It Ends with Us Part I: Where to Start?
It Ends With Us by Colleen Hoover blew me away. What I thought would be just another sexy beach-read turned into a self-aware novel that flipped me on my head.
“He grabs his stethoscope and puts it in his ears, then presses the diaphragm against my chest, right over my heart.” Chapter 13 (page 174)
This article is Part 1 in a two part series about It Ends with Us by Colleen Hoover.
Read Part 2 here.
Part 1: Did you see it?
I was walking the aisles of Costco, deciding which Halloween throw-pillow would look best on my couch, when I spotted a paperback book with Blake Lively on the cover. I thought to myself, “Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants didn’t let me down and probably this won’t either.” I added the purple book to my cart. The pumpkin it-pillow of the season would have to wait.
It Ends with Us is a massively popular hit (over seven million copies sold), but I knew nothing about it. I was not familiar with the plot, the movie, or its themes.
The first half of the book had me laughing out loud. Colleen Hoover’s 2016 novel opens with our young heroine meeting a sexy man on a rooftop as he kicks around some chairs, but who has time to think about his explosive anger with lines like, “I want to fuck you” (Hoover, 16) and “He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip as his hand begins to tease its way up my shirt” (16)? On page 16! The sexual attraction is so exaggerated that I don’t take time to think. It feels intoxicating and fictional.
Lily lets go of the ledge and jumps into a freefall with no return: Ryle.
Lily is on that rooftop because she is contemplating suicide. She establishes herself as an unreliable narrator by lying to us about it, “I can’t help but think about suicide. No my own…” (3). The possible freefall takes a metaphorical meaning when Lily wonders to herself, “In the moment after letting go and the second before they make impact…Do they…think, ‘Well crap. This was a bad idea.’ Somehow, I think not” (3). A moment later, Lily lets go of the ledge and jumps into a freefall with no return: Ryle.
What follows are chapters with a lot of heightened sexual attraction… and sex. Here are just two quotes: “His body ripples with tremors, and he shoves against me one last time. He groans…” (92) and “He’s…deep inside me and I’m trying to move against him, but he’s rock solid as the tremors begin to rush through me” (175). It’s explicit.
“I love it when the sky makes me feel insignificant.” - Lily, Chapter 1 (page 4)
Once Upon a Bedroom…
Narrating sex isn’t new or limited to romance books. In his 1940 war novel For Whom the Bell Tolls, Ernest Hemingway writes, “he reached and undid the buttons on her shirt and bent and kissed her” (162), which is not that different from the action in Hoover’s line, “He lowers his mouth to my chest and my eyes fall shut when I feel his tongue slide across my breast” (174).
On some level, we are imagining this as our bodies and our thighs, not Lily’s.
I would also argue that smart authors don’t write sex scenes just for easy grabs. To continue with the For Whom the Bell Tolls example, Hemingway’s sex scenes draw a parallel between the physical sensations of sex and of killing. Lovers have “eyes tight closed” and sex itself “was a dark passage which led to nowhere, then to nowhere, then again to nowhere…heavy on the elbows in the earth to nowhere, dark…” (163). In a line that closes arguably one of the best-written paragraphs of the English language, Hemingway emphasizes how time stops during sex like in death, “they were both there, time having stopped, and he felt the earth move out and away from under them” (163).
“And instead of spring and life, we also celebrate winter and death.” - Lily, Chapter 3 (page 46)
Even novels that wouldn’t dare mention the existence of private parts (looking at you Jane Austen) find a way. Elizabeth and Darcy might not rip into each other like Lily and Ryle, but their eyes do: “Their eyes instantly met and the cheeks of each were overspread with the deepest blush” (230). Sexual tension breaks through when Darcy first proposes to Elizabeth, but disguises itself as adjacent emotions. After being rejected, Darcy is angry, “His complexion became pale with anger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature. He was struggling for the appearance of composure” (178) while Elizabeth is agitated, “she stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent” (177). Even “A Lady” of the nineteenth century knew a neutered plot did not a compelling story make. Sex is either explicit or implicit, but it’s there.
This cocktail of ego-boost, flattery, and pleasure dulls our perceptions.
All this being said, I think there is purpose in Hoover’s sex scenes. They’re steamy and descriptive for a reason.
Lily and Ryle’s bond is built on sex. In order to bring the reader into their relationship, Hoover has to bring us into their bedroom. We feel the intensity as Lily, an adopted perspective strengthened by her first person narration. When Lily says, “His mouth slides up my thigh until…” (170), on some level, we are imagining this as our thighs and our bodies, not Lily’s. Hoover uses Lily as an avatar through which the reader experiences the sex for herself. If we as readers don’t feel the high now, we are not going to empathize with Lily later when things turn low.
Embodying Lily’s perspective during sex also distracts the reader. Even more distracting is how specifically driven Ryle is to give Lily pleasure, “The only time he’s not giving my body his undivided attention is when…” (122). This cocktail of ego-boost, flattery, and pleasure dulls our perceptions—and Lily’s: “I hate how good it feels to be wanted this much” (71).
“Most plants do need a lot of care to survive. But some things, like trees, are strong enough to do it by just relying on themselves and nobody else.” - Lily, Chapter 8 (page 106)
Silly
“It was a gift. It only counts as touristy if I bought it myself.” - Lily, (page 169)
The sexual energy in Lily and Ryle’s relationship wasn’t the only thing that had me distracted. It was also the silliness. Why worry when things are so hilarious? Their relationship feels like a campy, caricature version of a sexual female fantasy.
Some lines that had me laughing:
“He’s unapologetic in the way he fucks me” (123).
“Is it the best cake you’ve ever tasted?” (173).
“His eyes journey down to my cleavage” (88).
“I’m like a drug. If you have sex with me tonight, it’s only going to make things worse for you” (72).
I was so caught up in the silliness that I didn’t suspect anything. Elizabeth Bennet was fine. Cinderella was fine. Why wouldn’t Lily be fine, too?
Archetypes Beware
Ryle is our archetypal prince charming: rich, high status, and deeply handsome, “He has the type of face that…you could get lost in” (121). He takes care of Lily’s hurt ankle. He treats her as special and frequently reminds her how much he wants her, “Please, Lily…Please have sex with me” (71). He literally sweeps her off her feet at a New Year’s Eve party, “He scoops me into his arms…everyone in the entire room is staring now” (91). They have sex while he monitors her heart rate, bringing her to orgasm with a medical precision that is as hot as it is outrageous, “One of his arms is wrapped around me with the stethoscope pressed to my chest. His other arm is tight against my stomach as his hand continues its magic between my legs” (175).
Who wouldn’t be blinded by the lust?
The irony is all these moments are woven with clues foreshadowing the imminent downfall of this relationship. That sexual fantasy hooks a lot of women in real life. We overlook whatever doesn’t fit our desired story. My story of Ryle and Lily was two young lovers in a harmless romance with low stakes. Like a playground. Even if they fell, they would land on soft padded ground.
“Atlas says just keep swimming.” (page 208)
Smoke & Mirrors
Colleen Hoover introduces a new type of dramatic irony in It Ends with Us. Dramatic irony happens when characters are unaware of something the audience knows. This irony can feel uncomfortable, dreadful, or comedic. (Romeo killing himself because he believes Juliet is already dead, when the audience knows she’s really alive, is an example of painful dramatic irony. A comedic example would be from The Office, when Michael and Dwight stake out CEO David Wallace’s house to save the Scranton branch from downsizing. The audience learns that another branch is closing instead, but Michael and Dwight are oblivious to this and continue staking out the house.)
Real love can go fast or slow. Fake can only go fast.
Hoover’s dramatic irony takes this a step further. Lily is blind to Ryle’s lack of self control and anger issues, but most of the audience is blind, too.
But all the signs are there.
I ignored Lily’s confusion: “I smile, equally saddened and confused by this guy” (26) and “I kiss him back, both disappointed and relieved he’s not coming over” (135).
I ignored how Lily’s voice is emphasized as weak, a reflection of her standing in the relationship: “I hate my voice. It sounds too weak to even reach his ears…” (7), “...my words lack conviction when I say it to him” (23), and “My voice falters” (136).
I ignored how ready Lily is to make excuses to Ryle. After not hearing from him for a few months, she reassures herself, “But that’s okay, because…I’ve been too busy…” (76).
I ignored Lily’s inconvenient gut feelings about Ryle, which even she is unsure how to interpret: “I feel his voice in my stomach” (7) and “I feel his stare deep in my stomach” (122).
“He walks to one of the displays and grabs a vase full of purple lilies. ‘I want these,’ he says, setting them down on the counter.” -Chapter 6 (page 78)
I ignored Ryle’s inconsistency. He switches between apathy and intensity. On the opening day of Lily’s flower shop (and in the span of just two pages) he goes from hard-to-read, “I can’t tell by his voice alone if he’s hoping I’ll be there or hoping I won’t” (78) to grandiose—secretly gifting Lily flowers with the written message, “Make it stop” (79), a reference to his desire for her. He’s can’t just be there for her. He makes it about himself—his attraction to Lily and Lily trying to read him—not about Lily or her opening day.
And yes I bought the pumpkin pillow from Costco.
I ignored how quickly the relationship moves, from divulging heavy life moments the day they meet, “My father was abusive” (16), to somehow resolving every possible marital issue in a single cross-country flight, “We cleared the air about a lot of other things that might cause problems down the road…By the time we landed in Vegas, we were completely on the same page” (227).
Real love can go fast or slow. Fake can only go fast.
I excused these dicy moments as benign consequences of a fantasy-driven relationship. Like Lily was weak from pleasure, “I’m afraid I might literally pass out for a moment” (123). But even feelings of destiny—electric attraction that leave us weak in the knees—should be considered carefully. Feeling special is a key ingredient in getting hooked, “...he doesn’t even know me, but for whatever reason, I’m not considered most people to him” (11). This is the high we will strive to return to later, after things get permanently bad.
Falling
I will end part one right before our point of no return (what I consider the break between chapters 13 and 14). Everything seems perfect. Lily and Ryle are officially boyfriend-girlfriend. Ryle meets Lily’s mom. Lily’s new floral business is thriving. She has disclosed to the reader her diary entries of a high school love interest, Atlas, but Ryle is so profound that even when Lily runs into Atlas at the local restaurant he owns, Atlas seems like old news, “my chapter with Atlas is over” (158). Lily is getting swept off her feet, orgasming in waves, and finding secret portraits of herself in Ryle’s apartment. It’s big. It’s a book. Just go with it. We are falling in love.
…or are we lowering ourselves into a pot of increasingly hot water, unaware it’s about to boil over?
The proverbial frog slowly boiling to death.
This article is Part 1 in a two part series about It Ends with Us by Colleen Hoover.
Read Part 2 here.
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