I'm a sucker for unreliable narrators. Yes, they're a bit of a liability, knowing that through the words on the page, they are subverting my thoughts and emotions for some future use, yet I read/watch on, either to be thrilled or disapppointed at the end: thrilled for the truth about human experience they reveal (ex. Memento, The Great Gatsby, The Blind Assassin), or disappointment for failing to expose it, by lack of resolution (The Catcher in the Rye) or the author's abuse of the technique. Unfortunately, most works fall into the latter category.
The Girl on the Train, a first novel by Paula Hawkins, is unique in that it has not just one but two unreliable narrators, Rachel and Megan, young women whose lives are apparently separate but will become increasingly similar, intertwined and complicated as the plot goes on. I am partially finished (23%, with 2.5 hours of reading to go, according to my Kindle), but pleased so far with the author's execution in its characters and literary technique (Editing note: I am told that there will be a third narrator, more on this to follow in my final review).
The two narrators, Rachel and Megan, are both unreliable in the sense that they are flawed and broken people, grappling with the consequences of their questionable judgments and decisions, carried out in their everyday actions. Rachel is a despondent alcoholic and jobless divorcee who (according to her) commutes on the train to London daily as part of an elaborate ruse to show her flatmate she is still employed. Her inebriated thoughts are laid bare for the reader in the mornings and evenings, as she passes by her old neighborhood, the home of her ex-husband (now remarried and with a child), and the home of a younger couple, who she names "Jess" and "Jason". Rachel is a sort of outside observer, seeing their lives unfold through glimpses in their window, fleeting moments at a time. Rachel imagines this as the life she could have had, experiencing pleasure at their joyful moments and simultaneous shame and guilt for failing to achieve this in her own life.
"Jess", as it turns out, is actually Megan, and her life is revealed to be somewhat different than Rachel imagines it. Megan is emotionally unsettled by her past, unhappy with her present marriage to "Jason" (Scott), and soon starts an extramarital affair with her psychologist. Her story, while more anchored in reality, still leaves the reader suspicious of what is about to come.
Scene One is set; insert Rachel's chance discovery of "Jess" kissing another man, one binge-fueled night Rachel cannot remember, a missing Megan, and we have ourselves a story. Hawkins has established an intriguing mystery that truly engages the reader with just the right amount of the right words to reveal what is happening, and we get the impression that every single sentence has been carefully crafted, to great effect in the reader's mind. It is carefully balanced between achieving intrigue by not telling the reader, and enough revelation of character and plot to keep the reader interested. While it deals with explicit material, it does not do so in an explicit way. The reading experience is not altogether different than how I felt reading Gone Girl, and I suppose that many will compare Hawkins to Gillian Flynn's works.
There is foreshadowing, metaphor, theme, and symbolism in abundance that I have not observed here, but I will reserve these judgments for when I have finished the book and had more time to digest what Hawkins has presented to us. Suffice it to say, however, that it is a pleasurable reading experience thus far, and I am interested to see how these characters grapple with the consequences of their choices, and what twists the plot takes. At this point, I'm along for the ride.
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