The Influencers by Anna-Marie McLemore

Published by The Dial Press, an imprint of Random House, on April 15, 2025

Someone murdered August Ingraham and set fire to a wing of his mansion, although not the wing in which his body was found. The prime suspects are five sisters: April, June, July, January, and possibly March, although March (the youngest) hasn’t been seen for a while. Another suspect is their mother, May Iverson, August’s wife and the creator of Mother May I.

August was only married to May for a couple of years and wasn’t in the picture when May’s five daughters were born. Their biological father, Ernesto Iniesta, had an argument with August a couple of weeks before his death and is also a suspect, at least in the eyes of true crime podcasters. A neighbor who had a reasonable grudge against August also had a motive, but he became an unlikely suspect after his dead body was discovered outside the burning house.

The Influencers is presented as a whodunit, yet as the title implies, it is more a sendup of online personalities.  The novel skewers a certain kind of “influencer,” internet celebrities or wannabes who place their enviable lives on display for the world to see, except for the parts they try to conceal.

Chapters written in the third person generally narrate the actions of family members. Other chapters offer first-person thoughts spoken collectively by followers of the family members. The followers are obsessed; their obsession contributes to the humor. They believe they are best positioned to solve August’s murder, as they know more about the family than the police will ever learn.

May is “famous for picture-worthy after-school snacks and homemade costumes and glamorous New Year’s Eve parties,” as well as lifestyle and fashion advice, product lines (such as Mother May I dish towels), and product endorsements. On her Mother May I platforms, she posted daily videos of her children growing up, sometimes to their displeasure.

The non-identical twins, pale June and dark July, made a career of their mother’s career. They “followed their mother into the world of making money off polishing and posting their daily lives. June and July each had their own personal brands,” but they post some content collectively as the Summer Girls. According to their fans, “It was June we loved for having no filter, no brakes, and July we loved for her gentle way of moving through the world.” June is even a bit motherly in her relationship with May. “If June didn’t keep an eye on her, she was going to fund a line of vitamin-infused nail polish or an independent film about reverse racism.”

Growing up, April was the problem solver, the replacement mom who stepped in to help the other girls when May was busy hawking products. Now April has a fabric store and, in the collective opinion of Mother May I fans, is too competent to have burned down a part of the house while August (presumably dead at the time) was in a different wing. “Rather than such scattershot arson, she would have set the fire close enough to the corpse to turn all evidence to cinders. She might have even been able to make both look like accidents.”

January works in theater as a lighting designer. She keeps to herself and away from cameras. Maybe she’s never gotten over her mother filming them as they shopped for her first training bra or her mother’s broadcast about her “many feelings” when her daughter had her first period. I’ve never had a period (wrong gender for the curse), but I can imagine being mortified if my mother discussed her feels about my bodily discharges with the entire world.

The followers debate the potential of each Iverson to be a killer based on what they know of their personalities (or on how they dress or wear makeup). They dissect new footage of the family that a true-crime blogger has posted to her site while the Iversons try to discover the source of the video clips. The videos appear to be candid camera recordings, some of which portray May and the girls in a negative light, the kind of recordings that May would never have posted. Who took the videos and who released them to podcasters is another mystery the followers want to unravel.

Sharp-eyed followers identify a guy lurking in the background of certain videos who might be named Luke, who always wears a sweatshirt, and who may or may not be dating June or July. Luke Sweatshirt is another murder suspect.

Like many fans of celebrities, the Mother May I followers are fickle. When they like what they see, they can’t get enough of it. When it seems the family is about to melt down, they are just as happy to be cheering against them. That seemed like a particularly telling observation about the nature of people who become absorbed in the details of Kardashian-type celebrities.

As the novel nears its end, the central mystery — who killed August? — is temporarily overshadowed by a second — what happened to March? Both reveals are surprising, although the explanation of August’s death and the fire in his mansion is underwhelming.

The novel is long and the pace sometimes drags, in part because endless descriptions of the Iverson family’s fashion choices become a bit wearing (no pun intended). Anna-Marie McLemore’s central point is the importance of children building their own identities and the damage caused by mothers who shape their children with the intent to monetize them, but the story suffers from redundant reminders about all the ways in which May failed her kids. Still, the story always maintained my interest and a steady diet of comedic moments kept me smiling.

RECOMMENDED

Don't Sleep with the Dead by Nghi Vo

Published by Tordotcom on April 8, 2025

Don’t Sleep with the Dead is marketed as a companion to Nghi Vo’s The Chosen and the Beautiful, a book that allows F. Scott Fitzgerald’s character Jordan Baker to provide a woman’s perspective on The Great Gatsby. Before I read Don’t Sleep with the Dead, I was unaware of its companionship with The Chosen and the Beautiful, a novel I didn’t read. That’s what I get for paying little attention to marketing materials when I choose books. I’m certain that a familiarity with the earlier work would have enhanced my incomplete understanding of this novella.

Nick Carraway is on “the wrong side of forty.” He’s living in New York City, working as a columnist at the Herald Tribune, and trying to put 1922 behind him. Jay Gatsby died that year but when Nick finds himself in an alley where gay men congregate, about to be stomped by the police, he believes he is rescued by Gatsby.

When Nick calls Jordan in Paris to tell her that he saw Gatsby, she’s not surprised. She tells him that the dead are coming back in France. “Old soldiers, mostly.” They can’t speak because their throats are blistered by mustard gas.

And then, as if Gatsby’s reincarnation isn’t sufficient, the story becomes strange. Nick tells a story about his grandfather’s brother, who came to America and was drafted into the Civil War. “In the two-room shack with the river roaring in the spring flood, Leith Carraway used his old Sheffield razor to loosen his face from his head and traded it for another.” Nick’s mother gives him a less glamorous explanation for his granduncle’s slashed face, but Nick believes “that was where it started, the Carraway belief that duty could be put off on someone else, and that if you only made the right sacrifice, spilled the right blood using the right name, that fate might be delayed or even distracted.”

We then learn that this Nick is also an imposter. Nick went to Canada when he was conscripted to fight in the first World War. A talented relative cut out a paper doll and turned it into a replacement Nick. The paper doll Nick went to war in Nick’s place. The original Nick died in a car accident shortly after the war ended and the paper Nick took over his life.

Strangeness abounds in the novella. Nick bargains with the devil because he wants to learn what happened to Gatsby in Hell. The devil sends him to a woman made of wax. And so on.

The devil alters its appearance at will and Nick’s granduncle is not the only character who swaps faces. “One night, drunk, I’d met March at the Morocco and he’d put on Gatsby’s face for me.” All this was a bit much for me, although I appreciated the imaginative take on Fitzgerald’s novel and the urgency with which the story is told. Still, unless wielded by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, I’m not a fan of magical realism.

I credit Vo for her creative and elegant prose style. Unfortunately, the novel makes so many references to events and characters in The Chosen and the Beautiful that I became quite lost. I can’t judge the story fairly as a companion to the earlier novel because I lack the necessary context. I'm reviewing it as a standalone work, perhaps unfairly, because that is how it is marketed. My guess is that readers who enjoyed The Chosen and the Beautiful will enjoy the companion novella. For other readers, I can only recommend reading The Chosen and the Beautiful first (if you’re a fan of magical realism) and, if you enjoy it, moving on to Don’t Sleep with the Dead to learn the rest of the story.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS

When the Moon Hits Your Eye by John Scalzi

Published by Tor Books on March 25, 2025

John Scalzi usually displays his sense of humor in his science fiction novels. He’s churned out a bunch of science fiction comedies, the most successful being Redshirts. The stories tend to be amusing and Scalzi typically uses comedy to make a serious point. Even when he writes more serious novels (like Old Man’s War), he adds generous doses of humor. And he always remembers that the word “science” is in “science fiction” for a reason. Well, nearly always.

When the Moon Hits Your Eye is another sf comedy. It has sufficient merit to earn a recommendation, but it’s also disappointing. I had the impression that Scalzi wrote himself into a corner as he milked laughs from his premise and couldn’t come up with a credible way to ground the story in science.

The premise is ridiculous. One day, the moon turns into cheese — or at least into an organic matter that has the characteristics of cheese. Not only does the moon transform, but so do space rocks displayed in museums and kept in NASA’s vaults.

Scalzi brings a fair amount of science to the project, explaining that the cheese moon needs to be physically larger than the old moon to retain the same amount of mass. Mess around with the moon’s mass and tides get thrown out of whack. But a larger-than-moon-size cheese must compress as it orbits the Earth, so Scalzi imagines the cheese moon erupting as it squirts water from its innards. This is all very sciency, as a reader would expect from Scalzi, but it dances around the question of how the moon changed into a sphere of cheese.

Scalzi explores how the moon’s transformation is greeted by politicians, the media, scientists, wealthy business leaders, members of the clergy, the movie industry, and others. In fact, each chapter tends to focus on new characters who are caught up in the moon crisis. A cheese-related sex scandal involving a congressman and a retired sex worker might be the strangest response.

A chunk of the cheese moon breaks off during an eruption and is projected to smack into the Earth in about two years, causing an extinction event. Some people decide it’s time to start executing their bucket list. Scalzi imagines that bankers will use AI to keep their banks running after all the tellers decide they don’t want to be working during their final days of existence.

The funniest bit involves a company that designed a moon lander for NASA. The company’s CEO is jealous of, and in competition with, Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk. He makes an unlikely plan to take the lander on an unsanctioned mission to visit the cheese moon.

But back to the science. I wondered how Scalzi was going to pull this off, given the lack of any credible explanation for the moon’s sudden transformation into a cheesy mass. While at least one of his books flirts with Intelligent Design as a rational explanation of life on Earth, Scalzi is a scientist at heart. He nevertheless includes a preacher in the plot and gives the preacher a chance to encourage his parishioners to cling to their faith in times of trouble.

I won’t spoil the ending, but I will say that it disappointed me by failing to provide a definitive resolution of the mystery. Scalzi presents (but does not endorse) a theory, popularized on conspiracy websites, but the theory doesn’t explain how the moon rocks on Earth transformed. The silly premise and the absence of a legitimate (even if farfetched) explanation to support it undermines the novel as a work of science fiction, so maybe the book is best seen as a comedy fantasy sprinkled with bits of science. As a funny look at how people might respond to end times that are still a couple years distant, the story generates enough chuckles to make it a good beach read.

RECOMMENDED

Terrestrial History by Joe Mungo Reed

Published by W. W. Norton & Company on April 8, 2025

Joe Mungo Reed brings a new perspective to post-apocalyptic fiction in Terrestrial History, a chilling story of global warming. There are elements of science fiction and of a technothriller in the plot, but Reed takes a broader look at the ways in which self-interest and egalitarian drives clash, often in very personal ways, as people work to cope with (or escape) an existential crisis.

The story jumps around in time to focus on family members in different generations. The novel begins in Scotland in 2025, when Hannah sees a boy in a spacesuit walking out of the sea. Hannah has been trying to solve the mystery of fusion but can’t quite design a reactor that works.

In the middle of the century, Hannah’s son Andrew runs for Parliament and then for the position of Scotland’s First Minister. By that point, climate change is making life difficult. A corporation called Tevat, founded by the billionaire Axel Faulk, is planning an excursion to Mars, where — assuming the planet can be terraformed — humanity may have a chance of survival after Earth becomes uninhabitable. Naturally, the passengers who sign up for the voyage are wealthy and powerful, although Tevat allows a couple of its employees to join the crew. Andrew’s opposition to Tevat is the key ideological driver of his decision to enter politics.

Andrew’s daughter Kedzie has taken up her grandmother’s hope of building a fusion reactor to provide clean energy. Lacking other options to fund her ideas, Kedzie goes to work for Tevat. There is tension between Andrew and Kedzie, since Andrew’s political career demands that he oppose Tevat and its unpopular plan to save only the rich and powerful. Some of the book’s strongest moments come when Andrew must decide whether to denounce his daughter after she agrees to join the mission to Mars. The pivotal scene could have been played for melodrama, but Reed lets the characters speak or repress their feelings in a way that feels natural and moving.

Later in the century, Kedzie is on Mars. Kedzie and her wife are the mothers of Roban. The Terrestrial Collapse has occurred. The colonists and the first generation of Mars-born children wonder whether anything remains of the Earth. The kids have pictures and videos so they know about oceans and birds and all the things their parents miss, but their knowledge is abstract. More than most post-apocalyptic stories of global warming, Mungo drives home the magnitude of the climate crisis by viewing it through the eyes of kids who — trapped inside buildings on a desolate planet — don’t understand the richness of their parents’ former life on Earth.

Roban has a sense of duty. “We are not just any children, but those living in the middle of the hourglass, some of the few thousands alive after the loss of so much humanity, amongst the few custodians of our species preparing the way for the Great Repopulation when this place is terraformed and when other habitable planets have been located.” Yet his sense of duty makes him wonder whether he might be able to change history and save the Earth.

Roban is assigned to an asteroid mining crew. He encounters a phenomenon that appears to change the nature of time. Later he takes advantage of the phenomenon to send himself back to 2025. The reader meets him in the first chapter when his great-grandmother sees him walking out of the sea. Roban wants to teach her how to build the reactor that her granddaughter will later create, and in so doing avoid the Terrestrial Collapse.

The possibility of undoing the harm to the Earth, of preventing the Terrestrial Collapse, sets up a moral conflict. If it can be done, what would happen to the Mars colony? Would it never be established? Would its inhabitants be willing to sacrifice themselves to save the larger mass of humanity that they left behind? One member of the colony applies corporate logic — the corporation has a duty to benefit its shareholders, so any larger duty to humanity is irrelevant — an attitude that explains why it is so difficult to make fossil fuel companies admit that they contribute to global warming. If nations move to clean energy, after all, shareholders in fossil fuel companies lose. The companies believe they would be derelict in their corporate duty if they put the existence of all planetary life ahead of short-term profits.

Will Roban succeed? The question is almost unimportant. Like most post-apocalyptic fiction that doesn’t involve zombies, the novel is a cautionary tale.  Reed again eschews melodrama by reporting the planet’s destruction from the viewpoint of children on Mars. The reader doesn’t see people die in floods and fires and hurricanes. The fact that people on Mars don’t know if any life remains on Earth makes the story of the planet’s fate even more powerful.

Terrestrial History is also a multi-generational saga of family members who, sometimes in conflict with each other, try to do what they think is right. The depth of the characters and their relationships with each other are the story’s strength. Reed always writes with literary flair. While Terrestrial History didn’t grip me in the same way as Mungo’s debut novel, it is a strong addition to the subgenre of apocalyptic fiction.

RECOMMENDED

The Sublet by Greer Hendricks

Published by Amazon Original Stories on April 1, 2025

“The Sublet” is a short story. Amazon makes it available to Kindle users for a couple of dollars. It’s also available in print on a self-publishing platform.

Anne is a ghostwriter. She agrees to help Melody Wells finish a self-help book. Melody is filled with New Age attitudes about self-improvement. In addition to teaching overpriced wellness classes and writing books, Melody is hawking supplements and crystals. Anne notices that Melody’s lifestyle advice is either simplistic or contradictory, but she needs the money so she starts grinding out the pages.

Anne is married to Paul. The story’s setup depicts the turmoil of a couple living in Manhattan with two kids. Melody tells Anne that she knows of an affordable sublet that would give them more space and a better view. Anne and Paul visit the apartment and, despite their inability to enter a locked closet, make a quick decision to move in. It apparently doesn’t occur to Anne that affordable rent in a Manhattan apartment with a view is going to come with a catch.

A batty neighbor tells Anne that the previous tenant drowned in the apartment’s jacuzzi. Since the apartment doesn’t have a jacuzzi, Anne chalks up the puzzling statement to age-related confusion.

After they have lived in the apartment a bit, Anne notices that there is no door in the hallway to their neighboring apartment. She also realizes that there are scratch marks on an interior wall that appear to have been made by a cat with six toes. Oh, and the supplements that Melody gave her seem to be upsetting her stomach.

This sounds like the setup to a horror story — what evil six-fingered monster lurks behind the locked door? — but the reader is not so lucky. A monster would have been a more credible answer to the mystery than the one that Greer Hendricks contrives.

Anne’s investigation of strange facts leads to a confrontation with Melody and a solution to the puzzle. The solution is both unbelievable and unbelievably dull. By the time Anne turns the tables on Melody, using a ploy she must have gleaned from movies in the 1940s — a ploy that depends on Melody being remarkably inattentive — I no longer cared what happened to Anne. Her Manhattan problems are unlikely to be of interest to anyone who doesn’t live in Manhattan, while Melody is a parody of a villain. New York City residents might relate to the story, but for me, the thrills and chills fell flat.

NOT RECOMMENDED