Genre Fiction
![Meg Howrey - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_a_meg_howrey.jpg)
They're Going to Love You: A Novel
A NEW YORK TIMES BEST BOOK OF THE MONTH • A gripping novel set in the world of professional ballet, New York City during the AIDS crisis, and present-day Los Angeles. • "Beautiful...Howrey, a former dancer with the Joffrey Ballet, proves herself a talented choreographer in her own right...[A] finger-trap puzzle of a plot."-New York Times Book Review
"They're Going to Love You is my idea of a perfect book. It is about art, life, death, love, and family and it is beautifully and sharply written. I cried several times while reading it, and was sorry to let it go when I was done. I cannot recommend it enough." -Jami Attenberg, New York Times bestselling author of The Middlesteins and All This Could Be Yours
Throughout her childhood, Carlisle Martin got to see her father, Robert, for only a few precious weeks a year when she visited the brownstone apartment in Greenwich Village he shared with his partner, James. Brilliant but troubled, James gave Carlisle an education in all that he held dear in life-literature, music, and, most of all, dance.
Seduced by the heady pull of mentorship and hoping to follow in the footsteps of her mother-a former Balanchine ballerina-Carlisle's aspiration to become a professional ballet dancer bloomed. But above all else, she longed to be asked to stay at the house on Bank Street, to be a part of Robert and James's sophisticated world, even as the AIDS crisis brings devastation to their community. Instead, a passionate love affair created a rift between the family, with shattering consequences that reverberated for decades to come. Nineteen years later, when Carlisle receives a phone call that unravels the events of that fateful summer, she sees with new eyes how her younger self has informed the woman she's become.
They're Going to Love You is a gripping and gorgeously written novel of heartbreaking intensity. With psychological precision and a masterfully revealed secret at its heart, it asks what it takes to be an artist in America, and the price of forgiveness, of ambition, and of love.
"They're Going to Love You is my idea of a perfect book. It is about art, life, death, love, and family and it is beautifully and sharply written. I cried several times while reading it, and was sorry to let it go when I was done. I cannot recommend it enough." -Jami Attenberg, New York Times bestselling author of The Middlesteins and All This Could Be Yours
Throughout her childhood, Carlisle Martin got to see her father, Robert, for only a few precious weeks a year when she visited the brownstone apartment in Greenwich Village he shared with his partner, James. Brilliant but troubled, James gave Carlisle an education in all that he held dear in life-literature, music, and, most of all, dance.
Seduced by the heady pull of mentorship and hoping to follow in the footsteps of her mother-a former Balanchine ballerina-Carlisle's aspiration to become a professional ballet dancer bloomed. But above all else, she longed to be asked to stay at the house on Bank Street, to be a part of Robert and James's sophisticated world, even as the AIDS crisis brings devastation to their community. Instead, a passionate love affair created a rift between the family, with shattering consequences that reverberated for decades to come. Nineteen years later, when Carlisle receives a phone call that unravels the events of that fateful summer, she sees with new eyes how her younger self has informed the woman she's become.
They're Going to Love You is a gripping and gorgeously written novel of heartbreaking intensity. With psychological precision and a masterfully revealed secret at its heart, it asks what it takes to be an artist in America, and the price of forgiveness, of ambition, and of love.
Editorial Reviews
Gods
Feel what I feel.
Stand with your legs together, toes pointing forward. Open your hips so the backs of your knees are touching. Slide the heel of one foot in front of the other until it meets the toes. This is fifth position.
Under certain conditions (flexibility, training) your two feet will be firmly locked together: heel to toe and toe to heel. Your knees will be straight, your pelvis will sit squarely above your knees. It's not natural but it is elegant. Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man but pulled together and not human spreading all over the place.
Contained.
Fifth is a position to begin things from. Fifth is a frequent point of return. It's also itself. Movement. Dance, even if it is still.
See what I see.
James is teaching class. He wears a soft T-shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants. The soles of his dance sneakers are split like ballet slippers so he can demonstrate a pointed toe more easily. He's a little vain about his feet, their high arches.
". . . And contain," James says, as the dancers close their legs to fifth position. ". . . And contain."
The class--at an Upper West Side New York City studio--is by invitation or introduction only and filled with professionals. I picture the dancers, spaced out along the barres lining three sides of the room. I see the additional freestanding barres in the center, a spot where I might have stood. I'm not there. This is part of a story that was told to me.
James is prowling the studio in his soft clothes, his soft shoes. Not prowling. Gliding. He doesn't appear to scrutinize the dancers, but they're aware of his gaze, mild but penetrating.
". . . And contain," he says.
The dancers think they know what he means by containment. He's asking them to keep their upper bodies still and placed, to not let the motions of the legs disturb the carriage of the torso. To come firmly to fifth position and not rush through or blur the moment. James means a little more than that. He always means a little more. He raises his hand and says, "Thank you, Masha," which is Masha's cue to stop playing the Chopin mazurka she's been plunking out with heavy-handed precision. Masha lifts her hands from the keyboard and picks up the New York Post.
James walks slowly to one of the center barres, where everyone in the room can see him.
"Containment," says James, "is one of the things ballet gives us." He takes fifth position on demi-pointe: heels raised, balancing. He's not demonstrating technical perfection; he is middle-aged and wearing sneakers. He's demonstrating intention.
James steps out of fifth position, impatient with his body. "Music tells us to move, to dance," he says. "But when we are still within music, ...
Feel what I feel.
Stand with your legs together, toes pointing forward. Open your hips so the backs of your knees are touching. Slide the heel of one foot in front of the other until it meets the toes. This is fifth position.
Under certain conditions (flexibility, training) your two feet will be firmly locked together: heel to toe and toe to heel. Your knees will be straight, your pelvis will sit squarely above your knees. It's not natural but it is elegant. Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man but pulled together and not human spreading all over the place.
Contained.
Fifth is a position to begin things from. Fifth is a frequent point of return. It's also itself. Movement. Dance, even if it is still.
See what I see.
James is teaching class. He wears a soft T-shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants. The soles of his dance sneakers are split like ballet slippers so he can demonstrate a pointed toe more easily. He's a little vain about his feet, their high arches.
". . . And contain," James says, as the dancers close their legs to fifth position. ". . . And contain."
The class--at an Upper West Side New York City studio--is by invitation or introduction only and filled with professionals. I picture the dancers, spaced out along the barres lining three sides of the room. I see the additional freestanding barres in the center, a spot where I might have stood. I'm not there. This is part of a story that was told to me.
James is prowling the studio in his soft clothes, his soft shoes. Not prowling. Gliding. He doesn't appear to scrutinize the dancers, but they're aware of his gaze, mild but penetrating.
". . . And contain," he says.
The dancers think they know what he means by containment. He's asking them to keep their upper bodies still and placed, to not let the motions of the legs disturb the carriage of the torso. To come firmly to fifth position and not rush through or blur the moment. James means a little more than that. He always means a little more. He raises his hand and says, "Thank you, Masha," which is Masha's cue to stop playing the Chopin mazurka she's been plunking out with heavy-handed precision. Masha lifts her hands from the keyboard and picks up the New York Post.
James walks slowly to one of the center barres, where everyone in the room can see him.
"Containment," says James, "is one of the things ballet gives us." He takes fifth position on demi-pointe: heels raised, balancing. He's not demonstrating technical perfection; he is middle-aged and wearing sneakers. He's demonstrating intention.
James steps out of fifth position, impatient with his body. "Music tells us to move, to dance," he says. "But when we are still within music, ...
Readers Top Reviews
Sarah K.
You're going to love this book! From the writing to the characters to the plot to the exploration of dance and family and dreams.... this book is beautiful all around. It's not beautiful because of everyone's successes, but rather because of the raw humanity displayed throughout this book. It is tender and heartbreaking and heartwarming all at once. I adored the arc of Carlisle as we trace her life in the present and the past, in her relationships with her parents and lovers and friends, and as she experiences dreams and disappointments throughout her days. Meg Howrey's writing is exquisite. Her background in dance is apparent, as is her insight into people. This is such a lovely book! Thanks to NetGalley, Doubleday, and the author for the eARC. All opinions are my own.
Lexy LSarah K.
They’re Going to Love You is a quiet character study about a girl, her family, and ballet. The main character, Carlisle, was born into the dance world, with a ballerina mother and a ballet company director father. The book flashes between present day, when adult, professional choreographer Carlisle learns that her estranged father is dying, and the years of her childhood and young adulthood. We see Carlisle grappling with her place in the in her family, the world, and the arts. I really enjoyed being immersed in the ballet world. I enjoy watching ballet, but I loved experiencing it from the inside. Author Meg Howrey’s writing was terrific, and her characters were authentic and imperfect. They’re Going to Love You will be a hit for readers who like well-written, character-driven family dramas and coming-of-age stories. They’re Going to Love You is a quiet character study about a girl, her family, and ballet. The main character, Carlisle, was born into the dance world, with a ballerina mother and a ballet company director father. The book flashes between present day, when adult, professional choreographer Carlisle learns that her estranged father is dying, and the years of her childhood and young adulthood. We see Carlisle grappling with her place in the in her family, the world, and the arts. I really enjoyed being immersed in the ballet world. I enjoy watching ballet, but I loved experiencing it from the inside. Author Meg Howrey’s writing was terrific, and her characters were authentic and imperfect. They’re Going to Love You will be a hit for readers who like well-written, character-driven family dramas and coming-of-age stories. Thanks to Netgalley and Doubleday Books for the eARC review copy.
Short Excerpt Teaser
Gods
Feel what I feel.
Stand with your legs together, toes pointing forward. Open your hips so the backs of your knees are touching. Slide the heel of one foot in front of the other until it meets the toes. This is fifth position.
Under certain conditions (flexibility, training) your two feet will be firmly locked together: heel to toe and toe to heel. Your knees will be straight, your pelvis will sit squarely above your knees. It's not natural but it is elegant. Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man but pulled together and not human spreading all over the place.
Contained.
Fifth is a position to begin things from. Fifth is a frequent point of return. It's also itself. Movement. Dance, even if it is still.
See what I see.
James is teaching class. He wears a soft T-shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants. The soles of his dance sneakers are split like ballet slippers so he can demonstrate a pointed toe more easily. He's a little vain about his feet, their high arches.
". . . And contain," James says, as the dancers close their legs to fifth position. ". . . And contain."
The class--at an Upper West Side New York City studio--is by invitation or introduction only and filled with professionals. I picture the dancers, spaced out along the barres lining three sides of the room. I see the additional freestanding barres in the center, a spot where I might have stood. I'm not there. This is part of a story that was told to me.
James is prowling the studio in his soft clothes, his soft shoes. Not prowling. Gliding. He doesn't appear to scrutinize the dancers, but they're aware of his gaze, mild but penetrating.
". . . And contain," he says.
The dancers think they know what he means by containment. He's asking them to keep their upper bodies still and placed, to not let the motions of the legs disturb the carriage of the torso. To come firmly to fifth position and not rush through or blur the moment. James means a little more than that. He always means a little more. He raises his hand and says, "Thank you, Masha," which is Masha's cue to stop playing the Chopin mazurka she's been plunking out with heavy-handed precision. Masha lifts her hands from the keyboard and picks up the New York Post.
James walks slowly to one of the center barres, where everyone in the room can see him.
"Containment," says James, "is one of the things ballet gives us." He takes fifth position on demi-pointe: heels raised, balancing. He's not demonstrating technical perfection; he is middle-aged and wearing sneakers. He's demonstrating intention.
James steps out of fifth position, impatient with his body. "Music tells us to move, to dance," he says. "But when we are still within music, we absorb all of its power. We are its container. Not every movement needs to go out into the world. We can keep some for ourselves. Contained. Powerful."
James smiles.
"Restraint," he says. His voice confers full sensuality to the word. "Restraint."
Such a subtle thing to describe. "Other side," he says, with a nod to Masha, who rustles her paper down. The dancers turn and place their right hands on the barre. It's still morning, still barre, but the dancers feel James has said something beautiful, or true, or deep. It's why they're here. Even when his words don't make perfect sense, they create an atmosphere that is pleasurable. It's nice to be reminded one is an artist, especially on a Monday, with a full week of rehearsals ahead and a weird pain in your hip.
James looks across the studio, scanning the dancers. To teach is to hope.
His gaze falls on Alex, although he doesn't remember his name. The boy had been brought along by one of James's regular students and introduced as "My friend visiting from Atlanta Ballet."
James has been observing dancers, teaching dancers, a long time. His assessments are swift. He looks at Alex and thinks, Nice but stiff, maybe a late starter, the body is good but--
James stops. It's been so long since he's been surprised.
Imagine what I imagine.
Alex has been listening hard.
"Contained."
"Being still within music."
"Restraint."
Something turns over in Alex's mind, like a combination lock sliding into its last number.
He raises his heels, shifts his weight to the balls of his feet, recrosses his legs. He lifts his arms. He is still.
James watches.
The music plays. Masha vamps, giving the dancers time to find their balance, "find their center," as they say.
What Alex finds is that his body has changed. Somehow, James's words are within him. He understands he is a container. For music, for movement. Th...
Feel what I feel.
Stand with your legs together, toes pointing forward. Open your hips so the backs of your knees are touching. Slide the heel of one foot in front of the other until it meets the toes. This is fifth position.
Under certain conditions (flexibility, training) your two feet will be firmly locked together: heel to toe and toe to heel. Your knees will be straight, your pelvis will sit squarely above your knees. It's not natural but it is elegant. Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man but pulled together and not human spreading all over the place.
Contained.
Fifth is a position to begin things from. Fifth is a frequent point of return. It's also itself. Movement. Dance, even if it is still.
See what I see.
James is teaching class. He wears a soft T-shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants. The soles of his dance sneakers are split like ballet slippers so he can demonstrate a pointed toe more easily. He's a little vain about his feet, their high arches.
". . . And contain," James says, as the dancers close their legs to fifth position. ". . . And contain."
The class--at an Upper West Side New York City studio--is by invitation or introduction only and filled with professionals. I picture the dancers, spaced out along the barres lining three sides of the room. I see the additional freestanding barres in the center, a spot where I might have stood. I'm not there. This is part of a story that was told to me.
James is prowling the studio in his soft clothes, his soft shoes. Not prowling. Gliding. He doesn't appear to scrutinize the dancers, but they're aware of his gaze, mild but penetrating.
". . . And contain," he says.
The dancers think they know what he means by containment. He's asking them to keep their upper bodies still and placed, to not let the motions of the legs disturb the carriage of the torso. To come firmly to fifth position and not rush through or blur the moment. James means a little more than that. He always means a little more. He raises his hand and says, "Thank you, Masha," which is Masha's cue to stop playing the Chopin mazurka she's been plunking out with heavy-handed precision. Masha lifts her hands from the keyboard and picks up the New York Post.
James walks slowly to one of the center barres, where everyone in the room can see him.
"Containment," says James, "is one of the things ballet gives us." He takes fifth position on demi-pointe: heels raised, balancing. He's not demonstrating technical perfection; he is middle-aged and wearing sneakers. He's demonstrating intention.
James steps out of fifth position, impatient with his body. "Music tells us to move, to dance," he says. "But when we are still within music, we absorb all of its power. We are its container. Not every movement needs to go out into the world. We can keep some for ourselves. Contained. Powerful."
James smiles.
"Restraint," he says. His voice confers full sensuality to the word. "Restraint."
Such a subtle thing to describe. "Other side," he says, with a nod to Masha, who rustles her paper down. The dancers turn and place their right hands on the barre. It's still morning, still barre, but the dancers feel James has said something beautiful, or true, or deep. It's why they're here. Even when his words don't make perfect sense, they create an atmosphere that is pleasurable. It's nice to be reminded one is an artist, especially on a Monday, with a full week of rehearsals ahead and a weird pain in your hip.
James looks across the studio, scanning the dancers. To teach is to hope.
His gaze falls on Alex, although he doesn't remember his name. The boy had been brought along by one of James's regular students and introduced as "My friend visiting from Atlanta Ballet."
James has been observing dancers, teaching dancers, a long time. His assessments are swift. He looks at Alex and thinks, Nice but stiff, maybe a late starter, the body is good but--
James stops. It's been so long since he's been surprised.
Imagine what I imagine.
Alex has been listening hard.
"Contained."
"Being still within music."
"Restraint."
Something turns over in Alex's mind, like a combination lock sliding into its last number.
He raises his heels, shifts his weight to the balls of his feet, recrosses his legs. He lifts his arms. He is still.
James watches.
The music plays. Masha vamps, giving the dancers time to find their balance, "find their center," as they say.
What Alex finds is that his body has changed. Somehow, James's words are within him. He understands he is a container. For music, for movement. Th...
