Mrs.

Every so often I feel like reading about rich people in New York. Not just any book—it needs to be a bit sociological (I don't want to ogle, ahem, but to analyze) and if it provides some schadenfreude, well, I won't complain. So when I heard that Caitlin Macy had written a new novel (18 years after her first) I knew it was the one. Not only is she well-attuned to pecuniary nuance, she can really tell a story! As in her earlier book, The Fundamentals of Play, which riffs on The Great Gatsby, she starts with a classic of class-consciousness: Mrs. is full of echoes of The House of Mirth—social-climbing, stock market shenanigans, addiction, blackmail. Her focus is a trio of women from different social strata but she also voices characters from a Wall Street trainee to a seven-year-old with hilarious and touching fluency, saving most of her snark for a Greek chorus of private pre-school mommies. After laughing and tearing up and thoroughly enjoying myself, I came to feel what I was least expecting: a kind of Go, Girl! compassion for Phillippa, Gwen, and Minnie.