spend together impacts their trajectory. She switches narrators of the tale to convey different tones and emotions: Grant is often confused, excited, or angry whereas Hugo seems drained, nostalgic, and burdened with a sense of responsibility for those she has loved and lost. The story is a great one, but it is not “great literature.”
Great literature is Les Mis or War and Peace. Great literature has longevity and will impact generations to come. Great literature is revolutionary and allows the people of its time to contemplate the world they live in on a deeper level. In many ways, great literature is more about societal impact and context than about the content of any given book. A book like The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo would be easier to deem great literature if it had been published in the 1980s, when stories of character complexity and the treatment of LGBTQ+ individuals in Hollywood were less widely available. It could have served as a sort of exposé, but in today’s day and age, it does not.
Not meeting the criteria for greatness does not mitigate The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo’s immediate impact, as literature does not need to be great to mean something to people. A story does not need to have longevity to inspire readers of today to view the people with whom they engage as more complex than what appears on the surface. It does not need to be revolutionary to help increase understanding and empathy for the challenges faced by those forced to hide parts of themselves. There is a time and place for “great literature,” but there is also space for quick reads that evoke emotion and don’t change the world. Jenkins Reid’s The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo is no Invisible Man, but it is a perfect recommendation for anyone looking for a book with a captivating plot and engaging characters who leave readers questioning how they view themselves and each other.