![Jessie Gaynor - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B0BHTQK8PX.jpg)
The Glow: A Novel
A desperate young publicist tries to save her career by turning the charismatic leader of a grungy retreat center into the hot new self-care brand in this "wildly funny, laser-eyed" (Michael Cunningham) debut novel.
"A satire both cutting and careful in its approach, The Glow is a triumph."-Elle
ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE SUMMER: Minneapolis Star Tribune, Elle, PopSugar, Nylon, i-D, Lit Hub
Jane Dorner has two modes: PR Jane, twenty-five, chummy, and eager to sell you a feminist vibrator or a self-care/bereavement subscription box; and Actual Jane, twenty-nine, drifting through mediocre workdays and lackluster dates while paralyzed by her crushing mountain of overdue medical bills. When her job performance is called into question, Jane's last-ditch effort to preserve her livelihood and pay off her debt is to land a white whale of a client.
Enter the impossibly gorgeous Cass-whom Jane discovers scrolling through Instagram-and her unassuming husband, Tom-proprietors of a "wellness retreat" based out of a ramshackle country house that may or may not be giving off cult vibes. Suddenly Jane realizes she might have found the one ladder she can climb-if she can convince them that transforming Cass herself into a high-end wellness brand is the key to all three of their futures. Magnetic yet mysterious, Cass is primed to be an influencer: She speaks in a mix of inspirational quotes and Zen koans, eats only zucchini (the most spiritually nourishing vegetable), and has baby-perfect skin. Despite Tom's reticence about selling out, Jane sets out to mold Cass into the kind of guru who can offer inner peace and make your skin glow-all at a hefty price, of course. As Jane reckons with her own long-dormant ambitions, she wonders: Can a person really "do good" for others while profiting off them? And what parts of our selves do we lose when we trade power, influence, and beauty?
Sparklingly plotted, deliciously deadpan, and irresistibly entertaining, The Glow is a razor-sharp sendup of an industry built on the peculiar intersection of money and wellness, where health is a commodity and self-care a luxury.
"A satire both cutting and careful in its approach, The Glow is a triumph."-Elle
ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE SUMMER: Minneapolis Star Tribune, Elle, PopSugar, Nylon, i-D, Lit Hub
Jane Dorner has two modes: PR Jane, twenty-five, chummy, and eager to sell you a feminist vibrator or a self-care/bereavement subscription box; and Actual Jane, twenty-nine, drifting through mediocre workdays and lackluster dates while paralyzed by her crushing mountain of overdue medical bills. When her job performance is called into question, Jane's last-ditch effort to preserve her livelihood and pay off her debt is to land a white whale of a client.
Enter the impossibly gorgeous Cass-whom Jane discovers scrolling through Instagram-and her unassuming husband, Tom-proprietors of a "wellness retreat" based out of a ramshackle country house that may or may not be giving off cult vibes. Suddenly Jane realizes she might have found the one ladder she can climb-if she can convince them that transforming Cass herself into a high-end wellness brand is the key to all three of their futures. Magnetic yet mysterious, Cass is primed to be an influencer: She speaks in a mix of inspirational quotes and Zen koans, eats only zucchini (the most spiritually nourishing vegetable), and has baby-perfect skin. Despite Tom's reticence about selling out, Jane sets out to mold Cass into the kind of guru who can offer inner peace and make your skin glow-all at a hefty price, of course. As Jane reckons with her own long-dormant ambitions, she wonders: Can a person really "do good" for others while profiting off them? And what parts of our selves do we lose when we trade power, influence, and beauty?
Sparklingly plotted, deliciously deadpan, and irresistibly entertaining, The Glow is a razor-sharp sendup of an industry built on the peculiar intersection of money and wellness, where health is a commodity and self-care a luxury.
Editorial Reviews
"[M]oney, influence, and perfect skin do not always make for good chemistry."-Elle, "Best New Books to Read in Summer 2023"
"Gaynor is a great writer who's turned her critical eye to the self-care industry in her debut novel, The Glow. . . . Get ready to laugh (at ourselves and modern society too, of course)!"-Lit Hub, "Most Anticipated Books of 2023"
"I have been personally privy to [Jessie Gaynor's] sharp wit and slantwise observations for some time. And now you can be too, via her very funny debut novel. . . . Gaynor's humor is deadpan and piercing, the world she lambasts particular and oh-so-familiar, and there is One Particular Scene that will stick in your memory forever-but my favorite thing about the novel is that it doesn't at all go where you think it's going to go, and instead winds up being much more contemplative and subtle than most of the books to which it will inevitably be compared. It's the perfect summer read for literary people who still want great skin."-Lit Hub "Novels You Need to Read This Summer"
"A welcome dose of satire for anyone who's been duped by yoni eggs, vagina scented candles, or those TikTok tarot readers that keep saying the man ignoring your texts is actually in love with you (me, by all three)."–i-D, "Fiction to Be Excited For in 2023"
"Jessie Gaynor's wildly funny, laser-eyed novel is Jane Austen on steroids. It's that sharp, that wicked, that laceratingly true."-Michael Cunningham, Pulitzer Prize–winning author of The Hours
"Deliciously tart and fizzy and absolutely intoxicating, The Glow is like a slim can of hard kombucha: a wellness tonic for people who like to make fun of the wellness industry."-Leigh Stein, author of Self Care
"Jessie Gaynor's writing is wickedly funny and sly in its observations, pairing human truths with a setting that can only belong to our present moment. I tore through the book in a state of pure delight, pining to return to it whenever trivialities like ‘work' or ‘sleep' so rudely interrupted."
"Gaynor is a great writer who's turned her critical eye to the self-care industry in her debut novel, The Glow. . . . Get ready to laugh (at ourselves and modern society too, of course)!"-Lit Hub, "Most Anticipated Books of 2023"
"I have been personally privy to [Jessie Gaynor's] sharp wit and slantwise observations for some time. And now you can be too, via her very funny debut novel. . . . Gaynor's humor is deadpan and piercing, the world she lambasts particular and oh-so-familiar, and there is One Particular Scene that will stick in your memory forever-but my favorite thing about the novel is that it doesn't at all go where you think it's going to go, and instead winds up being much more contemplative and subtle than most of the books to which it will inevitably be compared. It's the perfect summer read for literary people who still want great skin."-Lit Hub "Novels You Need to Read This Summer"
"A welcome dose of satire for anyone who's been duped by yoni eggs, vagina scented candles, or those TikTok tarot readers that keep saying the man ignoring your texts is actually in love with you (me, by all three)."–i-D, "Fiction to Be Excited For in 2023"
"Jessie Gaynor's wildly funny, laser-eyed novel is Jane Austen on steroids. It's that sharp, that wicked, that laceratingly true."-Michael Cunningham, Pulitzer Prize–winning author of The Hours
"Deliciously tart and fizzy and absolutely intoxicating, The Glow is like a slim can of hard kombucha: a wellness tonic for people who like to make fun of the wellness industry."-Leigh Stein, author of Self Care
"Jessie Gaynor's writing is wickedly funny and sly in its observations, pairing human truths with a setting that can only belong to our present moment. I tore through the book in a state of pure delight, pining to return to it whenever trivialities like ‘work' or ‘sleep' so rudely interrupted."
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter 1
Hey, badass bitch! Thought you might be interested in the new line of non-toxic, non-flammable, BPA-free toys from Pleasure Class. C-Sweet toys are designed for the adventurous #GirlBoss. They put the OHHHHH in She-E-O. C-Sweet is for all the Nasty Women who work hard, play hard, and c*m hard;)
Sometimes it helped Jane to think of the emails like poems in which she was enacting her own mania, a little more each line.
And just in case you think this is just another basic-bitch vibrator, let me tell you about a couple of my favorite C-Sweet goodies:
-BijOoh, a subtle vibrating ring and necklace set that can take you from boardroom to bedroom
-1:1, a double-ended dildo that will touch all your bases
-The Management, a remote-controlled butt plug for not-so-hostile takeovers
Trust me: These will clit-erally change your life. Can I send you over some samples? And let me know if you're free for some mani/pedi/girl talk action soon!
xxJane
Jane Dorner had never used a butt plug, and manicures made her cuticles bleed.
At first it had been fun, the refining of Public Relations Jane. She was breezy, overly familiar, sexually omnivorous, joylessly joyful, and clever in a nonthreatening way. She was hot, but only with makeup on. She liked her shoulders but hated her arms. She wouldn't steal your boyfriend, but she might f*** his brother and tell you about that dick. She did barre and boot camp, but she was just in it to cancel out the day drinking. She thought women with visible muscles needed to take it down a notch, even though, obviously, you do you!, et cetera. She liked VIP lounges and Champagne-flavored gummi bears and USB drives shaped like baby animals. If your mother died, PR Jane would send you a gift basket a month later-one of her clients, UnBereave, was a subscription box service that focused on self-care after tragedy, including lavender bath bombs they'd rebranded as bath blooms-but she probably wouldn't be able to go to the funeral, because she already had tickets to see her college roommate in LA for the long weekend. She'd post her brunch-themed sign from the Women's March and go to brunch after. She was up for whatever, but she wasn't someone you called in any kind of emergency. PR Jane was twenty-five and she figured she had two more good years before she had to really knuckle down and listen to the answers to her questions.
Actual Jane was twenty-nine. She had $97,000 in medical debt, a limitless capacity for disappointing first dates, and a malaise so deep she wondered if it might just be her personality. Lately, she was becoming increasingly concerned about her career and her future-neither of which seemed like the low-stakes annoyances they once had.
All of a sudden, without warning, the conversation about so-called passion among Jane's cohort had turned from thinking about starting a band to thinking about accepting my manager's offer of corporate leadership training. Jane didn't begrudge anyone their selling out; she only wished she could have done so more effectively. All she'd done in the seven years since she graduated from college was accumulate an unfinished PhD, a closet full of clothes that all looked slightly wrong on her, and the debt.
She knew that in order to be a participant in capitalism rather than solely a victim of it, she had to have something to sell, but she didn't believe in her own viability as a product and had no ideas for better ones. As an account manager at Relevancy PR, she shilled goods she knew to be third rate, and her lack of conviction fed her stasis.
When she took the job, she had been blinkered by the impressive title-impressive, at least, compared with "grad student without distinction"-and the idea of the kind of life it suggested. Jane had never been able to envision her life more than six months into the future, so a job with a ready-made identity was appealing. Only when she was already mired in the day-to-day drudgery of Relevancy did she realize that "PR Maven" was, like "middle-class homeowner," an identity on its way out. And while there were plenty of other jobs she wished she had, it felt impossible to imagine a job, any job, that she would like to do.
"Jane-" Her boss Rand Hagen materialized like a flinch beside her. "Stop by and see me whenever you get a chance. Now would be best."
She followed him into his office, repulsed, as always, by the skeletal shoulders visible beneath his thin white button-down. She sat down opposite him and prepared for the intermittent but unrelenting stream of Hmms that was the hallmark of their meetings. Ever...
Hey, badass bitch! Thought you might be interested in the new line of non-toxic, non-flammable, BPA-free toys from Pleasure Class. C-Sweet toys are designed for the adventurous #GirlBoss. They put the OHHHHH in She-E-O. C-Sweet is for all the Nasty Women who work hard, play hard, and c*m hard;)
Sometimes it helped Jane to think of the emails like poems in which she was enacting her own mania, a little more each line.
And just in case you think this is just another basic-bitch vibrator, let me tell you about a couple of my favorite C-Sweet goodies:
-BijOoh, a subtle vibrating ring and necklace set that can take you from boardroom to bedroom
-1:1, a double-ended dildo that will touch all your bases
-The Management, a remote-controlled butt plug for not-so-hostile takeovers
Trust me: These will clit-erally change your life. Can I send you over some samples? And let me know if you're free for some mani/pedi/girl talk action soon!
xxJane
Jane Dorner had never used a butt plug, and manicures made her cuticles bleed.
At first it had been fun, the refining of Public Relations Jane. She was breezy, overly familiar, sexually omnivorous, joylessly joyful, and clever in a nonthreatening way. She was hot, but only with makeup on. She liked her shoulders but hated her arms. She wouldn't steal your boyfriend, but she might f*** his brother and tell you about that dick. She did barre and boot camp, but she was just in it to cancel out the day drinking. She thought women with visible muscles needed to take it down a notch, even though, obviously, you do you!, et cetera. She liked VIP lounges and Champagne-flavored gummi bears and USB drives shaped like baby animals. If your mother died, PR Jane would send you a gift basket a month later-one of her clients, UnBereave, was a subscription box service that focused on self-care after tragedy, including lavender bath bombs they'd rebranded as bath blooms-but she probably wouldn't be able to go to the funeral, because she already had tickets to see her college roommate in LA for the long weekend. She'd post her brunch-themed sign from the Women's March and go to brunch after. She was up for whatever, but she wasn't someone you called in any kind of emergency. PR Jane was twenty-five and she figured she had two more good years before she had to really knuckle down and listen to the answers to her questions.
Actual Jane was twenty-nine. She had $97,000 in medical debt, a limitless capacity for disappointing first dates, and a malaise so deep she wondered if it might just be her personality. Lately, she was becoming increasingly concerned about her career and her future-neither of which seemed like the low-stakes annoyances they once had.
All of a sudden, without warning, the conversation about so-called passion among Jane's cohort had turned from thinking about starting a band to thinking about accepting my manager's offer of corporate leadership training. Jane didn't begrudge anyone their selling out; she only wished she could have done so more effectively. All she'd done in the seven years since she graduated from college was accumulate an unfinished PhD, a closet full of clothes that all looked slightly wrong on her, and the debt.
She knew that in order to be a participant in capitalism rather than solely a victim of it, she had to have something to sell, but she didn't believe in her own viability as a product and had no ideas for better ones. As an account manager at Relevancy PR, she shilled goods she knew to be third rate, and her lack of conviction fed her stasis.
When she took the job, she had been blinkered by the impressive title-impressive, at least, compared with "grad student without distinction"-and the idea of the kind of life it suggested. Jane had never been able to envision her life more than six months into the future, so a job with a ready-made identity was appealing. Only when she was already mired in the day-to-day drudgery of Relevancy did she realize that "PR Maven" was, like "middle-class homeowner," an identity on its way out. And while there were plenty of other jobs she wished she had, it felt impossible to imagine a job, any job, that she would like to do.
"Jane-" Her boss Rand Hagen materialized like a flinch beside her. "Stop by and see me whenever you get a chance. Now would be best."
She followed him into his office, repulsed, as always, by the skeletal shoulders visible beneath his thin white button-down. She sat down opposite him and prepared for the intermittent but unrelenting stream of Hmms that was the hallmark of their meetings. Ever...
