The It Girl

“As Hannah stood there, watching the beat-up Mini drive away, she had the strangest feeling—as though, in stepping out of the car, she had sloughed off her old identity like a second skin, leaving a sharper, fresher, less worn version of herself to face the world—a version prickling with newness.”

Establishing control of identity is a theme that Ware develops in the opening chapters. Hannah feels a lack of belonging to the community in which she grew up, and she feels certain she can find a sense of belonging at Oxford.

“[T]he terrifying unpredictability of the internet, the horrors of a reality where you could be ambushed at any moment by a reporter or a curious stranger, or by the death of your best friend—into a world where everything was ordered. In books, a bad thing might happen on page 207, that was true. But it would always happen on page 207, no matter what. And when you reread, you could see it coming, watch out for the signs, prepare yourself.”

April’s murder and the subsequent media attention decimated Hannah’s carefully crafted life plan. Instead of confronting her past or letting go of it completely, Hannah runs away both literally (by living in Edinburgh) and figuratively (by turning to books to escape). The trauma from her past—and the lingering guilt she experiences—prevent Hannah from moving on with her life. She’s trapped in a middle ground from which she wants to escape.

“[T]he same way she didn’t quite believe the child in her belly was real until she saw the images on the screen, heard the strange, subterranean whoosh and echo of its heart.”

Hannah’s pregnancy symbolizes being stuck between a “before” and “after,” where reality is harder to grasp. In addition, she thinks of her life in terms of “before” April’s murder and “after.” She’s trapped by her past, living in limbo until she faces her guilt and unmasks April’s murderer. This is also true of Hannah’s pregnancy: She has difficulty actualizing her baby while simultaneously feeling protective of it.

“[H]e’s generous with his joys, but when he’s in pain or afraid, he holds his emotions close to his chest, as if he can’t bear being seen to be hurting—a legacy, she supposes, of a military father and a boarding education at a school where showing emotion was for sissies and crybabies.”

Will’s difficulty expressing himself emotionally demonstrates the downfalls of elitism and elitist parenting. Moreover, his unwillingness to share his emotional vulnerabilities freely with Hannah leaves the impression that he could be hiding things from her. His closed-off manner adds to her suspicion that he’s April’s murderer.

“‘Hugh and I are very good friends,’ April said with a kind of purr. She reached across and pinched Hugh’s cheek, and the scarlet tide rose in his face again, this time reaching to his ears. There was a brittle silence.”

Ware makes use of the ambiguity surrounding April and Hugh’s shared past. Hugh is obviously disturbed or at least embarrassed by whatever April refers to concerning how they know each other. The conditions in which April and Hugh met aren’t explained until the final chapter.

“She wanted to be as cool and daring and sexy as April, who sprawled across the circle from her with a wicked glint. She wanted to be brash, sardonic Emily sitting opposite, totally unfazed by the fact that she had lost her jumper, skirt, belt, and shoes, was down to a thigh-skimming shirt and not much else. She wanted to be one of these people, she was one of these people, so she was just going to have to act like it.”

Unlike April, who’s very confident, Hannah feels compelled to change herself and be more like her peers at Pelham. While she knows she deserves to be at Oxford just as much, if not more, than her friends, Hannah cares deeply about how her peers see her, especially Will.

“[T]he hip, artistic district of Edinburgh, still relatively affordable compared to New Town—if anything in central Edinburgh could really be called affordable. But the area has grown up with them, its village vibe luring in young families alongside the bars and coffee shops.”

Edinburgh’s “hip” vibe contrasts with the dark academia aesthetic developed at Oxford in the “before” chapters. The novel’s dual settings match Hannah’s persona, reflecting how she looks, acts, and defines herself while living in the two different locations.

“She’s standing there, holding her breath, trying to imagine her perfect future in this perfect life, with this perfect man, when her phone rings again. ‘Mum?’ she says. ‘We got cut off.’ ‘Is that Hannah Jones?’ says a male voice. ‘You don’t know me. I’m a reporter with—’”

The exact moment that Hannah envisions her idyllic future with Will, a reporter calls her, presumably to discuss Neville’s death. This moment demonstrates how the trauma from April’s murder follows Hannah, preventing her from actualizing the perfect life she craves. She hangs up and immediately feels guilty about her life with Will—one April might have had if she’d lived. Hannah feels trapped by her past, unable to fully accept her identity as a wife and mother.

“‘Look, he’s got to be fifty if he’s a day, maybe even sixty,’ Ryan said. ‘That’s my granddad’s age—and that’s just what they’re like, aren’t they? Old blokes. Different generation. You’ve got to make allowances. He probably didn’t mean any harm.’”

Ryan’s perspective on Neville lends complexity to Neville’s character, adding to a growing list of doubts about his guilty murder conviction. While Hannah views Neville as a dangerous creep (perhaps rightfully so), that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s a murderer.

“There were clothes everywhere: Designer garments piled up in corners. Beaded tops slung over lamps. Jimmy Choos hanging casually by a strap from a desk chair. But not just clothes. Half-drunk cups of coffee languished on the windowsill, sporting an extravagant coating of mold. Books were scattered like splay-winged birds. An open bottle of pills spilled across the nightstand. A half-eaten doughnut leached grease into a pile of essays, and a makeup palette lay burst open on the rug, colored powder ground into the carpet pile.”

The description of April’s room further develops her It Girl persona. Her living space blends designer clothes and grunge. She cares little about boring things like a tidy room but very much about appearance and style.

“April had been one of an early handful to download the app and she had known, somehow, that this would be big. Now Hannah scrolls back through ancient selfies, with sun-soaked filters and frames to make them look like Polaroids. There are photos of April draped across punts, pictures from college bars, a snap of some tuxedo-attired boy being led by the tie down St. Aldates.”

April’s social media presence represents the new generation of It Girls. Those of previous generations gained their notoriety through gossip and tabloids, but the invention of social media allows It Girls to better control their image. April’s Instagram aesthetic combines that of an artsy party girl with innovative style and glamorous fashion—a traditional It Girl image.

“Hannah feels something clench inside her, a mix of grief and anger and…oh, she doesn’t even know what emotions anymore. For a long moment she stares at the picture—at the two of them, so heartbreakingly young and vulnerable—and happy. Happy in a way that she can’t remember being for a very long time. The urge to reach out through the years and warn the two girls in the photo is almost painfully strong—so strong that, suddenly, Hannah can’t bear it anymore.”

Hannah’s guilt over being unable to save her best friend becomes so unbearable that it drives her actions throughout the “After” plot. April’s Instagram page not only helped define her It Girl persona but also froze her identity in time, cutting short any possibility of growth or change. April will forever be known as an It Girl, though Hannah knows there’s much more to her identity.

“Hannah picked up her own glass, put it to her lips, and took a gulp to match April’s. She nearly choked. It was pretty much pure alcohol, from what she could tell. In fact, it tasted like almost neat gin. ‘Jesus,’ she spluttered, setting down the glass. Her eyes were stinging. The Chantecaille lipstick had left a deep rose imprint on the glass. ‘What’s in this?’”

Hannah’s lipstick—a gift from April—symbolizes the cool, elite, attractive crowd at Oxford that she wants to be part of. The expensive cosmetic transforms her appearance, making her look the part. However, Hannah wants to study and get to bed at a reasonable hour. She dislikes the strong drinks April orders and worries about consuming so much alcohol.

“[T]hey don’t discuss the fact that neither his parents nor his sister came to their wedding, and have never really welcomed Hannah into the family. They skirt round the fact that Hannah’s mum visits regularly and helps out, the fact that Hannah’s dad contributed most of the furniture when they moved in together and guaranteed the rent on their first flat, while Will’s family basically pretend Hannah doesn’t exist. All of that Hannah can put up with, because it’s Will’s family, not him.”

Elitism and Elitist Politics complicate Hannah and Will’s marriage. She can look past her elitist in-laws because she believes that he’s different from his family. However, she’s sensitive to any superiority or controlling tendencies she observes in Will and grows resentful when he makes demands of her.

“[T]hat metaphor is a little too close to the truth, and it reveals something she has refused to admit to herself for a long time. For there are messy, wriggling, unfinished ends putrefying beneath the surface of what happened that night—things that she has refused to think about and look at for a long time. And there should not be.”

While amplifying the novel’s dark, disturbing mood, this passage marks a change in Hannah, who previously hid from the unanswered questions surrounding April’s death. Knowing that she can’t move forward without answering these questions, Hannah decides to face her past.

“‘It—it looks charming,’ Hugh said, blushing. Even after almost eight months eating, drinking, and socializing together, it was plain that April still made him nervous. ‘Very classical.’

‘And?’ April said. She was fishing, but Hannah couldn’t blame her.

‘You’re absolutely superb, April.’ Hugh took the hint obediently. These kind of old-fashioned courtesies were his comfort zone.”

Hugh is given limited character development in the novel’s “Before” and “After” sections. His interactions with April are always awkward and strained, which is a clue that problems lurk in their relationship. April always manages to control Hugh, and he always gives in to April’s demands.

“Emily, like all women who’d ever been alone and afraid at night, understood the strange mix of guilt, disgust, and self-hatred she was experiencing, and knew exactly how she was feeling.”

Through the various friendships, the novel explores the idea of true friends knowing each other so well that they can understand the others’ experiences, fears, and motivations. Emily approaches Hannah with empathy, validating her experience and supporting her. Emily’s kindness contrasts with other characters who use their closeness and knowledge about their friends as a weapon.

“‘Carne wasn’t exactly tolerant of slackers, but it felt like the masters were on your side, helping you to keep up. Pelham…it just feels like you’re struggling alone, afraid of letting everyone down. Do you know what I mean?’ Hannah said nothing. She wasn’t sure what she could say. The truth was, she didn’t feel that way, and she hadn’t found the jump nearly as hard as she had feared. She had never felt particularly like anyone at Dodsworth was on her side.”

Hugh’s revelation that he struggles with school provides a rare glimpse into the deeper parts of his character. In comparing her background to Hugh’s and noticing how Hugh’s prep school background coddled him, Hannah highlights that elitist politics can be limiting for those whom society expects to have an advantage. Because Hannah had to work very hard without the benefits and privileges that come with wealth, she was better prepared for the rigorous academic environment at Oxford.

“It wasn’t April. It never is. For this is not the first time this has happened—not the first time she’s seen a cropped blond head through a crowd and hurried towards it, her heart pounding, to find a teenage boy or a forty-something woman looking at her in surprise. It is never April, she reflects as she turns slowly on her heel and retraces her steps back to the junction, back in the direction of Hugh’s practice. It never will be. But she will never stop looking.”

Hannah’s psychological distress, including her visions of her deceased friend, qualifies The It Girl as a psychological thriller when it would otherwise simply be a crime novel. Knowing her own account of the evening of April’s murder is unreliable, Hannah relies on her friends, specifically Hugh, to fill in the gaps in her memory. Hugh takes advantage of Hannah’s mental anguish, manipulating her into believing he tried his best to save April. The fact that Hannah can’t remember anything past seeing the open door, as well as her consistent lingering guilt, add layers to the theory that Hannah is April’s murderer.

“Lying awake at night beside her sleeping mother, trying to reconstruct what had happened, what she could have done differently, what she might have missed, Hannah came to think of her existence as divided into two sharp halves—before and after. Before, everything was fine. After, everything was broken.”

The narrative structure mirrors Hannah’s perspective on her life with a clearly defined “before” and “after.” This moment in the text marks the beginning of Hannah’s “after” identity, which is a reaction to the trauma she experienced. Hannah changes from becoming a driven, ambitious student and loyal friend to becoming reclusive and unhappy, working a job for which she’s overqualified.

“She was swept along by events ten years ago, and she has spent every year since struggling against that feeling of powerlessness and panic. This time she is not going to sit there while Geraint digs around in her past and lawyers do things behind the scenes. She’s going to take control.”

While she could have simply cooperated with Geraint while he investigated April’s murder, Hannah decides to take matters into her own hands. She previously allowed the police to investigate, the lawyers to prosecute, and the media to tell the story of April’s murder. Motivated by the guilt of leaving things unsolved for so long, Hannah investigates April’s murder to regain control of her life.

“How can she be having these doubts? This is Will—who wrote to her, month after month, year after year, even when she was too sad and broken to reply. Will, who came to find her in Edinburgh, and in doing so turned the city from a place of exile into a home […] And yet, in the silence of the flat, she cannot stop thinking of Hugh’s words.”

Hannah doesn’t allow her emotional connections to Ryan and Emily to stop her from considering them as suspects. However, when she has multiple good reasons to suspect Will, she struggles with pursuing her investigation further, not wanting to implicate her husband and the father of her baby. When he fed her false evidence, Hugh relied on Hannah’s loyalty to Will, thinking she’d drop the investigation to protect him.

“‘April Clarke-Cliveden was one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen,’ he says, the little sound bars rising and falling on her screen as he speaks. ‘They used to call her It Girl, because she had everything—looks, money, brains, I suppose, or she wouldn’t have been at Pelham. Everybody knew her, or knew about her. But someone took that all away from her. And I will never stop being angry about that. I want that someone to pay.’”

Neville has very little dialogue throughout the novel, and all character descriptions are from Hannah’s perspective. Not until the last chapter does Neville’s perspective become apparent. His restrained perspective demonstrates how limiting a person’s identity can seem when defined by outside sources (like the reporters who wrote about April’s murder).