Rating: 4.75/5
Trigger warning: Alcoholism, drug abuse, depression, self-harm/suicide
For reasons unknown, I tend to gravitate towards dark, unsettling, or sad stories. I guess you could say I’m trying to be edgy or I’m just a try-hard, but I genuinely enjoy these books. But you know what’s the most interesting part? My actual personality is so much brighter than the books I read.
For Cleopatra and Frankenstein, I went into it thinking that this was going to be another tender and reflective read. I love books like that. I appreciate poetic and reflective writing very much, so when I read the synopsis and skimmed through the first few pages of the book for a media pitch, I knew I had to add it to my TBR list. And here comes the fun part—it wasn’t exactly very high up my list, so I didn’t really plan on reading it so soon. But I did—I happened to be looking for my next book to read while having lunch in office and I randomly chose to pick this up. I remember feeling a slight pang of pity for myself at the time because I was planning on reading Sequoia Nagamatsu’s How High We Go In the Dark, but I didn’t have the book with me then. Well, what can I say—fate intervene, and it was in the best way possible.
Cleopatra and Frankenstein. Wow. The cover is amazing. The book broke me. I cried a few times throughout, and I really did not expect myself to cry while reading this. The story starts off with Cleo and Frank meeting in an elevator at a New Year’s Eve party, and they fell in love almost instantly. Cleo is a broke British artist living in New York, while Frank is twenty years older, a New York native, and a self-made man. After a few months of dating, they decided to get married—in part due to Cleo’s visa expiring. This part of the book was really light-hearted and fun; they were madly in love, and it showed in their interaction with friends. But as the book progressed, it was apparent that none of the characters in the book—including their friends—were okay. In fact, there was only one single woman who was the exception.
Slowly, we find out more about Cleo, Frank, and their friends in the following chapters. We get backstories of the important characters in the couple’s lives. In many ways, Cleo and Frank’s impulsive marriage had caused repercussions in the relationships that they’ve previously forged with friends and close ones. Quentin, Cleo’s gay best friend, felt slighted now that Cleo spent all her time with her husband. He struggled with his identity in the LGBTQ+ community. Zoe, Frank’s baby sister, struggled with her epilepsy and mounting credit card debt—Frank was supporting her college life, but had made it clear that he was only able to support one struggling artist at any one time. Which would be his wife now, of course. So Zoe’s only financial supply was suddenly cut off, and she resented Cleo at the start.
I wouldn’t go into more details now; I think you should read it to savour them. What I want to talk about is the overarching theme of loneliness—every single character was feeling lonely in their own way. The loss of a loved one, the lack of parental love, and even being overly gorgeous physically effects some sort of loneliness. And the idea that you could still feel lonely when you’re with someone. My heart ached for all of them.
Cleo lost her mother to depression and her father didn’t call much after marrying an overbearing woman; Frank was still reeling from the lack of attention from his alcoholic mother and a father who disappeared. In an ironic way, both of them ended up suffering from the same things their mothers had—Cleo had depression, and Frank became a drunk. Both carried their burdens into the marriage, hoping that they could find salvation in each other. And then an incident changed everything. Well, not really just one incident—it was a culmination of everything.
I really enjoyed how Coco Mellors gave every character very realistic backstories that could actually have happened to anyone. And through it all, I felt for Cleo the most. The ending really broke my heart, and I cried for her. It was in some ways hopeful, yes, but I felt so indignant for her at the same time. Absolutely bittersweet. I think I felt that way for her because I could relate to her. Her relationship with Frank—and how everything happened—reminded me very much of past relationships. And through it all, I felt that she was the more mature party in the marriage, as compared to Frank. Frank may be older than her in years, but his thinking was still like a child’s.
Now we come to something that I wasn’t sure I liked—the first-person narration for a chapter in the middle of the book and another near the end of it. I thought about it and figured that maybe Mellors was trying to separate the ‘okay’ from the ‘not-okay’, but personally I’m not sure I liked the idea of the shift in narration. It was quite jarring. Though I would say that I enjoyed those chapters too, because of how witty they were—Mellors is a copywriter, so I would definitely expect some good puns from her.
I’ve said a lot, and I hope you don’t feel like I’m already spoiling you. The plot of the book was secondary to the characters’ development in the story. Most importantly, Coco Mellors’s writing is stellar—this book was dark, tender, heart-breaking, and at times funny and witty. I feel like this book is similar to Sally Rooney’s Conversations with Friends, which I didn't really enjoy as much as her later two novels. The premise is quite similar, I think, except that the characters in this book are much more likable than the ones in Conversations with Friends.
Cleopatra and Frankenstein is now available in stores, and I highly recommend that you get this book if you have similar reading tastes or if you like Sally Rooney’s books. Just remember to have tissues at the ready when you’re reading this—you’ll need it. 100%.