That’s the key here - used to marvelous effect - as Dream Girl’s plot casually tumbles along a beat or two behind in the headlong surge of Gerry’s ruminations. Lippman has always distinguished herself with well-tuned interior monologues. He faces months in isolation, pinioned above the homely cityscape of his youth, attended only by a demure personal assistant and a sullen nurse caregiver. The doctors have fitted him out with a traction-enforcing hospital bed.
Within days of her passing, a freak domestic accident has him sidelined in his newly acquired luxury penthouse. You may recognize the type.īecause his mother is dying, Gerry has traded the Parnassus of Manhattan for his dreary hometown of Baltimore. Sadly, he has never quite lived up to the acclaim heaped upon his first book. Once lionized as a hotshot for his debut novel, Andersen today is a rich, thrice-married celebrity litterateur.
Shot through with sly ironies, Dream Girl returns a double dividend: It’s a precisely paced whodunit dropped with a splat onto today’s hype-driven literary culture.ĭream Girl ’s protagonist is 60ish writer Gerry Andersen. Laura Lippman’s new novel is an irresistibly satisfying read, her best yet in an increasingly ambitious oeuvre spanning 24 years.
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