THE NEW ANIMALS

New Zealander Adam centers her novel around a doomed fashion photo shoot for which the clothes will not arrive in time.

It is not a merry band: hairstylist Carla, who is obsessed with aging out of the business, lives with a murderous pit bull, originally bought as a prop for a shoot; Tommy, the head of the brand (along with nonentities Cal and Kurt) is insulated from all sense of responsibility by his wealth; Elodie, the makeup artist, is described as sweet, fat, and in bed with everyone. There are generational divides and monologues about being directionless and low-paid. Suddenly, the plot unexpectedly swerves, and one of the characters—up to that point a minor one—goes on a cataclysmic, folkloric odyssey that reminds readers that fashion is, in the end, just waste. Adam’s writing style can be plain, and the characters feel flat. The book seems to be aiming for a Bret Easton Ellis–style affectlessness, but you can’t be sure the lifelessness is intentional in lines like, “His father just kept making more and more money and he believed in Tommy in a way that infected Tommy with hope and love.” The twist at the end, in which the book’s messaging becomes political-cartoon-clear, will surprise readers, possibly because there is no setup for it. It includes apparently earnest attempts to equate scenes of environmental desolation with the horror of being fat while working in fashion. If that sounds unconvincing, it is. Adam writes, “Kurt loves unicorns, he feels like they really say something about the pre-apocalyptic mess they were all drowning in. Sing, they said. Dance.” In this book, there are no unicorns—only a devious pit bull waiting to attack and some fashionistas with a hard bite.

An unpredictable end punctuates an otherwise prosaic read—for a book about style, there isn’t much of it.