Anna-Marie McLemore’s The Influencers is one of the most interesting, frustrating, thought-provoking books I’ve almost not finished in a long time. We start with a chapter title telling us that there has been a murder, but before we hear anything about the crime or the victim, an anonymous chorus called “we the followers of Mother May I” tells us about May Iverson, mommy vlogger and influencer, and her 5 adult children, who she named April, June, July, January, and March. The murder victim is May’s second husband, August, who is not the father of any of her children. The Influencers has several mysteries, but it isn’t really a who dunnit. It’s a family drama, a look at motherhood, a study of the impact of turning a family into a consumable product and the parasocial relationships that form around individual members of the family, and racism.
There are a few crimes central to the story, the murder, a fire, someone is leaking unedited footage that reveals ugly truths about the Iverson family, possibly the youngest, March, is missing, and more.
The book marks time by how much time has passed since August’s murder, but the story is told like a mosaic. We get short bursts of point of view from the daughters, May, and different groups of viewers. The picture becomes clear only when most of the fragments are in place. For all that the chapters advance time linearly, the story jumps around in time. We hear about things that happened, but it seems random until the piece with the context is shared.
There were a few points in the first half of the book where I had to decide if it was worth my time to keep reading. I did, and in the end I thought it was a worthwhile read. McLemore has put a distance between the reader and the story, which initially frustrated me, but now that I’ve finished it, I think it was a good choice. May turned herself into Mother May I, changing her children’s last name from Iniesta to Iverson and white washed the Latine until it was more a light dusting than a racial or cultural identity. She drew in fans with “remember, you are already a good mom,” while being an awful mother to her children. This is a story ripe for big emotions and catharsis for the reader, but McLemore creates a distance so that we think about our own relationship to the story.
I am leaving out a lot. But to dive more deeply would ruin the experience for fresh readers.
I received this as an advance reader copy from The Dial Press and NetGalley. My opinions are my own, freely and honestly given.
