Carrie Soto is Back

Here I am reviewing a sports novel... who'd have thought it? 

I have a soft spot for the extremely-hyped Taylor Jenkins Reid. I read The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo because a colleague (clearly tuned in to my queerness) gave me the copy they'd just finished with a knowing 'this seems up your street'. And whilst I was dubious (novels about celebrity are not my thing) they were proven correct. I loved it. 

Likewise I enjoyed Daisy Jones and the Six which, though not as good, was a fun evening's audiobook listen. I decided to put Taylor Jenkins Reid in the category of an author I wouldn't go out of my way for, but would probably read if a book came my way via the library, or a sale. 

Which is how Carrie Soto is Back arrived in my lap. I snagged it for 99p and then ignored it for over a year, because... a tennis novel? Really?! 

Believe it or not, I have form with tennis romances, with a friend of mine having written a particularly popular one. This was my justification for buying Carrie Soto is Back. But though I have tennis mad friends, have been to Wimbledon (once), and watch the finals (on occasion), I'm not especially into it. I still need to google the rules with embarrassing regularity. Would an actual novel about it still be enjoyable?

This is a more straightforward plot than Evelyn Hugo or Daisy Jones. Carrie Soto is a record-breaking tennis star, known as The Battleaxe (or, increasingly, The Bitch.) After retiring in the late eighties with the most grand slam wins in history, her record comes under threat just five years later, when a powerful player equals her. Determined to win another slam, thirty-seven-year-old Carrie comes out of retirement to remind everyone that it's her record. 

I was expecting this to be more of a romance than sports novel, but - fair play - the book keeps its focus firmly on a romp through the four tournaments with only a sprinkling of character development, romance, and familial bonding along the way. This works surprisingly well - ramping up the tension until the final few matches are edge-of-the-seat stuff. There are no over-the-top rivalries, with Carrie's 'enemy' Chan being likable, if playfully wicked.

Setting this in 1995 works well, as it means the media interest can be limited to sportscasters rather than social media. It also doesn't cut out the achievements of Serena Williams, which might have been a bit much considering her presence looms over this story - there in Carrie's 'celebrity' dad, and in the idea that Chan's more powerful, grunting play is somehow impure. The sexism can be just a touch more blatant too, with commentators outright discussing whether Carrie actually is a bitch. 

Carrie's characterisation is a work of art from Reid. We all suspect that sportspeople who perform at that level are so devoted to winning that they don't have time to be interesting too - and this is the case for Carrie. She floats from country to country with no interest in anything beyond tennis, and has no outside passions beyond her charity foundation and the odd episode of ER. It's not that she doesn't 'do' romance, it's that she has no concept of it in her life, and so limits her interactions with men to sex. Her interpersonal skills are blunted to the point that she considers 'I was embarrassed for her' to count as empathy. 

Her real rival is herself, as she faces up to the limits of her body and life-after-tennis. There's nothing surprising here, with the final events being obvious long in advance, but it's done well enough that the story ends on a note that seems utterly believable. 

I write this blog purely for my own enjoyment, not to make a career or become a content creator. Even so, I put a lot of work into it. If you fancy supporting me on Ko-Fi, that would be incredibly cool of you!