You: A Novel
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Praise for Caroline Kepnes and You:
“Hypnotic and scary.” —Stephen King
“I am RIVETED, AGHAST, AROUSED, you name it. The rare instance when prose and plot are equally delicious.” —Lena Dunham
From debut author Caroline Kepnes comes You, one of Suspense Magazine’s Best Books of 2014, and a brilliant and terrifying novel for the social media age.
When a beautiful, aspiring writer strides into the East Village bookstore where Joe Goldberg works, he does what anyone would do: he Googles the name on her credit card.
There is only one Guinevere Beck in New York City. She has a public Facebook account and Tweets incessantly, telling Joe everything he needs to know: she is simply Beck to her friends, she went to Brown University, she lives on Bank Street, and she’ll be at a bar in Brooklyn tonight—the perfect place for a “chance” meeting.
As Joe invisibly and obsessively takes control of Beck’s life, he orchestrates a series of events to ensure Beck finds herself in his waiting arms. Moving from stalker to boyfriend, Joe transforms himself into Beck’s perfect man, all while quietly removing the obstacles that stand in their way—even if it means murder.
A terrifying exploration of how vulnerable we all are to stalking and manipulation, debut author Caroline Kepnes delivers a razor-sharp novel for our hyper-connected digital age. You is a compulsively readable page-turner that’s being compared to Gone Girl, American Psycho, and Stephen King’s Misery.
until I’m inside of you. We’ve just made a pact and we know it and I don’t know who grabs whose hand. I just know that we’re holding hands and you’re holding the pillow and we’re weaving in and out of bedrooms and now you’re helping me, you’ve got a hand on the front of the cart. We are in this together, side by side, navigating like an old couple, like a new couple, and you know what, Beck? It turns out IKEA is pretty fucking awesome. You grab onto the base of something called the HEMNES bed
then . . . then. We’re supposed to meet at nine and you call me at 9:04 and you are breathless, on your way uptown. It’s a long story, you say, but Peach is alone at home, and she thinks someone broke in because the furniture on the terrace has been moved around. You sound like her in this state of panic. “Joe, listen to me.” You persist. “Whoever broke in shifted her chaise.” I interrupt. “But they didn’t steal the chair?” “No,” you say and you sigh. “But someone broke in, Joe. She’s scared.”
of my costume. I pick it up and I throw it at the wall. Fuck it. It’s not like the landlord’s ever fixing anything anyway. I strip out of my costume and I want to burn it but I put it in a shoebox and tape it up. I don’t want to look at it anymore and I write the address and when I have to put Bridgeport, I lose my grip on the pen. I throw on my worst comfort clothes: a raggedy Nirvana T-shirt that my mother left behind and nasty fleece pants from a rummage sale on Houston a hundred years ago. I
out my address to strangers.” “She said she knew you. And did I say bangable? Mad bangable.” Let it be known that I only punched him once and not in the face. You better remember that, Beck. It’s not like I’m some monster and it’s not like I hurt him. I fired him, man to man, boss to worker. It wasn’t personal and it wasn’t hardcore and that fat lady was the first customer he treated well since week fucking one. Also, you’re not bangable, Beck. You’re beautiful. There’s a difference. 26 THE
He says he has to step out—“shit hitting the fan at home,” now that he has broken the doctor-patient dynamic he can overshare again—and he promises to be back in five minutes. He closes the door and immediately I look at his computer. I wanted inside that computer the first time I stepped into this room. You live in there, somewhere, and the temptation to find the Sea of Love is overwhelming. I would swear that you are calling from inside the hard drive, luring me to your own sea, and I can’t