LIST PRICE $17.00
PRICE MAY VARY BY RETAILER
Free shipping when you spend $40. Terms apply.
Buy from Other Retailers
Table of Contents
About The Book
NOW A HIT NETFLIX SERIES
A NEW YORK TIMES AND USA TODAY BESTSELLER
“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 the Year, 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.
A NEW YORK TIMES AND USA TODAY BESTSELLER
“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 the Year, 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.
Excerpt
Chapter 1 1
YOU walk into the bookstore and you keep your hand on the door to make sure it doesn’t slam. You smile, embarrassed to be a nice girl, and your nails are bare and your V-neck sweater is beige and it’s impossible to know if you’re wearing a bra but I don’t think that you are. You’re so clean that you’re dirty and you murmur your first word to me—hello—when most people would just pass by, but not you, in your loose pink jeans, a pink spun from Charlotte’s Web and where did you come from?
You are classic and compact, my own little Natalie Portman circa the end of the movie Closer, when she’s fresh-faced and done with the bad British guys and going home to America. You’ve come home to me, delivered at last, on a Tuesday, 10:06 A.M. Every day I commute to this shop on the Lower East Side from my place in Bed-Stuy. Every day I close up without finding anyone like you. Look at you, born into my world today. I’m shaking and I’d pop an Ativan but they’re downstairs and I don’t want to pop an Ativan. I don’t want to come down. I want to be here, fully, watching you bite your unpainted nails and turn your head to the left, no, bite that pinky, widen those eyes, to the right, no, reject biographies, self-help (thank God), and slow down when you make it to fiction.
Yes.
I let you disappear into the stacks—Fiction F–K—and you’re not the standard insecure nymph hunting for Faulkner you’ll never finish, never start; Faulkner that will harden and calcify, if books could calcify, on your nightstand; Faulkner meant only to convince one-night stands that you mean it when you swear you never do this kind of thing. No, you’re not like those girls. You don’t stage Faulkner and your jeans hang loose and you’re too sun-kissed for Stephen King and too untrendy for Heidi Julavits and who, who will you buy? You sneeze, loudly, and I imagine how loud you are when you climax. “God bless you!” I call out.
You giggle and holler back, you horny girl, “You too, buddy.”
Buddy. You’re flirting and if I was the kind of asshole who Instagrams, I would photograph the F–K placard and filter the shit out of that baby and caption it:
F—K yes, I found her.
Calm down, Joe. They don’t like it when a guy comes on too strong, I remind myself. Thank God for a customer and it’s hard to scan his predictable Salinger—then again, it’s always hard to do that. This guy is, what, thirty-six and he’s only now reading Franny and Zooey? And let’s get real. He’s not reading it. It’s just a front for the Dan Browns in the bottom of his basket. Work in a bookstore and learn that most people in this world feel guilty about being who they are. I bag the Dan Brown first like it’s kiddie porn and tell him Franny and Zooey is the shit and he nods and you’re still in F–K because I can see your beige sweater through the stacks, barely. If you reach any higher, I’ll see your belly. But you won’t. You grab a book and sit down in the aisle and maybe you’ll stay here all night. Maybe it’ll be like the Natalie Portman movie Where the Heart Is, adapted faithlessly from the Billie Letts book—above par for that kind of crud—and I’ll find you in the middle of the night. Only you won’t be pregnant and I won’t be the meek man in the movie. I’ll lean over and say, “Excuse me, miss, but we’re closed” and you’ll look up and smile. “Well, I’m not closed.” A breath. “I’m wide open. Buddy.”
“Hey.” Salinger-Brown bites. He’s still here? He’s still here. “Can I get a receipt?”
“Sorry about that.”
He grabs it out of my hand. He doesn’t hate me. He hates himself. If people could handle their self-loathing, customer service would be smoother.
“You know what, kid? You need to get over yourself. You work in a bookstore. You don’t make the books. You don’t write the books and if you were any good at reading the books, you probably wouldn’t work in a bookstore. So wipe that judgmental look off your face and tell me to have a nice day.”
This man could say anything in the world to me and he’d still be the one shame-buying Dan Brown. You appear now with your intimate Portman smile, having heard the motherfucker. I look at you. You look at him and he’s still looking at me, waiting.
“Have a nice day, sir,” I say and he knows I don’t mean it, hates that he craves platitudes from a stranger. When he’s gone, I call out again because you’re listening, “You enjoy that Dan Brown, motherfucker!”
You walk over, laughing, and thank God it’s morning, and we’re dead in the morning and nobody is gonna get in our way. You put your basket of books down on the counter and you sass, “You gonna judge me too?”
“What an asshole, right?”
“Eh, probably just in a mood.”
You’re a sweetheart. You see the best in people. You complement me.
“Well,” I say and I should shut up and I want to shut up but you make me want to talk. “That guy is the reason that Blockbuster shouldn’t have gone under.”
You look at me. You’re curious and I want to know about you but I can’t ask so I just keep talking.
“Everybody is always striving to be better, lose five pounds, read five books, go to a museum, buy a classical record and listen to it and like it. What they really want to do is eat doughnuts, read magazines, buy pop albums. And books? Fuck books. Get a Kindle. You know why Kindles are so successful?”
You laugh and you shake your head and you’re listening to me at the point when most people drift, go into their phone. And you’re pretty and you ask, “Why?”
“I’ll tell you why. The Internet put porn in your home—”
I just said porn, what a dummy, but you’re still listening, what a doll.
“And you didn’t have to go out and get it. You didn’t have to make eye contact with the guy at the store who now knows you like watching girls get spanked. Eye contact is what keeps us civilized.”
Your eyes are almonds and I go on. “Revealed.”
You don’t wear a wedding ring and I go on. “Human.”
You are patient and I need to shut up but I can’t. “And the Kindle, the Kindle takes all the integrity out of reading, which is exactly what the Internet did to porn. The checks and balances are gone. You can read your Dan Brown in public and in private all at once. It’s the end of civilization. But—”
“There’s always a but,” you say and I bet you come from a big family of healthy, loving people who hug a lot and sing songs around a campfire.
“But with no places to buy movies or albums, it’s come down to books. There are no more video stores so there are no more nerds who work in video stores and quote Tarantino and fight about Dario Argento and hate on people who rent Meg Ryan movies. That act, the interaction between seller and buyer, is the most important twoway street we got. And you can’t just eradicate two-way streets like that and not expect a fallout, you know?”
I don’t know if you know but you don’t tell me to stop talking the way people sometimes do and you nod. “Hmm.”
“See, the record store was the great equalizer. It gave the nerds power—‘You’re really buying Taylor Swift?’—even though all those nerds went home and jerked it to Taylor Swift.”
Stop saying Taylor Swift. Are you laughing at me or with me?
“Anyway,” I say, and I’ll stop if you tell me to.
“Anyway,” you say, and you want me to finish.
“The point is, buying stuff is one of the only honest things we do. That guy didn’t come in here for Dan Brown or Salinger. That guy came in here to confess.”
“Are you a priest?”
“No. I’m a church.”
“Amen.”
You look at your basket and I sound like a deranged loner and I look in your basket. Your phone. You don’t see it, but I do. It’s cracked. It’s in a yellow case. This means that you only take care of yourself when you’re beyond redemption. I bet you take zinc the third day of a cold. I pick up your phone and try to make a joke.
“You steal this off that guy?”
You take your phone and you redden. “Me and this phone…” you say. “I’m a bad mommy.”
Mommy. You’re dirty, you are.
“Nah.”
You smile and you’re definitely not wearing a bra. You take the books out of the basket and put the basket on the floor and look at me like it wouldn’t be remotely possible for me to criticize anything you ever did. Your nipples pop. You don’t cover them. You notice the Twizzlers I keep by the register. You point, hungry. “Can I?”
“Yes,” I say, and I am feeding you already. I pick up your first book, Impossible Vacation by Spalding Gray. “Interesting,” I say. “Most people get his monologues. This is a great book, but it’s not a book that people go around buying, particularly young women who don’t appear to be contemplating suicide, given the fate of the author.”
“Well, sometimes you just want to go where it’s dark, you know?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah.”
If we were teenagers, I could kiss you. But I’m on a platform behind a counter wearing a name tag and we’re too old to be young. Night moves don’t work in the morning, and the light pours in through the windows. Aren’t bookstores supposed to be dark?
Note to self: Tell Mr. Mooney to get blinds. Curtains. Anything.
I pick up your second book, Desperate Characters by one of my favorite authors, Paula Fox. This is a good sign, but you could be buying it because you read on some stupid blog that she’s Courtney Love’s biological grandmother. I can’t be sure that you’re buying Paula Fox because you came to her the right way, from a Jonathan Franzen essay.
You reach into your wallet. “She’s the best, right? Kills me that she’s not more famous, even with Franzen gushing about her, you know?”
Thank God. I smile. “The Western Coast.”
You look away. “I haven’t gone there yet.” I look at you and you put your hands up, surrender. “Don’t shoot.” You giggle and I wish your nipples were still hard. “I’m gonna read The Western Coast someday and Desperate Characters I’ve read a zillion times. This one’s for a friend.”
“Uh-huh,” I say and the red lights flash danger. For a friend.
“It’s probably a waste of time. He won’t even read it. But at least she sells a book, right?”
“True.” Maybe he’s your brother or your dad or a gay neighbor, but I know he’s a friend and I stab at the calculator.
“It’s thirty-one fifty-one.”
“Holy money. See, that’s why Kindles rule,” you say as you reach into your Zuckerman’s pig-pink wallet and hand me your credit card even though you have enough cash in there to cover it. You want me to know your name and I’m no nut job and I swipe your card and the quiet between us is getting louder and why didn’t I put on music today and I can’t think of anything to say.
“Here we go.” And I offer you the receipt.
“Thanks,” you murmur. “This is a great shop.”
You’re signing and you are Guinevere Beck. Your name is a poem and your parents are assholes, probably, like most parents. Guinevere. Come on.
“Thank you, Guinevere.”
“I really just go by Beck. Guinevere’s kinda long and ridiculous, you know?”
“Well, Beck, you look different in person. Also, Midnite Vultures is awesome.”
You take your bag of books and you don’t break eye contact because you want me to see you seeing me. “Right on, Goldberg.”
“Nah, I just go by Joe. Goldberg is kind of long and ridiculous, ya know?”
We’re laughing and you wanted to know my name as much as I wanted to know yours or you wouldn’t have read my name tag. “Sure you don’t wanna grab The Western Coast while you’re here?”
“This will sound crazy, but I’m saving it. For my nursing home list.”
“You mean bucket list.”
“Oh no, that’s totally different. A nursing home list is a list of things you plan on reading and watching in a nursing home. A bucket list is more like… visit Nigeria, jump out of an airplane. A nursing home list is like, read The Western Coast and watch Pulp Fiction and listen to the latest Daft Punk album.”
“I can’t picture you in a nursing home.”
You blush. You are Charlotte’s Web and I could love you. “Aren’t you gonna tell me to have a nice day?”
“Have a nice day, Beck.”
You smile. “Thanks, Joe.”
You didn’t walk in here for books, Beck. You didn’t have to say my name. You didn’t have to smile or listen or take me in. But you did. Your signature is on the receipt. This wasn’t a cash transaction and it wasn’t a coded debit. This was real. I press my thumb into the wet ink on your receipt and the ink of Guinevere Beck stains my skin.
YOU walk into the bookstore and you keep your hand on the door to make sure it doesn’t slam. You smile, embarrassed to be a nice girl, and your nails are bare and your V-neck sweater is beige and it’s impossible to know if you’re wearing a bra but I don’t think that you are. You’re so clean that you’re dirty and you murmur your first word to me—hello—when most people would just pass by, but not you, in your loose pink jeans, a pink spun from Charlotte’s Web and where did you come from?
You are classic and compact, my own little Natalie Portman circa the end of the movie Closer, when she’s fresh-faced and done with the bad British guys and going home to America. You’ve come home to me, delivered at last, on a Tuesday, 10:06 A.M. Every day I commute to this shop on the Lower East Side from my place in Bed-Stuy. Every day I close up without finding anyone like you. Look at you, born into my world today. I’m shaking and I’d pop an Ativan but they’re downstairs and I don’t want to pop an Ativan. I don’t want to come down. I want to be here, fully, watching you bite your unpainted nails and turn your head to the left, no, bite that pinky, widen those eyes, to the right, no, reject biographies, self-help (thank God), and slow down when you make it to fiction.
Yes.
I let you disappear into the stacks—Fiction F–K—and you’re not the standard insecure nymph hunting for Faulkner you’ll never finish, never start; Faulkner that will harden and calcify, if books could calcify, on your nightstand; Faulkner meant only to convince one-night stands that you mean it when you swear you never do this kind of thing. No, you’re not like those girls. You don’t stage Faulkner and your jeans hang loose and you’re too sun-kissed for Stephen King and too untrendy for Heidi Julavits and who, who will you buy? You sneeze, loudly, and I imagine how loud you are when you climax. “God bless you!” I call out.
You giggle and holler back, you horny girl, “You too, buddy.”
Buddy. You’re flirting and if I was the kind of asshole who Instagrams, I would photograph the F–K placard and filter the shit out of that baby and caption it:
F—K yes, I found her.
Calm down, Joe. They don’t like it when a guy comes on too strong, I remind myself. Thank God for a customer and it’s hard to scan his predictable Salinger—then again, it’s always hard to do that. This guy is, what, thirty-six and he’s only now reading Franny and Zooey? And let’s get real. He’s not reading it. It’s just a front for the Dan Browns in the bottom of his basket. Work in a bookstore and learn that most people in this world feel guilty about being who they are. I bag the Dan Brown first like it’s kiddie porn and tell him Franny and Zooey is the shit and he nods and you’re still in F–K because I can see your beige sweater through the stacks, barely. If you reach any higher, I’ll see your belly. But you won’t. You grab a book and sit down in the aisle and maybe you’ll stay here all night. Maybe it’ll be like the Natalie Portman movie Where the Heart Is, adapted faithlessly from the Billie Letts book—above par for that kind of crud—and I’ll find you in the middle of the night. Only you won’t be pregnant and I won’t be the meek man in the movie. I’ll lean over and say, “Excuse me, miss, but we’re closed” and you’ll look up and smile. “Well, I’m not closed.” A breath. “I’m wide open. Buddy.”
“Hey.” Salinger-Brown bites. He’s still here? He’s still here. “Can I get a receipt?”
“Sorry about that.”
He grabs it out of my hand. He doesn’t hate me. He hates himself. If people could handle their self-loathing, customer service would be smoother.
“You know what, kid? You need to get over yourself. You work in a bookstore. You don’t make the books. You don’t write the books and if you were any good at reading the books, you probably wouldn’t work in a bookstore. So wipe that judgmental look off your face and tell me to have a nice day.”
This man could say anything in the world to me and he’d still be the one shame-buying Dan Brown. You appear now with your intimate Portman smile, having heard the motherfucker. I look at you. You look at him and he’s still looking at me, waiting.
“Have a nice day, sir,” I say and he knows I don’t mean it, hates that he craves platitudes from a stranger. When he’s gone, I call out again because you’re listening, “You enjoy that Dan Brown, motherfucker!”
You walk over, laughing, and thank God it’s morning, and we’re dead in the morning and nobody is gonna get in our way. You put your basket of books down on the counter and you sass, “You gonna judge me too?”
“What an asshole, right?”
“Eh, probably just in a mood.”
You’re a sweetheart. You see the best in people. You complement me.
“Well,” I say and I should shut up and I want to shut up but you make me want to talk. “That guy is the reason that Blockbuster shouldn’t have gone under.”
You look at me. You’re curious and I want to know about you but I can’t ask so I just keep talking.
“Everybody is always striving to be better, lose five pounds, read five books, go to a museum, buy a classical record and listen to it and like it. What they really want to do is eat doughnuts, read magazines, buy pop albums. And books? Fuck books. Get a Kindle. You know why Kindles are so successful?”
You laugh and you shake your head and you’re listening to me at the point when most people drift, go into their phone. And you’re pretty and you ask, “Why?”
“I’ll tell you why. The Internet put porn in your home—”
I just said porn, what a dummy, but you’re still listening, what a doll.
“And you didn’t have to go out and get it. You didn’t have to make eye contact with the guy at the store who now knows you like watching girls get spanked. Eye contact is what keeps us civilized.”
Your eyes are almonds and I go on. “Revealed.”
You don’t wear a wedding ring and I go on. “Human.”
You are patient and I need to shut up but I can’t. “And the Kindle, the Kindle takes all the integrity out of reading, which is exactly what the Internet did to porn. The checks and balances are gone. You can read your Dan Brown in public and in private all at once. It’s the end of civilization. But—”
“There’s always a but,” you say and I bet you come from a big family of healthy, loving people who hug a lot and sing songs around a campfire.
“But with no places to buy movies or albums, it’s come down to books. There are no more video stores so there are no more nerds who work in video stores and quote Tarantino and fight about Dario Argento and hate on people who rent Meg Ryan movies. That act, the interaction between seller and buyer, is the most important twoway street we got. And you can’t just eradicate two-way streets like that and not expect a fallout, you know?”
I don’t know if you know but you don’t tell me to stop talking the way people sometimes do and you nod. “Hmm.”
“See, the record store was the great equalizer. It gave the nerds power—‘You’re really buying Taylor Swift?’—even though all those nerds went home and jerked it to Taylor Swift.”
Stop saying Taylor Swift. Are you laughing at me or with me?
“Anyway,” I say, and I’ll stop if you tell me to.
“Anyway,” you say, and you want me to finish.
“The point is, buying stuff is one of the only honest things we do. That guy didn’t come in here for Dan Brown or Salinger. That guy came in here to confess.”
“Are you a priest?”
“No. I’m a church.”
“Amen.”
You look at your basket and I sound like a deranged loner and I look in your basket. Your phone. You don’t see it, but I do. It’s cracked. It’s in a yellow case. This means that you only take care of yourself when you’re beyond redemption. I bet you take zinc the third day of a cold. I pick up your phone and try to make a joke.
“You steal this off that guy?”
You take your phone and you redden. “Me and this phone…” you say. “I’m a bad mommy.”
Mommy. You’re dirty, you are.
“Nah.”
You smile and you’re definitely not wearing a bra. You take the books out of the basket and put the basket on the floor and look at me like it wouldn’t be remotely possible for me to criticize anything you ever did. Your nipples pop. You don’t cover them. You notice the Twizzlers I keep by the register. You point, hungry. “Can I?”
“Yes,” I say, and I am feeding you already. I pick up your first book, Impossible Vacation by Spalding Gray. “Interesting,” I say. “Most people get his monologues. This is a great book, but it’s not a book that people go around buying, particularly young women who don’t appear to be contemplating suicide, given the fate of the author.”
“Well, sometimes you just want to go where it’s dark, you know?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah.”
If we were teenagers, I could kiss you. But I’m on a platform behind a counter wearing a name tag and we’re too old to be young. Night moves don’t work in the morning, and the light pours in through the windows. Aren’t bookstores supposed to be dark?
Note to self: Tell Mr. Mooney to get blinds. Curtains. Anything.
I pick up your second book, Desperate Characters by one of my favorite authors, Paula Fox. This is a good sign, but you could be buying it because you read on some stupid blog that she’s Courtney Love’s biological grandmother. I can’t be sure that you’re buying Paula Fox because you came to her the right way, from a Jonathan Franzen essay.
You reach into your wallet. “She’s the best, right? Kills me that she’s not more famous, even with Franzen gushing about her, you know?”
Thank God. I smile. “The Western Coast.”
You look away. “I haven’t gone there yet.” I look at you and you put your hands up, surrender. “Don’t shoot.” You giggle and I wish your nipples were still hard. “I’m gonna read The Western Coast someday and Desperate Characters I’ve read a zillion times. This one’s for a friend.”
“Uh-huh,” I say and the red lights flash danger. For a friend.
“It’s probably a waste of time. He won’t even read it. But at least she sells a book, right?”
“True.” Maybe he’s your brother or your dad or a gay neighbor, but I know he’s a friend and I stab at the calculator.
“It’s thirty-one fifty-one.”
“Holy money. See, that’s why Kindles rule,” you say as you reach into your Zuckerman’s pig-pink wallet and hand me your credit card even though you have enough cash in there to cover it. You want me to know your name and I’m no nut job and I swipe your card and the quiet between us is getting louder and why didn’t I put on music today and I can’t think of anything to say.
“Here we go.” And I offer you the receipt.
“Thanks,” you murmur. “This is a great shop.”
You’re signing and you are Guinevere Beck. Your name is a poem and your parents are assholes, probably, like most parents. Guinevere. Come on.
“Thank you, Guinevere.”
“I really just go by Beck. Guinevere’s kinda long and ridiculous, you know?”
“Well, Beck, you look different in person. Also, Midnite Vultures is awesome.”
You take your bag of books and you don’t break eye contact because you want me to see you seeing me. “Right on, Goldberg.”
“Nah, I just go by Joe. Goldberg is kind of long and ridiculous, ya know?”
We’re laughing and you wanted to know my name as much as I wanted to know yours or you wouldn’t have read my name tag. “Sure you don’t wanna grab The Western Coast while you’re here?”
“This will sound crazy, but I’m saving it. For my nursing home list.”
“You mean bucket list.”
“Oh no, that’s totally different. A nursing home list is a list of things you plan on reading and watching in a nursing home. A bucket list is more like… visit Nigeria, jump out of an airplane. A nursing home list is like, read The Western Coast and watch Pulp Fiction and listen to the latest Daft Punk album.”
“I can’t picture you in a nursing home.”
You blush. You are Charlotte’s Web and I could love you. “Aren’t you gonna tell me to have a nice day?”
“Have a nice day, Beck.”
You smile. “Thanks, Joe.”
You didn’t walk in here for books, Beck. You didn’t have to say my name. You didn’t have to smile or listen or take me in. But you did. Your signature is on the receipt. This wasn’t a cash transaction and it wasn’t a coded debit. This was real. I press my thumb into the wet ink on your receipt and the ink of Guinevere Beck stains my skin.
Reading Group Guide
This reading group guide for You includes an introduction, discussion questions, and ideas for enhancing your book club. The suggested questions are intended to help your reading group find new and interesting angles and topics for your discussion. We hope that these ideas will enrich your conversation and increase your enjoyment of the book.
Introduction
“[A] beautifully crafted thriller that will give you chills.” (People magazine) From debut author Caroline Kepnes comes You, 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 and a compulsively readable page-turner, debut author Caroline Kepnes delivers a razor-sharp novel for our hyperconnected digital age.
Topics & Questions for Discussion
1. Discuss the structure of You. What’s the effect of hearing about Beck from Joe’s point of view? As you get to know Joe better, do you trust his narration? Why or why not?
2. Before Caroline Kepnes wrote You, she worked as a writer on several television series, including The Secret Life of the American Teenager and Seventh Heaven. How do you think Kepnes’s previous work influenced her writing? Did any of the scenes in You strike you as particularly cinematic? Which ones and why? Who would you cast in the roles of Beck and Joe?
3. Booklist called You “A deeply dark yet mesmerizing first novel of two people caught in a romantic tangle with an ever-tightening knot.” Discuss Beck and Joe’s relationship. What do you think they each saw in each other?
4. Of Benji, Chana says, “ You can buy him all the books in the world and he’s still gonna be Benji.” (p. 33) What does Chana mean by this statement? Did you think that Benji was a good friend to Beck? Explain your answer.
5. When Joe meets Beck he’s instantly smitten, not least because of her book choices. What books is Beck purchasing, and what does Joe think these selections say about her? What were your initial impressions of Beck? Did your opinion of her change? If so, why?
6. Joe is continuously self-conscious about his educational and personal background. How, if at all, does his lack of a college degree affect his narrative voice?
7. Beck tells her friend Peach that she loves the movie Magnolia. Peach tells her that the movie is flawed. When Joe attempts to bond with Beck over their shared love of the movie, she takes Peach’s position. Is Beck using her opinion to gain power or is she just young and figuring herself out?
8. When Joe escorts Beck to IKEA, he is disgruntled that it is not like it is in the movie (500) Days of Summer. This is one of several instances where Joe is upset by the disparities between real life and movies. Were there movies you wanted to see to enhance your reading experience of this book? And do you relate to Joe’s frustration at all?
9. Joe is devastated when he realizes that Beck was not reading The Da Vinci Code along with him. Discuss reading as a shared experience. Do you prefer to read alone or to share your progress on Goodreads?
10. In Karen Minty, Joe finds someone who is fully available. But she is not his dream girl. Do you think Joe would have been better off trying to make it work with Karen Minty?
11. Joe is frustrated that Beck can’t make it through an intimate date without tweeting about it. Joe monitors Beck through her online activity, but he does not participate in any of it. Both are extreme reactions to our increasingly connected lifestyle. How do you find balance in your own life?
12. Joe thinks of murder as an act of compassion, euthanasia for unhappy people. Joe interacts with the police on two separate occasions, but he is never arrested or charged. How does it feel to read a book with so much crime and so little punishment administered by the police?
13. Early readers and reviewers have said that reading You changes the way they think about talking to strangers and sharing information online. Did you change your passwords when you finished? Do you feel more wary of strangers, online or off?
14. In the end, Joe says that some people are destined to read a book in bed with a loved one and others are destined to be alone. Do you think this is true?
15. Joe feels that Benji is a better person because of his time in the cage. Throughout the book, Joe speaks well of his own time imprisoned in that cage. In the movie Ruthless People, Bette Midler’s character is kidnapped and she emerges as a stronger person. Discuss incarceration in storytelling. Did you ever hope that Joe would let Benji or Beck go?
16. How is New York a character in the book? Do you think it would be harder for Joe to follow Beck in a smaller town?
17. When you finished reading, did you hope that Joe might get away with murder and find love? Or do you like to think that somehow, someway, he will be held responsible for his actions?
Enhance Your Book Club
1. To learn more about You and author Caroline Kepnes, read book reviews, see what others are saying on social media, and visit the official book site at http://whosreadingyou.com.
2. Read interviews with Caroline Kepnes on Salon (http://www.salon.com/2014/09/29/the_dark_side_of_twitter_a_digital_age_tale_of_brooklyn_hipsters_gone_mad/), BoloBooks.com (http://bolobooks.com/2014/09/caroline-kepnes-the-bolo-books-interview/), Time Out Australia (http://www.au.timeout.com/sydney/timein/features/13697/you-by-caroline-kepnes), and LiteraryGossip.com (http://literarygossip.com/?p=14605).
3. Watch films featuring stalkers, such as The Bodyguard, Fatal Attraction, and Vanilla Sky. Do the stalkers featured in the movies have anything in common with Joe? Discuss their similarities and differences.
Introduction
“[A] beautifully crafted thriller that will give you chills.” (People magazine) From debut author Caroline Kepnes comes You, 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 and a compulsively readable page-turner, debut author Caroline Kepnes delivers a razor-sharp novel for our hyperconnected digital age.
Topics & Questions for Discussion
1. Discuss the structure of You. What’s the effect of hearing about Beck from Joe’s point of view? As you get to know Joe better, do you trust his narration? Why or why not?
2. Before Caroline Kepnes wrote You, she worked as a writer on several television series, including The Secret Life of the American Teenager and Seventh Heaven. How do you think Kepnes’s previous work influenced her writing? Did any of the scenes in You strike you as particularly cinematic? Which ones and why? Who would you cast in the roles of Beck and Joe?
3. Booklist called You “A deeply dark yet mesmerizing first novel of two people caught in a romantic tangle with an ever-tightening knot.” Discuss Beck and Joe’s relationship. What do you think they each saw in each other?
4. Of Benji, Chana says, “ You can buy him all the books in the world and he’s still gonna be Benji.” (p. 33) What does Chana mean by this statement? Did you think that Benji was a good friend to Beck? Explain your answer.
5. When Joe meets Beck he’s instantly smitten, not least because of her book choices. What books is Beck purchasing, and what does Joe think these selections say about her? What were your initial impressions of Beck? Did your opinion of her change? If so, why?
6. Joe is continuously self-conscious about his educational and personal background. How, if at all, does his lack of a college degree affect his narrative voice?
7. Beck tells her friend Peach that she loves the movie Magnolia. Peach tells her that the movie is flawed. When Joe attempts to bond with Beck over their shared love of the movie, she takes Peach’s position. Is Beck using her opinion to gain power or is she just young and figuring herself out?
8. When Joe escorts Beck to IKEA, he is disgruntled that it is not like it is in the movie (500) Days of Summer. This is one of several instances where Joe is upset by the disparities between real life and movies. Were there movies you wanted to see to enhance your reading experience of this book? And do you relate to Joe’s frustration at all?
9. Joe is devastated when he realizes that Beck was not reading The Da Vinci Code along with him. Discuss reading as a shared experience. Do you prefer to read alone or to share your progress on Goodreads?
10. In Karen Minty, Joe finds someone who is fully available. But she is not his dream girl. Do you think Joe would have been better off trying to make it work with Karen Minty?
11. Joe is frustrated that Beck can’t make it through an intimate date without tweeting about it. Joe monitors Beck through her online activity, but he does not participate in any of it. Both are extreme reactions to our increasingly connected lifestyle. How do you find balance in your own life?
12. Joe thinks of murder as an act of compassion, euthanasia for unhappy people. Joe interacts with the police on two separate occasions, but he is never arrested or charged. How does it feel to read a book with so much crime and so little punishment administered by the police?
13. Early readers and reviewers have said that reading You changes the way they think about talking to strangers and sharing information online. Did you change your passwords when you finished? Do you feel more wary of strangers, online or off?
14. In the end, Joe says that some people are destined to read a book in bed with a loved one and others are destined to be alone. Do you think this is true?
15. Joe feels that Benji is a better person because of his time in the cage. Throughout the book, Joe speaks well of his own time imprisoned in that cage. In the movie Ruthless People, Bette Midler’s character is kidnapped and she emerges as a stronger person. Discuss incarceration in storytelling. Did you ever hope that Joe would let Benji or Beck go?
16. How is New York a character in the book? Do you think it would be harder for Joe to follow Beck in a smaller town?
17. When you finished reading, did you hope that Joe might get away with murder and find love? Or do you like to think that somehow, someway, he will be held responsible for his actions?
Enhance Your Book Club
1. To learn more about You and author Caroline Kepnes, read book reviews, see what others are saying on social media, and visit the official book site at http://whosreadingyou.com.
2. Read interviews with Caroline Kepnes on Salon (http://www.salon.com/2014/09/29/the_dark_side_of_twitter_a_digital_age_tale_of_brooklyn_hipsters_gone_mad/), BoloBooks.com (http://bolobooks.com/2014/09/caroline-kepnes-the-bolo-books-interview/), Time Out Australia (http://www.au.timeout.com/sydney/timein/features/13697/you-by-caroline-kepnes), and LiteraryGossip.com (http://literarygossip.com/?p=14605).
3. Watch films featuring stalkers, such as The Bodyguard, Fatal Attraction, and Vanilla Sky. Do the stalkers featured in the movies have anything in common with Joe? Discuss their similarities and differences.
About The Author
(c) Scott Joseph Anthony
Caroline Kepnes
Caroline Kepnes is the author of You, Hidden Bodies, Providence and numerous short stories. Her work has been translated into a multitude of languages and inspired a television series adaptation of You, currently on Netflix. Kepnes graduated from Brown University and previously worked as a pop culture journalist for Entertainment Weekly and a TV writer for 7th Heaven and The Secret Life of the American Teenager. She grew up on Cape Cod, Massachusetts, and now lives in Los Angeles.
Product Details
- Publisher: Atria/Emily Bestler Books (August 28, 2018)
- Length: 464 pages
- ISBN13: 9781501195433
Raves and Reviews
"Hypnotic and scary...never read anything quite like it."
– Stephen King
“My most favorite thriller."
– Lena Dunham
"YOU is superb. So funny, apart from anything else, and properly clever. It is: different, hot."
– Sophie Hannah, New York Times bestselling author of The Monogram Murders and The Other Woman's House
"This is one of the most unsettling books I’ve read this year, but despite being thoroughly creeped out, I couldn’t put it down even for a second. It’s narrated by the villain, which makes for a rather unnerving read. I even found myself accidentally rooting for him as he was about to commit pretty heinous crimes. Whoops."
– Bustle
"An impending sense of dread hangs over Kepnes' cleverly claustrophobic debut, in which love takes on a whole new meaning...Kepnes keeps the reader guessing."
– Kirkus Reviews
“Intense and deeply disturbing, You is a dark story told in a fresh voice, and an addictive read from beginning to end. Being inside Joe Goldberg’s head was both a thrill and a nightmare, and yet I didn’t want to wake up. I look forward to more from the very talented Caroline Kepnes.”
– Jennifer Hillier, author of THE BUTCHER
“Chilling...[Kepnes' YOU] will have readers looking over their shoulders.”
– Publisher's Weekly
"Chilling...unrelenting."
– USAToday.com
“A deeply dark yet mesmerizing first novel of two people caught in a romantic tangle with an ever-tightening knot.”
– Booklist
"Is Caroline Kepnes’ 'You' the next GONE GIRL? It'll take you inside a psychopath’s head... and might even make you like him. A mad and macabre love story."
– TimeOut Australia
"Could be the next GONE GIRL...a perverse suspense romance about obsession, sex, and secrets."
– PopSugar.com
“All-consuming – a book that will not release its hold on you, even when you are not actively reading it.”
– BoloBooks.com
“Be prepared to be chilled to the bone by this book. And remember to change your passwords, check your locks, and close the drapes."
– Vox Libris
“Kepnes’debut novel is gripping in both substance and style.”
– Closer Magazine
“If you liked GONE GIRL’S portrayal of a marriage in decline, the demented love story at the heart of YOU will have you gripped….This book will give you Stockholm syndrome."
– Harpers Bazaar (UK)
“You by Caroline Kepnes completely blew me away…It’s an exceptional thriller that is chillingly passionate, dangerous, and quite often left me speechless.”
– The Book Ramblings
"Both original and compelling. If you only read one new thriller this year, make it this one. It will stay with you long after you have put it down."
– Geoffrey Wansell, Daily Mail (UK)
"A brilliant tale of obsessive love...it's GONE GIRL meets a sinister version of GIRLS."
– Marie Claire (UK)
"You think you know the story: girl meets boy, boy turns out to be a murderous stalker. US journalist Kepnes' debut is a fantastically creepy thriller...the kind of book you put your life on hold for."
– Glamour
"A page turner...clever and chilling."
– Elle (UK)
"This book is dark, disturbing, twisted, erotic, psychotic...just try to put it down. Fans of...Gillian Flynn will love this book."
– MomAdvice.com
“You is the kind of book you will read whenever you have a spare moment. It is the book you will not be able to put down, and once you finish, you will want to start over again.”
– Huffpost Books
"I was immediately hooked—and read it in a matter of hours. Could. Not. Stop."
– Buzzfeed, "37 Books with Plot Twists that Will Blow Your Mind"
Resources and Downloads
High Resolution Images
- Book Cover Image (jpg): You Media Tie-In Trade Paperback 9781501195433
- Author Photo (jpg): Caroline Kepnes (c) Scott Joseph Anthony(0.1 MB)
Any use of an author photo must include its respective photo credit
