Ripe by Sarah Rose Etter

Published by Scribner on July 11, 2023

An insecure young woman named Cassie moves to San Francisco, gets a job in the tech world, rents an apartment she can’t afford, uses coke to keep up with work that doesn’t seem terribly demanding, is disparaged by co-workers because she doesn’t possess skills that her job doesn’t require, and spends most of her time thinking about the black hole that hovers over her existence. She stresses about wildfires and Covid-19 and a missed period. She stresses about whether to have an abortion. Maybe some readers will relate to Cassie and appreciate Ripe for that reason. I enjoyed Sarah Rose Etter’s writing style despite its forced cleverness but found little about the story to be fresh or engaging.

Cassie was essentially booted out of her house by parents who likely grew weary of her moodiness. She moved to San Francisco and took a job as the head writer for a marketing team at a “unicorn startup” that gathers data “to target users and drive them to make purchases online.” She is working in that position when the novel starts, although Etter supplies flashbacks to her backstory.

Cassie’s CEO wants to destroy their largest competitor. To that end, he gleefully accepts Cassie’s proposal to hire a hacker to cause a massive data breach that will irreparably injure the competitor’s reputation. Cassie doesn’t seem to have any ethical standard that would drive her away from such sleazy business tactics, much less prevent her from suggesting them. Nor does she have a sufficient sense of self-worth to stand up to co-workers who undermine her to promote their own advancement.

None of this makes Cassie an attractive character. Had she found motivation to change her life for the better, the novel might have had merit as a story of redemption. The bleak ending reflects the reality of a bleak life, but it’s difficult to feel much sympathy for a young woman with a six figure salary whose problems don’t compare to those of the homeless people she steps over on her way to her overpriced apartment. (She refuses to share with roommates to cut her expenses, another example of her unwillingness to implement simple solutions to problems that would be easy to address if she focused first on overcoming her depression.)

Etter begins chapters with definitions of words (black hole, family, intimacy, betrayal) and offers examples of how the words define her life. That’s modestly clever, even if Etter’s reliance on the gimmick seems a bit forced by the novel’s end. Etter’s dark humor, including her depiction of the unethical startup, is inconsistently amusing but unconvincing. Cassie’s CEO is a stereotype and therefore unworthy of mockery. Her co-workers are stereotypes of backbiters climbing the ladder of success. Cassie’s lover is a stereotype of a guy in an open relationship who just uses women for sex (although he actually seems like a nicer guy than the stereotype would suggest). None of the characters, apart from Cassie, feel authentic.

Cassie regularly reports about the status of her black hole. When she’s having a pleasant (usually sexual) experience, it shrinks. When she’s stressed, it expands. Usually it’s expanding. It would be difficult to find a more obvious metaphor for depression than a black hole. From time to time, Cassie explains superficial facts about black holes that she has discovered in her research. Maybe those facts advance the metaphor but they add little to the story. Etter’s repeated use of a pomegranate as a metaphor is at least more interesting than the black hole, although I never quite understood what a pomegranate is supposed to represent.

Images of pain and death pervade the story. Cassie sees someone set himself on fire. Homeless people are howling. Men are “split open on the train tracks.” All of this foreshadows a dark ending — literally dark, given the presence of a black hole that swallows all light and hope.

Etter makes shallow observations like “Love is just as painful as its absence” but we’ve heard that before, haven’t we? Cassie has a real self and a fake self (maybe a riff on T.S. Eliot). She has issues with her parents. She’s undermined at work by co-workers seeking to pull themselves up by pulling her down. Abortion protestors try to shame her. All of these scenes have been done to death in fiction. There is nothing new or fresh in Ripe.

It’s important to understand that depression is a serious disease that overcomes the ability to find a reason to live. I get it. At the same time, it is difficult to find value in the bleak story of a woman who is capable of functioning in the world but incapable of making even a rudimentary effort to overcome her depression. In the absence of original storytelling, I can’t recommend the novel, even for its sharp prose.

NOT RECOMMENDED