Women's Fiction
![Jojo Moyes - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B001HMNFPM.jpg)
Someone Else's Shoes: A Novel
INSTANT NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER!
"Very few authors have the power to make you laugh on one page and cry on the next. Moyes is one of them." -The New York Times
A story of mix-ups, mess-ups and making the most of second chances, this is the new novel from #1 New York Times bestselling author Jojo Moyes, author of Me Before You and The Giver of Stars
Who are you when you are forced to walk in someone else's shoes?
Nisha Cantor lives the globetrotting life of the seriously wealthy, until her husband announces a divorce and cuts her off. Nisha is determined to hang onto her glamorous life. But in the meantime, she must scramble to cope--she doesn't even have the shoes she was, until a moment ago, standing in.
That's because Sam Kemp – in the bleakest point of her life – has accidentally taken Nisha's gym bag. But Sam hardly has time to worry about a lost gym bag--she's struggling to keep herself and her family afloat. When she tries on Nisha's six-inch high Christian Louboutin red crocodile shoes, the resulting jolt of confidence that makes her realize something must change-and that thing is herself.
Full of Jojo Moyes' signature humor, brilliant storytelling, and warmth, Someone Else's Shoes is a story about how just one little thing can suddenly change everything.
"Very few authors have the power to make you laugh on one page and cry on the next. Moyes is one of them." -The New York Times
A story of mix-ups, mess-ups and making the most of second chances, this is the new novel from #1 New York Times bestselling author Jojo Moyes, author of Me Before You and The Giver of Stars
Who are you when you are forced to walk in someone else's shoes?
Nisha Cantor lives the globetrotting life of the seriously wealthy, until her husband announces a divorce and cuts her off. Nisha is determined to hang onto her glamorous life. But in the meantime, she must scramble to cope--she doesn't even have the shoes she was, until a moment ago, standing in.
That's because Sam Kemp – in the bleakest point of her life – has accidentally taken Nisha's gym bag. But Sam hardly has time to worry about a lost gym bag--she's struggling to keep herself and her family afloat. When she tries on Nisha's six-inch high Christian Louboutin red crocodile shoes, the resulting jolt of confidence that makes her realize something must change-and that thing is herself.
Full of Jojo Moyes' signature humor, brilliant storytelling, and warmth, Someone Else's Shoes is a story about how just one little thing can suddenly change everything.
Editorial Reviews
Praise for Someone Else's Shoes:
"This is a novel about women of a certain age who suddenly find themselves invisible - to their spouses, to their colleagues, to the world - and find pleasure in being "seen" by each other."
-The New York Times
"Nobody writes women the way Jojo Moyes does-recognizably real and complex and funny and flawed-which is what makes her novels an auto-buy for me."
-Jodi Picoult, #1 New York Times bestselling author
"A delicious comedy that's an ode to women and their friendships…Give yourself a treat with the latest from Britain's queen of women's fiction."
-People
"Freaky Friday is all grown up in this heartfelt and heartwarming tale of two women in very different circumstances....From the storyteller behind Me Before You comes a story of reinvention that just might inspire you to make a change yourself-just buy your own shoes."
-Good Housekeeping
"A heartwarming, humorous and oh-so-human story."
-Zibby Owens for Good Morning America
"Fortunes collide in this funny, warmly told story....Life-changing, heartwarming hilarity ensues."
-Reader's Digest
"Someone Else's Shoes is SO MUCH FUN. Beautiful about female friendship and brilliant on being a woman of a certain age....Exhilarating."
-Marian Keyes, bestselling author of Grown Ups
"A compelling, full-of-heart novel about the power of female friendship."
-Kirkus
"Charming…Moyes is never short on her trademark clever observations…[her] fans will have a ball."
-Publishers Weekly
"[Someone Else's Shoes] showcases Moyes' ability to portray emotion and female friendship with themes of love, betrayal, family, and ...
"This is a novel about women of a certain age who suddenly find themselves invisible - to their spouses, to their colleagues, to the world - and find pleasure in being "seen" by each other."
-The New York Times
"Nobody writes women the way Jojo Moyes does-recognizably real and complex and funny and flawed-which is what makes her novels an auto-buy for me."
-Jodi Picoult, #1 New York Times bestselling author
"A delicious comedy that's an ode to women and their friendships…Give yourself a treat with the latest from Britain's queen of women's fiction."
-People
"Freaky Friday is all grown up in this heartfelt and heartwarming tale of two women in very different circumstances....From the storyteller behind Me Before You comes a story of reinvention that just might inspire you to make a change yourself-just buy your own shoes."
-Good Housekeeping
"A heartwarming, humorous and oh-so-human story."
-Zibby Owens for Good Morning America
"Fortunes collide in this funny, warmly told story....Life-changing, heartwarming hilarity ensues."
-Reader's Digest
"Someone Else's Shoes is SO MUCH FUN. Beautiful about female friendship and brilliant on being a woman of a certain age....Exhilarating."
-Marian Keyes, bestselling author of Grown Ups
"A compelling, full-of-heart novel about the power of female friendship."
-Kirkus
"Charming…Moyes is never short on her trademark clever observations…[her] fans will have a ball."
-Publishers Weekly
"[Someone Else's Shoes] showcases Moyes' ability to portray emotion and female friendship with themes of love, betrayal, family, and ...
Readers Top Reviews
Kindle susanEile
Sweet, with likeable characters. Just like the ones in Me Before You , After You and Still Me. I've missed that in recent JoJo Moyes books.
Sissy SchaffKindl
A tale of vengeance, growth and retribution that took many paths through the pages. Don't let the tired beginning stop you from reading this book. Once the shoes made an appearance, the rest was a roller coaster ride, a very good read.
JeanieSissy Schaf
I don't think I've ever read a novel as diverse and fascinating as this. There's a bit of mystery, marital troubles and solutions, as well as laughter and friendship. The people are all different, yet they blend beautifully. But mostly it's about friendships and love. And most important of all, they get the bad guys in the end so I felt good about ending the book. A good ending is a special thing.
A Committed Reade
“Winner Take All” could have been the title of this novel. There is much about it to discuss, but what stands out to me is the character development that takes place in each of the players within the engaging story. Not a tried and true plot but a carefully realized and gradual telling that has each of the women described slowly realizing their almost unlimited personal power as they move through the days that the author describes. And she does so flawlessly! A truly feel good read.
RELUCTANT BOOMERA
Excellent book - hard to put down - the story of two women from two very different lives who meet under unusual circumstances and teach each other life lessons unintentionally. It is humorous, ironic, intelligent and good-hearted. Life is difficult and it is hard to put your guard down and let people in. This is a book that confronts this head on, and shows the magical power of good friends and good people who care about each other. The book is well-written and managed to hold my complete attention for over 400 pages. This is a good read with an optimistic core.
Short Excerpt Teaser
one
Sam stares up at the slowly lightening ceiling and practices her breathing, like the doctor advised her, as she tries to stop her 5 a.m. thoughts congealing into one enormous dark cloud above her head.
In for six, hold for three, out for seven.
I am healthy, she recites silently. My family is healthy. The dog has stopped that weeing-in-the-hall thing. There is food in the fridge and I still have a job. She slightly regrets putting in that still because the thought of her job makes her stomach clench again.
In for six, hold for three, out for seven.
Her parents are still alive. Although admittedly it can be hard to justify including that in a mental gratitude diary. Oh, Jesus. Her mother is going to make some pointed comment on Sunday about how they always visit Phil's mother, isn't she? It will come at some point between the small sherry and the over-heavy pudding, as inevitable as death, taxes and these random chin hairs. She imagines fending her off with a polite smile: Well, Mum, Nancy has just lost her husband of fifty years. She's a bit lonely just now.
But you visited her all the time when he was still alive, didn't you? she hears her mother's response.
Yes, but her husband was dying. Phil wanted to see his dad as much as possible before he shuffled off this mortal coil. We weren't having a bloody knees-up.
She realizes she is having another imaginary argument with her mother, and pulls it back, trying to put the thought into a mental box, like she read in an article, and place an imaginary mental lid on it. The lid fails resolutely to shut. She finds she has a lot of imaginary arguments, these days: with Simon at work, with her mother, with that woman who pushed in front of her at the checkout yesterday. None of these arguments ever leave her lips in real life. She just grits her teeth. And tries to breathe.
In for six, hold for three, out for seven.
I am not living in an actual war zone, she thinks. There is clean water in the taps and food on the shelves. No explosions, no guns. No famine. That's got to be something. But thinking about those poor children in war zones makes her eyes prickle with tears. Her eyes are always prickling with tears. Cat keeps telling her to go and get HRT but she still has periods and occasional hormonal spots (how is that fair?) and, anyway, there is no time to book a doctor's appointment. The last time she rang they didn't have a single one available for two weeks. What if I was dying? she had thought. And had an imaginary argument with the doctor's receptionist.
In real life, she simply said: "Oh, that's a bit far off. I'm sure I'll be fine. Thanks anyway."
She glances to her right. Phil is slumbering, his face troubled even in sleep. She wants to reach over and stroke his hair, but lately when she does that he jumps awake, looking startled and unhappy, as if she has done something cruel.
She folds her hands in front of her instead and tries to adopt a relaxed, even pose. Rest is as good as sleep, someone once told her. Just clear your thoughts, and let your body relax. Let your limbs release any tension they're holding, from the toes up. Let your feet grow heavy. Let that feeling travel slowly up to your ankles, your knees, your hips, your stom-
Ah, fuck it, says the inside of her head. It's a quarter to six. I might as well get up.
"There's no milk," says Cat. She is staring accusingly at the interior of the fridge, as if waiting for some to materialize.
"You could run to the shop?"
"I haven't got time," Cat says. "I have to do my hair."
"Well, I'm afraid I haven't got time either."
"Why?"
"Because I'm going to that gym and spa you bought me a day pass for. Bodyworks. It expires tomorrow."
"But I gave you that a year ago! And surely you'll only get a couple of hours in there if you're going to work."
"I've arranged to go in a bit late. At least it's right near the office. I just haven't had any time." She never has any time. She says it like a mantra, along with "I'm so tired." But nobody has any time. Everybody is tired.
Cat raises her eyebrows. For her, self-care is a necessity, coming before the more prosaic needs of money, housing and nutrition.
"I keep telling you, Mum, use it or lose it," says Cat, who eyes her mother's increasingly indistinct hip-to-waist ratio with barely concealed horror. She closes the fridge. "Ugh. I just don't know why Dad can't even buy a carton of milk."
"Leave him a note," she says, gathering her things. "Maybe he'll be feeling better today."
"And maybe monkeys will fly out of my butt."
Cat stalks out of the kitchen in the way that only a nineteen-year-old young woman can. A few sec...
Sam stares up at the slowly lightening ceiling and practices her breathing, like the doctor advised her, as she tries to stop her 5 a.m. thoughts congealing into one enormous dark cloud above her head.
In for six, hold for three, out for seven.
I am healthy, she recites silently. My family is healthy. The dog has stopped that weeing-in-the-hall thing. There is food in the fridge and I still have a job. She slightly regrets putting in that still because the thought of her job makes her stomach clench again.
In for six, hold for three, out for seven.
Her parents are still alive. Although admittedly it can be hard to justify including that in a mental gratitude diary. Oh, Jesus. Her mother is going to make some pointed comment on Sunday about how they always visit Phil's mother, isn't she? It will come at some point between the small sherry and the over-heavy pudding, as inevitable as death, taxes and these random chin hairs. She imagines fending her off with a polite smile: Well, Mum, Nancy has just lost her husband of fifty years. She's a bit lonely just now.
But you visited her all the time when he was still alive, didn't you? she hears her mother's response.
Yes, but her husband was dying. Phil wanted to see his dad as much as possible before he shuffled off this mortal coil. We weren't having a bloody knees-up.
She realizes she is having another imaginary argument with her mother, and pulls it back, trying to put the thought into a mental box, like she read in an article, and place an imaginary mental lid on it. The lid fails resolutely to shut. She finds she has a lot of imaginary arguments, these days: with Simon at work, with her mother, with that woman who pushed in front of her at the checkout yesterday. None of these arguments ever leave her lips in real life. She just grits her teeth. And tries to breathe.
In for six, hold for three, out for seven.
I am not living in an actual war zone, she thinks. There is clean water in the taps and food on the shelves. No explosions, no guns. No famine. That's got to be something. But thinking about those poor children in war zones makes her eyes prickle with tears. Her eyes are always prickling with tears. Cat keeps telling her to go and get HRT but she still has periods and occasional hormonal spots (how is that fair?) and, anyway, there is no time to book a doctor's appointment. The last time she rang they didn't have a single one available for two weeks. What if I was dying? she had thought. And had an imaginary argument with the doctor's receptionist.
In real life, she simply said: "Oh, that's a bit far off. I'm sure I'll be fine. Thanks anyway."
She glances to her right. Phil is slumbering, his face troubled even in sleep. She wants to reach over and stroke his hair, but lately when she does that he jumps awake, looking startled and unhappy, as if she has done something cruel.
She folds her hands in front of her instead and tries to adopt a relaxed, even pose. Rest is as good as sleep, someone once told her. Just clear your thoughts, and let your body relax. Let your limbs release any tension they're holding, from the toes up. Let your feet grow heavy. Let that feeling travel slowly up to your ankles, your knees, your hips, your stom-
Ah, fuck it, says the inside of her head. It's a quarter to six. I might as well get up.
"There's no milk," says Cat. She is staring accusingly at the interior of the fridge, as if waiting for some to materialize.
"You could run to the shop?"
"I haven't got time," Cat says. "I have to do my hair."
"Well, I'm afraid I haven't got time either."
"Why?"
"Because I'm going to that gym and spa you bought me a day pass for. Bodyworks. It expires tomorrow."
"But I gave you that a year ago! And surely you'll only get a couple of hours in there if you're going to work."
"I've arranged to go in a bit late. At least it's right near the office. I just haven't had any time." She never has any time. She says it like a mantra, along with "I'm so tired." But nobody has any time. Everybody is tired.
Cat raises her eyebrows. For her, self-care is a necessity, coming before the more prosaic needs of money, housing and nutrition.
"I keep telling you, Mum, use it or lose it," says Cat, who eyes her mother's increasingly indistinct hip-to-waist ratio with barely concealed horror. She closes the fridge. "Ugh. I just don't know why Dad can't even buy a carton of milk."
"Leave him a note," she says, gathering her things. "Maybe he'll be feeling better today."
"And maybe monkeys will fly out of my butt."
Cat stalks out of the kitchen in the way that only a nineteen-year-old young woman can. A few sec...
