The Perfect Couple (Nantucket #3), by Elin Hilderbrand
The Perfect Couple by Elin Hilderbrand
My rating: 1 of 5 stars
“The Perfect Couple” by Elin Hilderbrand had all the makings of a gripping narrative—a murder mystery combined with romance, set against the picturesque backdrop of Nantucket.
The story follows the wedding of Benji and Celeste, a supposedly perfect couple, but things take a darker turn when the maid of honour is found dead on the morning of the wedding.
As the “mystery” unfolds, it’s clear that Hilderbrand is more interested in exploring the petty dramas and secrets of the wealthy elite than crafting a compelling whodunit. The revelations, when they come, are bog-standard and boring, lacking any real tension or surprises.
The romance was basically nonexistent as Celeste and her love interest simply fall in love at first glance. Yes, it happens, but as a story element, it’s just lazy.
Another problem were the characters themselves: Benji, for instance, emerged as an exceedingly annoying and shallow character. His emotional turmoil following the death on his wedding day only served to accentuate his self-centredness.
»Benji is experiencing a host of very confusing emotions. He is upset, shocked, and horrified just like everyone else. And yet also mixed in there are anger and resentment. It’s his wedding day! His parents have gone to enormous effort and expense to make this wedding unforgettable and now it’s all for naught.«
His response to Celeste the murder of Celeste’s supposedly-best friend was selfish and shallow, and his treatment of Celeste was appalling.
»She was lucky to be here, lucky she had a friend like you, she didn’t deserve you, wasn’t worthy of you, Celeste. And furthermore, she probably did this to herself! You told me once that she stockpiled pills and considered suicide, so what’s to say that’s not what this is? She orchestrated this to ruin our big day!«
What a champ, right?
His fiancée and soon-to-be wife, Celeste, is, to him, like an exotic creature Benji feels compelled to possess. And they first met at the zoo.
»Celeste is like a rare butterfly that Benji was somehow able to capture. That comparison is, no doubt, inappropriate on many different levels, but that’s how he thinks of her in his private mind where no one can judge him, that she’s like an exotic bird or butterfly.«
The portrayal of other characters, too, left much to be desired. Tag, the playboy, and Greer, the snobby housewife, were reductionist caricatures that failed to elicit any emotional engagement.
Celeste herself is a calculating, opportunistic person who is more concerned with money and security than actual emotions.
Merritt, her friend, is little more than a sounding board for Celeste’s problems, and even that relationship feels strained and inauthentic.
Celeste’s inner monologue often revolved around whether a particular luxury item or location would be enough to replace love, and her dialogue was peppered with infantile statements about her own insecurities.
»How will it work? Celeste asked Benji. M-M-Money, I m-m-mean. Once we’re m-m-married? I’ll put your name on my accounts, Benji said. We’ll get you an ATM card, a checkbook. Once I turn thirty-five, I’ll have access to the trust from my Garrison grandparents, so there will be that money as well. Celeste has wondered since then how much money is in the Garrison trust. A million dollars? Five million? Twenty million? What is the amount that takes the place of love? What about m-my salary? Celeste had asked. Keep it for yourself, Benji said.«
One might argue that these character flaws are intentional and serve the broader purpose of Hilderbrand’s social commentary. However, even if this were her intent, the execution falls woefully short of crafting a compelling and nuanced narrative. The incessant, somewhat trite observations and paper-thin plot developments were monotonous, testing my patience with each page.
As if to punctuate the already dire state of the narrative, the denouement lacked any semblance of satisfaction, providing neither closure nor contemplation. The novel just falls over and silently dies.
I’m left feeling like I’ve wasted precious reading time on a narrative that fails to engage on any level. Reading this novel felt like an exercise in endurance rather than enjoyment.
One star out of five.
Ceterum censeo Putin esse delendam
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