Tangerine, by Christine Mangan
When Alice Shipley moved to Tangier with her new husband, she wanted a fresh start. Everything that happened at Bennington College could be left behind; Morocco was her life now. But when one morning there's a knock at her door, everything changes. Out of the blue, it's Lucy Mason - her Bennington roommate, and once her closest friend. They haven't spoken since the accident more than a year ago, yet here Lucy is, inexplicably in Tangier, and undeniably back in Alice's life. As their friendship rekindles, the past is awoken from its slumber: ghosts return, the shackles tighten, and slowly but surely, Alice begins to lose her mind.
'Tangerine' was an excellent novel; I couldn't put it down. At its heart, it's a study of a toxic relationship. Lucy is besotted with Alice, her obsession so extreme that she tracks her down and follows her to Morocco. And that's only the start of it: Lucy is manipulative, controlling, gaslighting, and knows every last detail of Alice's life (whilst she shares precious little about herself). Alice, a shy and tortured woman, knows that Lucy is controlling her at every turn, but is powerless to stop her. There's something irresistible about being Lucy's friend, and even as Alice tries to walk away she is sucked ever closer into Lucy's orbit, until she begins to doubt everything she knows to be true. Mangan's exposition of this relationship was stunning and compelling; its toxicity drew me right in.
The story is told in alternating perspectives, a chapter of Alice then a chapter of Lucy, all the way through. I must admit, I sometimes think the old switch-narrator-every-chapter technique is a bit gimmicky - it's at risk of overuse (especially in YA fiction), and it doesn't automatically add value. But not here. Mangan's double viewpoint is intrinsic to the novel; she employs the technique with masterful skill, and the effect is chilling.
Hearing narration from both Alice and Lucy means that we are invited to sympathise with both women. In a book like this, where the characters are so complex and their relationship so fraught, this functions brilliantly to highlight every nuance of motive behind how they interact. A power-imbalanced, manipulative relationship is not straightforward - it's never as simple as one villain and one weakling. By taking us inside the minds of both, Mangan reveals exactly how and why their friendship has become so dangerously intense. She makes the scenario (and each of the women!) utterly believable, frighteningly real.
Having access to both sides also takes you on a serious emotional ride. When we read as Alice, we're desperate for her to stand up for herself and to trust her own judgement. We ache with sympathy and smart with frustration, and (maddeningly) we are the only ones who know she is telling the truth about Lucy. It's absolutely devious writing to make the reader the only person to believe Alice, because we are the only ones who cannot intervene. So clever. When we read as Lucy, we experience a sinister insight into a dangerous mind. There's something macabrely thrilling about watching her plot her schemes, and we're overcome with a strange pity as we learn how she thinks. Mangan makes us complicit in Lucy's machinations; we resent her and somehow admire her at the same time. Writing that makes you feel that much is writing worth applauding.
It wasn't just the characterisation that hooked me in to 'Tangerine': the plot was ripping. When you read this book, you are simultaneously watching a life unravel and an intricate scheme come to fruition. Lucy's success is Alice's downfall, and the whole narrative twists together towards that double-edged conclusion. It is suspenseful, pacy, full of shock turns, and completely gripping. The very definition of page-turning, really: I kept wanting to pick it back up, and when I did, my eyes couldn't go fast enough.
In addition to all of this, Mangan has a wonderful flair for describing atmosphere. There's plenty of tension in 'Tangerine', not only between Alice and Lucy but between both of them and Alice's husband, who is having an affair and trying to hide it. Their dialogue sizzles, especially when all three are in conversation, and Mangan matches the crackling zip of the speech with some gorgeous language describing the mood. 'There was silence,' Alice tells us in one such moment, 'and I could feel the tension - thick, like the Moroccan air - huddling around us.' The tension becomes tangible, the air another person in the room. The density of it, the weight of it: time and again, Mangan captures the atmosphere exquisitely.
All of this was set in the seductive, twisting market streets of Tangier. Seedy bars, bustling souks and a beating sun complemented the intoxicating story in a melting pot of sensuous thrill. I absolutely loved it, and would highly recommend.
You can buy 'Tangerine' from Waterstones by following this link (I'll receive a small commission if you do):
Tangerine, Christine Mangan - Waterstones
