Emma Cline’s new novel, The Guest, opens with Alex, a 22-year-old woman, getting ready to dive into the warm waters of the Atlantic Ocean. First though, she turns and scans the beach for a moment, taking it in: the “immaculate” sand, the light that “made it all look honeyed and mild,” the infectious yawns of the leisure class, their bodies “tanned to the color of expensive luggage.” Can they tell, she wonders, out there in the land of “unattended bags” and “cars left unlocked,” how hard she’s pretending to be used to all of this? Alex turns back and starts swimming. “In the water,” she decides, “she was just like everyone else.” In the sea, every body relies on the same center of gravity. It is only on land that some swim and others sink, for no discernible reason except that this is how we have ordered things.
