Let me start off by saying that, with The Ivy Years series, Sarina Bowen became #1 with a bullet on my list of favorite contemporary authors. Her blend of humor, sensitivity, romantic instinct, steam, and generally good writing really came together in a fantastic series.
The Fifteenth Minute is no exception in technical merit. But, to me, it had issues that weren’t so in its predecessors. A lot of them have to do with the underlying premise, which I’ll get to more in a minute. But before I go into specifics, I’ll summarize by saying that weight of the Situation overshadowed the protagonists to the extent that the characterization of both of them suffered, and said Situation was eventually resolved, in my view, WAY too neatly.
SPOILERS What we have is that our male lead, Daniel aka DJ, has been accused of sexual misconduct. It’s clear from the outset that this is a false accusation; he’s innocent. So we’re not being asked to sympathize with a former rapist or anything — that’s promising. But, this is such a touchy subject, and Bowen so clearly knows her way around feminist discourse, that I find myself surprised and, indeed, dismayed, that when it came to the overall mission of shedding light on the inadequacy of universities to adjudicate rape and sexual assault cases, she chose to hang her mantle on a false accusation. The statistics out there about false accusations are impossible to nail down, but I think it is pretty well accepted that there are far more assaults that are never reported than there are false accusations. Suffice it to say, these are rare. It’s not productive to pretend they don’t exist, but as a part of the fabric of sexual assault on college campuses, they’re a red herring.
If I put away my bemusement over this decision, I’ll grant Bowen that she did a good job navigating the trickiness of the concept. DJ acted exactly how I would expect any fundamentally good guy accused of something terrible that he didn’t do to act. And, furthermore, Bowen didn’t villainize the girl who accused him either. There’s no question she was wrong, but her reasons weren’t vengeful or “crazy,” as goes the narrative about those who allegedly bring up false accusations; she caved to patriarchal pressure from her religious father who was hell-bent on defending and reclaiming her “purity” by re-framing the encounter as assault. In essence: there is no excuse that ever truly justifies what she did, but when it comes to doing right by female characters in a fictional story, Bowen made misogyny and the patriarchy the true culprits.
END SPOILERS
Lianne is a good character. She’s sympathetic, despite being a multi-millionaire, and she’s got geeky hobbies, including hacking and being a total boss at her MMORPG. Her journey through the story is how she’s trying to strike out on her own against the Hollywood machine, namely, her manager who doesn’t listen to her or have her back. But she feels caught between Hollywood and real life; she’s instantly recognizable, and whispers and awkwardness follow her everywhere. She and DJ click really well, but they spend a lot of time away from the world — her avoiding paparazzi and rude stares, and him laying low while his case is open.
DJ came across as a little blandly perfect to me. I think because of his backstory, Bowen overcompensated in making him Unquestionably Good. I don’t know. I really don’t have much to say about him, other than that he was a good fit for Lianne. But he is his baggage, and the way that it’s wrapped up at the end is over in a flash with only a short epilogue afterward to get to know the unburdened DJ, which is hardly any time at all (though he does make the most of it with regards to helping Lianne out on her arc.)
It’s like I said at the beginning — Bowen is a top-caliber writer in the genre and this series is a standout. My expectations are very high, and I had a hard time shaking off niggling feelings of discomfort over the premise. Possibly because of that, I was sensitive to how it undermined a deeper exploration of DJ himself, or even of the relationship between him and Lianne. As sweet as they were together, the relationship on the page remained somewhat superficial. They both have encyclopedic music knowledge. They’re both short. And they are attracted to each other. (Obviously.) I’m possibly being way harsh, Tai, but I can’t have all these thoughts in my head and very well not write them down. Let me re-iterate for a final time, though, that this is still a good book; even if it’s not Bowen’s best, it’s still better than most New Adult I’ve read. 3.5 nitpicky stars
