Book Review: The Note by Alafair Burke

May, Kelsey and Lauren have been friends for over two decades now, drifting in and out of touch before a series of personal scandals cemented their bond for good. While May and Kelsey have been best friends since they were kids, Lauren had been the head counselor at the music camp they’d attended each summer. Now in their thirties and forties, the women have each made the headlines for less than terrific reasons. Their relationship with each other was one of the few things that carried them through their seasons of public notoriety.

Now that the COVID lockdowns are over, they’re planning on enjoying a fun if low-key girls’ weekend in the Hamptons. May and Kelsey are both Boston-based, but Lauren lives in Houston and is flying in to stay at the house that wealthy Kelsey has rented for them on the beach. May’s fiance Josh worries that introverted May might sour on being in such close proximity with other people for so long, but she assures him that she’ll be fine.

And at first everything goes splendidly. But when the women decide to have dinner in town, the experience of someone rudely stealing their parking space – and then appearing to gloat about the steal – brings out a streak of righteous anger:

“I know exactly why it made you so mad,” May said, leaning forward as a customer at the next table slid behind her to leave. “Because they knew we were waiting. And they didn’t care. Because something is broken in people now. Rules don’t matter. Basic decency doesn’t matter. And it’s not just that they did it. They were proud of it. They loved getting away with it. It’s like there’s no such thing as shame anymore. So it’s not just about a parking spot. It’s the whole fucking society.” She realized that Kelsey and Lauren were sharing an amused look. “What? I’m serious. People are objectively horrible now.”

Fueled by alcohol and indignation, the three joke about getting their own back against the smug couple who stole their spot. May, who is Asian American, and Lauren, who is Black, find catharsis in writing a mean note on a cocktail napkin. They have no intention of doing anything else with it but Kelsey, who is white, has other ideas.

On the last day of their shared vacation, Lauren is surprised to recognize a face on a Missing Persons poster. The man from the couple they’d been so annoyed with has gone missing. She thinks that that’s a weird coincidence, until Kelsey admits that she left their poisonous note under the windshield wiper of the couple’s car while her friends had been elsewhere. Law professor May immediately wants to call the police but her friends beg her to reconsider. Any public attention could bring their old scandals roaring back into the spotlight, the last thing that any of them need. 

Against her better instincts, May agrees. Her rule-following nature, however, has her doing something that will lead the police to their doors anyway. As the investigation into the missing man wears on, May will discover that her friends have been keeping potentially deadly secrets from her. Will their friendships survive what is starting to look more and more like murder?

Alafair Burke’s latest suspense novel captures the interior lives of three very strong but different women. Almost as engrossing as her examination of her main characters’ psyches is her depiction of the post-lockdown zeitgeist that combined a growing lack of civic-mindedness with a slanderously judgmental attitude. While I disagreed with her criticism of cancel culture, I did appreciate the way she explored how conflicting pressures can cause people to behave badly, in ways they almost don’t expect of themselves. May, for example, often acts in bewilderingly off-putting ways. It’s not that she doesn’t have reason to, though, as she confides in Lauren:

“You don’t understand. It’s my mother. Her culture. Her whole reason for having a daughter in America. All the sacrifices she made–I’m the outcome. I can’t be bad, I can’t fail. I can’t just be average. It’s not fucking fair.” In that moment, May didn’t sound sad or insecure or worried. She sounded angry. She sounded pissed.

It was a familiar feeling that Lauren had been ingrained to hide from an early age. She hadn’t gotten to where she was by showing her anger. And there was no question in Lauren’s mind that May’s anger had always been there, simmering beneath the perfect, polite surface. If she had to follow the rules, so should everyone else.

I will always be here for books that seek to explore, understand and provide an outlet for feminine anger, which The Note very clearly is. It’s also a great depiction of the way that its protagonists grow and change – or not, when they don’t need to – for the better.