The Plot: A Novel

By Jean Hanff Korelitz

** NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER! ** The Tonight Show Summer Reads Winner ** A New York Times Notable Book of 2021 **

"Insanely readable." —Stephen King

Hailed as "breathtakingly suspenseful," Jean Hanff Korelitz’s The Plot is a propulsive read about a story too good not to steal, and the writer who steals it.

Jacob Finch Bonner was once a promising young novelist with a respectably published first book. Today, he’s teaching in a third-rate MFA program and struggling to maintain what’s left of his self-respect; he hasn’t written—let alone published—anything decent in years. When Evan Parker, his most arrogant student, announces he doesn’t need Jake’s help because the plot of his book in progress is a sure thing, Jake is prepared to dismiss the boast as typical amateur narcissism. But then . . . he hears the plot.

Jake returns to the downward trajectory of his own career and braces himself for the supernova publication of Evan Parker’s first novel: but it never comes. When he discovers that his former student has died, presumably without ever completing his book, Jake does what any self-respecting writer would do with a story like that—a story that absolutely needs to be told.

In a few short years, all of Evan Parker’s predictions have come true, but Jake is the author enjoying the wave. He is wealthy, famous, praised and read all over the world. But at the height of his glorious new life, an e-mail arrives, the first salvo in a terrifying, anonymous campaign: You are a thief, it says.

As Jake struggles to understand his antagonist and hide the truth from his readers and his publishers, he begins to learn more about his late student, and what he discovers both amazes and terrifies him. Who was Evan Parker, and how did he get the idea for his “sure thing” of a novel? What is the real story behind the plot, and who stole it from whom?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: May 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9781250790743

Jean Hanff Korelitz

Jean Hanff Korelitz is the New York Times bestselling author of the novels The Plot, The Latecomer, You Should Have Known (which aired on HBO in October 2020 as The Undoing, starring Nicole Kidman, Hugh Grant, and Donald Sutherland), Admission (adapted as a film in 2013 starring Tina Fey), The Devil and Webster, The White Rose, The Sabbathday River and A Jury of Her Peers, as well as Interference Powder, a novel for children. Her company BOOKTHEWRITER hosts Pop-Up Book Groups in which small groups of readers discuss new books with their authors. She lives in New York City with her husband, Irish poet Paul Muldoon.

Book preview

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

Anybody Can Be a Writer

Jacob Finch Bonner, the once promising author of the New & Noteworthy (The New York Times Book Review) novel The Invention of Wonder, let himself into the office he’d been assigned on the second floor of Richard Peng Hall, set his beat-up leather satchel on the barren desk, and looked around in something akin to despair. The office, his fourth home in Richard Peng Hall in as many years, was no great improvement on the earlier three, but at least it overlooked a vaguely collegiate walkway under trees from the window behind the desk, rather than the parking lot of years two and three or the dumpster of year one (when, ironically, he’d been much closer to the height of his literary fame, such as it was, and might conceivably have hoped for something nicer). The only thing in the room that signaled anything of an actual literary nature, that signaled anything of any warmth at all, was the beat-up satchel Jake used to transport his laptop and, on this particular day, the writing samples of his soon-to-arrive students, and this Jake had been carrying around for years. He’d acquired it at a flea market shortly before his first novel’s publication with a certain writerly self-consciousness: acclaimed young novelist still carries the old leather bag he used throughout his years of struggle! Any residual hope of becoming that person now was long gone. And even if it wasn’t there was no way to justify the expense of a new bag. Not any longer.

Richard Peng Hall was a 1960s addition to the Ripley campus, an unlovely construction of white cinder block behind the gymnasium and beside some dormitories slapped together for coeds when Ripley College began admitting women in the year 1966 (which, to its credit, had been ahead of the curve). Richard Peng had been an engineering student from Hong Kong, and though he probably owed more of his eventual wealth to the school he’d attended after Ripley College (namely MIT), that institution had declined to construct a Richard Peng Hall, at least for the size of donation he’d had in mind. The Ripley building’s original purpose had been to accommodate the engineering program, and it still bore the distinct tang of a science building with its windowed lobby nobody ever sat in, its long, barren corridors, and that soul-killing cinder block. But when Ripley got rid of engineering in 2005 (got rid of all its science programs, actually, and all of its social science programs) and dedicated itself, in the words of its frantic board of supervisors, to the study and practice of the arts and humanities in a world that increasingly undervalues and needs them, Richard Peng Hall was reassigned to the low-residency Master of Fine Arts Program in Fiction, Poetry, and Personal Non-Fiction (Memoir).

Thus had the writers come to Richard Peng Hall, on the campus of Ripley College, in this strange corner of northern Vermont, close enough to the fabled Northeast Kingdom to bear some trace of its distinct oddness (the area had been home to a small but hardy Christian cult since the 1970s) but not so far from Burlington and Hanover as to be completely in the back of beyond. Of course creative writing had been taught at the college since the 1950s, but never in any serious, let alone enterprising way. Things got added to the curriculum of every educational institution concerned with survival as the culture changed around it and as the students began, in their eternally student-y way, to make demands: women’s studies, African-American studies, a computer center that actually acknowledged computers were, you know, a thing. But when Ripley underwent its great crisis in the late 1980s, and when the college took a sober, and deeply trepidatious look at what might be required for actual institutional survival, it was—surprise!—the creative writing that signaled the most optimistic way forward. And so it had launched its first (and, still, only) graduate program, the Ripley Symposia in Creative Writing, and over the following years the Symposia basically ate up the rest of the college until all that was left was its low-residency program, so much more accommodating for students who couldn’t drop everything for a two-year MFA course. And shouldn’t be expected to! Writing, according to Ripley’s own glossy prospectus and highly enticing website, was not some elitist activity out of bounds to all but the fortunate few. Every single person had a unique voice and a story nobody else could tell. And anybody—especially with the guidance and support of the Ripley Symposia—could be a writer.

All Jacob Finch Bonner had ever wanted to be was a writer. Ever, ever, ever, all the way back to suburban Long Island, which was the last place on earth a serious artist of any kind ought to come from but where he, nonetheless, had been cursed to grow up, the only child of a tax attorney and a high school guidance counselor. Why he’d affixed his star to the forlorn little shelf in his local library marked AUTHORS FROM LONG ISLAND! was anyone’s guess, but it did not pass unnoticed in the young writer’s home. His father (the tax attorney) had been forceful in his objections (Writers didn’t make money! Except Sidney Sheldon. Was Jake claiming he was the next Sidney Sheldon?) and his mother (the guidance counselor) had seen fit to remind him, constantly, of his mediocre-at-best PSAT score on the verbal side. (It was greatly embarrassing to Jake that he’d managed to do better on the math than the verbal.) These had been grievous challenges to overcome, but what artist was without challenges to overcome? He’d read stubbornly (and, it should be noted, already competitively, and with envy) throughout his childhood, departing the mandatory curriculum, leapfrogging the usual adolescent dross to vet the emerging field of his future rivals. Then off he had gone to Wesleyan to study creative writing, falling in with a tight group of fellow proto-novelists and short story writers who were just as insanely competitive as he was.

Many were the dreams of young Jacob Finch Bonner when it came to the fiction he would one day write. (The Bonner, in point of fact, wasn’t entirely authentic—Jake’s paternal great-grandfather had substituted Bonner for Bernstein a solid century before—but neither was the Finch, which Jake himself had added in high school as an homage to the novel that awakened his love of fiction.) Sometimes, with books he especially loved, he imagined that he had actually written them himself, and was giving interviews about them to critics or reviewers (always humble in his deflection of the interviewer’s praise) or reading from them to large, avid audiences in a bookstore or some hall full of occupied seats. He imagined his own photograph on the back jacket flap of a hardcover (taking as his templates the already outdated writer-leaning-over-manual-typewriter or writer-with-pipe) and thought far too often about sitting at a table, signing copies for a long, coiling line of readers. Thank you, he would intone graciously to each woman or man. That’s so kind of you to say. Yes, that’s one of my favorites, too.

It wasn’t precisely true that Jake never thought about the actual writing of his future fictions. He understood that books did not write themselves, and that real work—work of imagination, work of tenacity, work of skill—would be required to bring his own eventual books into the world. He also understood that the field was not uncrowded: a lot of young people just like himself felt the way he did about books and wanted to write them one day, and it was even possible that some of these other young people might conceivably have even more natural talent than he did, or possibly a more robust imagination, or just a greater will to get the job done. These were not ideas that gave him much pleasure, but, in his favor, he did know his own mind. He knew that he would not be getting certified to teach English in public schools (if the writing thing doesn’t work out) or taking the LSATs (why not?). He knew that he had chosen his lane and begun swimming, and he would not stop swimming until he held his own book in his own hands, at which point the world would surely have learned the thing he himself had known for so many years:

He was a writer.

A great writer.

That had been the intention, anyway.

It was late June and it had been raining all over Vermont for the better part of a week when Jake opened the door to his new office in Richard Peng Hall. As he stepped inside he noticed that he had tracked mud along the corridor and into the room, and he looked down at his sorry running shoes—once white, now brown with damp and dirt, never in fact used for actual running—and felt the pointlessness of taking them off now. He’d spent the long day driving up from the city with two plastic Food Emporium bags of clothes and that elderly leather satchel containing the nearly as elderly laptop on which his current novel—the novel he was theoretically (as opposed to actually) working on—and the folders of submitted work by his assigned students, and it occurred to him that he had brought progressively less with him each time he’d made the trip north to Ripley. The first year? A big suitcase stuffed with most of his clothing (because who knew what might be considered appropriate attire for three weeks in northern Vermont, surrounded by surely fawning students and surely envious fellow teachers?) and every printed-out draft of his second novel, the deadline for which he’d had a tendency to whine about in public. This year? Only those two plastic bags of tossed-in jeans and shirts and the laptop he now mainly used for ordering dinner and watching YouTube.

If he was still doing this depressing job a year from now, he probably wouldn’t even bother with the laptop.

No, Jake was not looking forward to the about-to-begin session of the Ripley Symposia. He was not looking forward to reconvening with his dreary and annoying colleagues, not one of them a writer he genuinely admired, and certainly he was not looking forward to feigning excitement for another battalion of eager students, each and every one of them likely convinced they would one day write—or perhaps had already written—the Great American Novel.

Most of all, he was not looking forward to pretending that he himself was still a writer, let alone a great one.

It went without saying that Jake had not done any preparation for the imminent term of the Ripley Symposia. He was utterly unfamiliar with any of the sample pages in those annoyingly thick folders. When he’d begun at Ripley he’d persuaded himself that great teacher was a laudable addition to great writer, and he’d given the writing samples of these folks, who’d put down real money to study with him, some very focused attention. But the folders he was now pulling out of his satchel, folders he ought to have begun reading weeks earlier when they’d arrived from Ruth Steuben (the Symposia’s highly acerbic office manager) had traveled from Priority Mail box to leather satchel without ever once suffering the indignity of being opened, let alone subjected to intimate examination. Jake looked at them balefully now, as if they themselves were responsible for his procrastination, and the appalling evening that lay ahead of him, as a result.

Because after all, what was there to know about the people whose inner lives these folders contained, who were even now converging on northern Vermont, and the sterile conference rooms of Richard Peng Hall, and this very office, once the one-on-one conferences began in a few days? These particular students, these ardent apprentices, would be utterly indistinguishable from their earlier Ripley counterparts: mid-career professionals convinced they could churn out Clive Cussler adventures, or moms who blogged about their kids and didn’t see why that shouldn’t entitle them to a regular gig on Good Morning America, or newly retired people returning to fiction (secure in the knowledge that fiction had been waiting for them?). Worst of all were the ones who reminded Jake most of himself: literary novelists, utterly serious, burning with resentment toward anyone who’d gotten there first. The Clive Cusslers and mom bloggers might still be persuadable that Jake was a famous, or at least a highly regarded young (now youngish) novelist, but the would-be David Foster Wallaces and Donna Tartts who were certainly present in the pile of folders? Not so much. This group would be all too aware that Jacob Finch Bonner had fumbled his early shot, failed to produce a good enough second novel or any trace of a third novel, and been sent to the special purgatory for formerly promising writers, from which so few of them ever emerged. (It happened to be untrue that Jake had not produced a third novel, but in this case the untruth was actually preferable to the truth. There had indeed been a third novel, and even a fourth, but those manuscripts, the making of which had together consumed nearly five years of his life, had been rejected by a spectacular array of publishers of declining prestige, from the legacy publisher of The Invention of Wonder to the respectable university press that had published his second book, Reverberations, to the many, many small press publication competitions listed in the back of Poets & Writers, which he had spent a small fortune entering, and, needless to say, had failed to win. Given these demoralizing facts, he actually preferred that his students believe he was still struggling to reel in that mythical and stupendous second novel.)

Even without reading the work of his new students, Jake felt he already knew them as intimately as he’d known their earlier counterparts, which was better than he wanted to know them. He knew, for example, that they were far less gifted than they believed they were, or possibly every bit as bad as they secretly feared they were. He knew they wanted things from him that he was utterly unequipped to deliver and had no business pretending he possessed in the first place. He also knew that every one of them was going to fail, and he knew that when he left them behind at the end of the current three-week session they would disappear from his life, never to be thought of again. Which was all he wanted from them, really.

But first, he had to deliver on that Ripley fantasy that they were all, students and teachers alike, colleagues-in-art, each with a unique voice and a singular story to tell with it, and each equally deserving of being called that magical thing: a writer.

It was just past seven and still raining. By the time he met his new students the following evening at the welcome cookout he would have to be all smiles, all personal encouragement, and full of such scintillating guidance that each new member of the Ripley Symposia Master of Fine Arts Program might believe the gifted (Philadelphia Inquirer) and promising (Boston Globe) author of The Invention of Wonder was personally prepared to usher them into the Shangri-La of Literary Fame.

Unfortunately, the only path from here to there led through those twelve folders.

He turned on the standard Richard Peng desk lamp and sat down in the standard Richard Peng office chair, which gave a loud squeak as he did, then he spent a long moment tracing a line of grime along the ridges of the cinder blocks on the wall beside his office door, delaying till the last possible moment the long and deeply unpleasant evening that was about to commence.

How many times, looking back at this night, the very last night of a time he would always afterward think of as before, would he wish that he hadn’t been so utterly, fatally wrong? How many times, in spite of the astonishing good fortune set in motion by one of those folders, would he wish he’d backed his way out of that sterile office, retraced his own muddy footprints down the corridor, returned to his car, and driven those many hours back to New York and his ordinary, personal failure? Too many, but no matter. It was already too late for that.

CHAPTER TWO

The Hero’s Welcome

By the time the welcome cookout commenced the following afternoon Jake was running on fumes, having dragged himself into that morning’s faculty meeting after a scant three hours’ sleep. It had been a small victory this year that Ruth Steuben was finally shifting the students who self-identified as poets away from him and to other teachers who also self-identified as poets (Jake had nothing of value to teach aspiring poets. In his experience, poets often read fiction, but fiction writers who said they read poetry with any regularity were liars), so it could at least be said that the dozen students he’d been assigned were prose writers. But what prose it was! In his through-the-night and fueled-by-Red-Bull readthrough, narrative perspective hopped about as if the true narrator was a flea, traipsing from character to character, and the stories (or … chapters?) were so simultaneously flaccid and frenetic that they signified—at worst, nothing, and at best, not enough. Tenses rolled around within the paragraphs (sometimes within the sentences!) and words were occasionally used in ways that definitely implied the writer was not overly clear on their meanings. Grammatically, the worst of them made Donald Trump look like Stephen Fry and most of the rest were makers of sentences that could only be described as … utterly ordinary.

Encompassed in those folders had been the shocking discovery of a decaying corpse on a beach (the corpse’s breasts had been, incomprehensibly, described as ripe honeymelons), a writer’s histrionic account of discovering, via DNA test, that he was part African, an inert character study of a mother and daughter living together in an old house, and the opening of a novel set in a beaver dam (deep in the forest). Some of these samples had no particular pretensions to literature, and would be easy enough to deal with—nailing down the plot and red-penciling the prose into basic subservience would be enough to justify his paycheck and honor his professional responsibilities—but the more self-consciously literary writing samples (some of them, ironically, among the worst written) were going to suck his soul. He knew it. It was already happening.

Fortunately, the faculty meeting wasn’t terribly taxing. (It was possible Jake had even dozed, briefly, during Ruth Steuben’s ritual intoning of Ripley’s sexual harassment guidelines.) The returning professors of the Ripley Symposia got on reasonably well, and while Jake couldn’t have said he’d become actual friends with any of them, he did have a well-established tradition of a once-per-session beer at The Ripley Inn with Bruce O’Reilly, retired from Colby’s English Department and the author of half a dozen novels published by an independent press in his native Maine. This year there were two newcomers in the Richard Peng lobby-level conference room, a nervous poet called Alice who looked to be about his own age and a man who introduced himself as a multigenric writer, who intoned his name, Frank Ricardo, in a way that definitely implied the rest of them recognized it—or at any rate ought to recognize it. (Frank Ricardo? It was true that Jake had stopped paying close attention to other writers around the time his own fourth novel began to collect rejections—it had simply been too painful to continue—but he didn’t think he was supposed to have heard of a Frank Ricardo. Had a Frank Ricardo won a National Book Award or a Pulitzer? Had a Frank Ricardo lobbed an out-of-nowhere first novel onto the top of the New York Times bestseller list via viral word of mouth?) After Ruth Steuben finished her recitation and went over the schedule (daily and weekly, evening readings, due dates for written evaluations, and deadlines for judging the Symposia’s end-of-session writing awards) she dismissed them with a smiling but steely reminder that the welcome cookout was not optional for faculty. Jake leapt for the exit before any of his colleagues—familiar or new—could talk to him.

The apartment he rented was a few miles east of Ripley, on a road actually named Poverty Lane. It belonged to a local farmer—more accurately his widow—and featured a view over the road to a falling-down barn that had once housed a dairy herd. Now the widow leased the land to one of Ruth Steuben’s brothers and ran a daycare in the farmhouse. She professed herself to be mystified about the thing Jake did that got made into books, or how it was getting taught over at Ripley, or who might actually pay to learn such a thing, but she had held the apartment for him since his first year at Ripley—quiet, polite, and responsible with rent were apparently too rare a combination not to. He had made it to bed at about four that morning and slept until ten minutes before the faculty meeting began. It wasn’t enough. Now he pulled the curtains and passed out again, waking at five to begin assembling his game face for the official start of the Ripley term.

The barbeque was held on the college green, surrounded by the Ripley’s earliest buildings, which—unlike Richard Peng Hall—were reassuringly collegiate and actually very pretty. Jake loaded up a paper plate with chicken and cornbread and reached into one of the coolers to extract a bottle of Heineken, but even as he did a body leaned against him, and a long forearm, thickly covered with blond hair, tipped his own forearm out of its trajectory.

Sorry, man, said this unseen person, even as his fingers closed around Jake’s intended beer bottle and pulled it from the water.

Okay, Jake said automatically.

Such a pathetically small moment. It made him think of those bodybuilding cartoons in the back of old comic books: bully kicks sand in the face of ninety-eight-pound weakling. What’s he going to do about it? Become a bulked-up bully himself, of course. The guy—he was middling tall, middling blond, thick through the shoulders—had already turned away, and was popping the bottle cap and lifting it to his mouth. Jake couldn’t see the asshole’s face.

Mr. Bonner.

Jake straightened up. A woman was standing beside him. It was the newcomer, from the faculty meeting that morning. Alice something. The nervous one.

Hi. Alice, right?

Alice Logan. Yeah. I just wanted to say how much I like your work.

Jake felt, and noted, the physical sensation that generally accompanied this sentence, which he still did hear from time to time. In this context work could only mean The Invention of Wonder, a quiet novel set in his own native Long Island and featuring a young man named Arthur. Arthur, whose fascination with the life and ideas of Isaac Newton provides a through line for the novel and a stay against chaos when his brother dies suddenly, was not, emphatically not, a stand-in for Jake’s own younger self. (Jake had no siblings at all, and he’d had to do extensive research to create a character knowledgeable about the life and ideas of Isaac Newton!) The Invention of Wonder had indeed been read at the time of its publication, and, he supposed, was still read on occasion, by people who cared about fiction and where it might be heading. Never once had anyone used the phrase I like your work to refer to Reverberations (a collection of short stories which his first publisher had rejected, and which the Diadem Press of the State University of New York—a highly respected university press!—had recast as a novel in linked short stories), despite the fact that innumerable copies had been dutifully sent out for review (resulting in not a single one).

It ought to be nice when it still happened, but somehow it wasn’t. Somehow it made him feel awful. But really, didn’t everything?

They went to one of the picnic tables and sat. Jake had neglected, in the aftermath of that Heineken theft, to grab another drink.

It was so powerful, she said, picking up from where she’d left off. And you were … what, twenty-five when you wrote that?

About that, yes.

Well, I was blown away.

Thank you, that’s so nice of you to say.

I was in my MFA program when I read it. I think we were in the same program, actually. Not at the same time.

Oh?

Jake’s program—and, apparently, Alice’s—had not been this newer low residency type but the more classic drop-your-life-and-devote-yourself-to-your-art-for-two-straight-years variety, and frankly it was also a far more prestigious program than Ripley’s. Attached to a Midwestern university, the program had long produced poets and novelists of great importance to American letters, and was so hard to get into that it had taken Jake three years to manage it (during which time he had watched certain less talented friends and acquaintances get accepted). He’d spent those years living in a microscopic apartment in Queens and working for a literary agency with a special interest in science fiction and fantasy. Science fiction and fantasy, never genres to which he had personally been drawn, seemed to attract a high quotient of—well, why not be blunt?—crazy in its aspiring author pool, not that Jake had anything to compare that to since every one of the very distinguished literary agencies he’d applied to after graduating from college had declined to make use of his talents. Fantastic Fictions, LLC, a two-man shop in Hell’s Kitchen (actually in the tiny back room of the owners’ railroad flat in Hell’s Kitchen) had a client list of about forty writers, most of whom left for larger agencies the moment they experienced any professional success. Jake’s job had been to sic the attorney on these ungrateful writers, to discourage over-the-transom authors intent on describing their ten-novel series (written or unwritten) with the agents over the phone, and above all to read manuscript after manuscript about dystopian alternate realities on distant planets, dark penal systems far below the surface of the earth, and leagues of post-apocalyptic rebels bent on the overthrow of sadistic warlords.

Once he actually had ferreted out an exciting prospect for his bosses, a novel about a spunky young woman who escapes from a penal colony planet aboard some kind of intergalactic junk ship, and discovers a mutant population among the garbage which she transforms into a vengeful army and ultimately leads into battle. It had definite potential, but the two losers who’d hired him let the manuscript languish on their desk for months, waving off his reminders. Eventually, Jake had given up, and a year later, when he read in Variety about ICM’s sale of the book to Miramax (with Sandra Bullock attached), he’d carefully clipped the story. Six months later, when his golden ticket to the MFA party arrived and he quit his job—O Happy Day!—he’d placed the clipping squarely on his boss’s desk atop the dusty manuscript itself. He’d done what he’d been hired to do. He’d always known a good plot when he saw

Reviews for The Plot

[Laura Rodgers · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

One of the best books I have read lately.

[Daniela Tahitoe · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Unfortunately the ‘plot’ was not that special. It’s supposed to be a great twist but great twists happen at the end. Like Sixth Sense or Usual Suspects. This is more like a good premise. Definitely not a super special plot the story promised us.

It’s like a movie based on a fictional amazing band without even a single great song. It just doesn’t work.

[mojomomma_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Jake Bonner enjoyed some success with his first book, but since then he's been unable to realize any decent sales. He takes a short-term teaching job at a MFA writing program to make ends meets. While there, one of his students shares a book idea with him. Years later, the book still hasn't made an appearance, so Jake does some research and discovers that his student had an untimely death shortly after this teaching gig ended. That book idea should be shared, right? Jake publishes a block-buster based on his students idea. Only later does he realize that the idea was semi-autobiographical and that some of the characters he wrote about are actually alive and not terribly happy to have been written about.

[eas7788 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I might have enjoyed it more if I hadn't figured out the two biggest twists well before I should have. Perfectly good light read, if lacking in non-white and straight people. Has some decent skewering of writers and writing programs, though I would have loved a bit more on the one student whose prose was excellent in the face of all logic. I liked the ways she varied a single plot premise as well.

[janismack · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Story of a writer accused of stealing another writers idea. I liked this book but did not like the ending. I thought it was an easy fix. I don’t want to reveal the end but I don’t understand how a sharp author like Jacob could have missed what was right under his nose.

[emquixotic · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This was a very fun metafictional literary thriller that reveals its "plot twist" very early on through literary allusions and then almost...straight up tells us what's going on (if you're paying attention). I think this book is much more interested in the protagonist torturing himself than having a "big reveal" like most thrillers in this oversaturated market. Readers have, in my mind, gotten addicted to the big twist and I think that's part of the point "The Plot" is trying to make and address. I thought this was a very fun book to read and I really enjoyed all of the literary allusions (which is also I'm guessing a statement on books that do the same).

[jthierer_1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

If you're going to write a book that centers around a plot that is so groundbreakingly, stupendously new that no one has EVER written it before....I probably shouldn't be able to guess its twist well before it's revealed. In fact both twists in this one (in the book within a book as well as the main plot) are telegraphed well in advance and are predictable if you're paying attention and familiar with the genre. And guessing the twist wouldn't be an issue in a book with more compelling characters or action, but unfortunately this one lacks both.

[bblum_10 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Jacob Finch Bonnet, best selling author is guilty of plagiarism. He knows it and someone else does to but who? That’s the plot but the book is rich in description, has a lot of emotional tension and really gets under the skin of the reader and poor Jake who is so haunted. It’s a good read.

[evatkaplan · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

good read. sometimes was very repetitive. ending was weak

[electrascaife · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A struggling author is teaching a creative writing seminar to stay afloat while trying to come up with a viable third novel, when an overly arrogant student waltzes into his office claiming to need no help with his project since he has a plot that can't fail to become a bestseller. Jake (the struggling writer/teacher) is annoyed and skeptical until the student tells him the plot, at which point Jake bitterly admits to himself that it does indeed seem foolproof. A few years pass and Jake has forgotten about the encounter when he finds out the student died just a couple of months after the class was over. It doesn't take him long to decide to write his own book using the plot that can't fail. And it works - he skyrockets to authorial fame with a bestseller and movie options and everything. But will he get away with it?Ooooh, this one was so good! Multiple layers of twists here, and I didn't see any of them coming until just before they were revealed. A fun ride all the way and a great way to finish up my reading year.

[castlelass · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Jacob Finch Bonner, author of a novel that achieved success many years ago, is teaching at an MFA program. One of his students, Evan Parker, discloses a sure-fire plot behind an as-yet-unpublished book. Jacob later finds out Evan has died. He usurps the idea and turns it into a blockbuster. When Jacob starts receiving anonymous threats, accusing him of theft, he begins an investigation to see if he can figure out the person’s identity.

This book starts out as a mystery and turns into a thriller. Excerpts from Jacob’s book are included, so the reader will need to keep track of several layers of characters. I particularly enjoyed the parts about literature and the writing process. It is perhaps no surprise in a book entitled The Plot that the characters are thinly drawn. It might have been better to keep this “perfect plot” a secret since it does not seem all that extraordinary once it is revealed.

This book explores the ethics of appropriating an idea for a story. I am not sure I buy into the idea of a “sure thing” in terms of an idea for a book, since so much depends on execution, but it was certainly entertaining. I listened to the audio book, competently read by Kirby Heybourne.

[alanna1122 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I enjoyed this book. It kept me engaged. I really liked how the author used a lot of real things to help bolster a true sense of place - such as in describing Sharon Springs etc. I thought the writing was snappy and the story was good.

[azmtns · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It's a slow beginning but then I couldn't stop reading. Book Blurb: Jacob Finch Bonner was once a promising young novelist with a respectably published first book. Today, he’s teaching in a third-rate MFA program and struggling to maintain what’s left of his self-respect; he hasn’t written—let alone published—anything decent in years. When Evan Parker, his most arrogant student, announces he doesn’t need Jake’s help because the plot of his book in progress is a sure thing, Jake is prepared to dismiss the boast as typical amateur narcissism. But then . . . he hears the plot. Jake returns to the downward trajectory of his own career and braces himself for the supernova publication of Evan Parker’s first novel: but it never comes. When he discovers that his former student has died, presumably without ever completing his book, Jake does what any self-respecting writer would do with a story like that—a story that absolutely needs to be told.In a few short years, all of Evan Parker’s predictions have come true, but Jake is the author enjoying the wave. He is wealthy, famous, praised and read all over the world. But at the height of his glorious new life, an e-mail arrives, the first salvo in a terrifying, anonymous campaign: You are a thief, it says. It was also recommended by Jimmy Fallon - good read!

[jfe16 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Following the success of his debut novel, “The Invention of Wonder,” writer Jacob Finch Bonner struggled to write another book. Finally, he ended up teaching in an inferior Master’s program at the low-residency Ripley Symposia in Creative Writing. His self-respect hovers near non-existent; he’s written nothing worthy of publication in years.In a strained one-on-one meeting with an arrogant student, Evan Parker tells Jacob that his novel will top all others, thanks to what he calls “a plot like mine.” Jacob is skeptical; writers commonly accepted that there were only a handful of plots and every author tweaked one of them to tell a story.And then Jacob learns the plot for the novel Evan Parker plans to write.Years pass; Evan has not written his novel and, with a bit of research, Jacob learns that the young man has died.So Jacob uses the plot and writes the story.His book, “Crib,” is every bit as successful as Evan had so arrogantly predicted in that long-ago teacher-student meeting. And Jacob, thankful for the success, is enjoying the popularity and the praise.But an anonymous e-mail threatens everything he has achieved with its accusatorial message: You are a thief.Thus begins a terrifying campaign that threatens to destroy Jacob. Is he really a thief? And can he discover the identity of his accuser?=========Told in four parts and an epilogue, the unfolding story of Jacob Bonner and his writing career is dark, disturbing, and tragic. Alternating between Jake’s story and excerpts from Jake’s successful book [using the “stolen” plot], the narrative has a strong sense of place and nuanced . . . but not necessarily likable . . . characters. It is a story of enigmas, of lies and deceit, a tale of family and scruples, of dreams and accomplishments. The cat-and-mouse games are perfect for the narrative and the insights into the publishing world are a highlight of the book. However, rather than the torturous focus on the “theft,” the true heart of the narrative lies in Jacob’s own introspective musings and his efforts to put things "right."Given Jake’s earlier musings that there are really only a few plots that form the basis of all fictional stories, it’s asking a bit much for readers to accept that Jake could feel so tortured about using Ethan’s plot with his own particular bent to the telling of the tale. The “stolen” plot is, in fact, not particularly unique; similar scenarios formed the basis of books written by others. Do not characters, setting, relatability, and interest all have something to do with the making of a successful book?With all the foreshadowing and predictability, astute readers will figure out the “surprise twist” long before the actual reveal. The intrigue, tempered by the illogic of so much angst over the author having used someone else’s plot . . . as if owning a plot was actually possible . . . causes the narrative to lose much of its suspense. And slogging through Anna’s information dump/explanation was a bit painful.Recommended . . . no shattering surprises here, but, for the most part, it’s an entertaining read.

[maydacat_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Jake is a writer who had a very successful debut novel. His second book? Not so much. Now a teacher at a small college, he is still trying for that great next novel while listening to wannabe authors extoll their own writing in class. One rather arrogant student says he has a plot that is so good, even a mediocre author would have great success with it. Stingy with details in class, he nevertheless finally gives the outline to Jake. And Jake is reluctantly impressed. Some time later, the book still hasn’t appeared, and Jake discovers that the student has died unexpectedly. Now Jake is in a quandary. Does he ignore the plot of a book that should be told, or does he write his own version of that plot? And it that legal or even morally right? What happens to Jake is probably inevitable: some anonymous person accuses him in an email of being a thief. Now Jake has a huge problem, because the book he wrote is a runaway best seller. If only he can keep the source a secret. This thriller will keep readers flipping the pages, especially as the end drawer near. Well written with suspense that just keeps building, the ending will leave you breathless.

[ccayne_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Listening to this was frustrating. I kept waiting for it to move beyond Jake's endless speculation about being exposed. I did suspect what was revealed in the end which I found it by giving up on the audio and checking a print copy our of the library.

[thewanderingjew_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The Plot, Jean Hanff Korelitz, Kirby Heyborne, narratorWhen, Bonner, a down at heel writer, a one-novel success, cannot get a publisher to publish the additional novels he has authored, he resorts to teaching . At Ripley College, as a low residency professor in the Fine Arts Masters program, Jake meets a student, Evan Parker, arrogant and very self assured, who has an amazing idea for a book. Jake knows this plot will fly off the bookseller’s shelves. He wonders why it wasn’t own his fabulous idea! When he learns of the student’s passing, he steals the idea, develops it fully, and makes it his own. It is an immediate success.As time passes, he meets a woman, falls in love, and they quickly marry. Neither of them is young, rather they are both in their mid to late thirties. A short time after his marriage, he begins to get cryptic messages about having stolen a story. In fact, it is partly true, since he has used his former student’s idea. He begins to investigate, on his own, keeping what seems like a threat, a secret. He is hoping to find the person who is sending the messages and to discover why. Who else could possibly know about Parker’s idea for a novel? What could be the motive of the person sending the messages? They have not asked for money, but it seems to him that whoever it is, is threatening to expose him in some way.As the book continues, the reader is treated to two books, as the one Bonner wrote and the one we are reading merge. In the end, there is a third narrative, as well, which will further enlarges the plot and engage the reader. Some may find the novel more intriguing, some may not. A troubled family experiences one tragedy after another, until the family is destroyed by its suffering. Why is this one family subjected to so much pain? They lived in the biggest house, seemed to have so much, and yet, they had very little. What is taking the lives of so many of the members of the Parker family? Are there any survivors? Is someone who knew the student that Jake taught trying to expose him? Round and round the story goes. What is the truth? Writing more about the book will expose too much of this “whodunit”. Suffice it to say, the ending will be completely unexpected, so absolutely do not turn to the final pages until you reach them!Until the very end, I would have given this book 5 stars for the way it twisted and turned, keeping the reader wondering what the real story was going to be, but in the end, I thought that the least possible plausible ending, was the one revealed. As the main character, Jacob “Finch” Bonner insists, an author does research, and yet, ironically, we discover that he actually left the most important investigation out, when the final reveal is made. Also, unnecessarily, the author felt compelled to trash former President Trump. I do wish authors would leave their personal politics out of their books. Why alienate half your audience?

[waldhaus1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

While the twist is visible at the end it’s not a sure thing. Entertaining. I guess the characters are believable off spending time with a murderer is believable. The plot has plenty of excitement to grab the reader.

[nivramkoorb · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book was on some best of lists and the author had previously written a book that was the basis for "The Undoing" a limited run tv show with Hugh Grant and Nicole Kidman that I enjoyed very much. This book was a page turner although i had a pretty good idea about who the "villain" was. Jacob Bonner is an author with a promising first novel and it has been down hill from there. He is 30ish teaching at a MFA seminar in Vermont when he encounters an attendee(Evan Parker) who tells him a can't miss plot. Fast forward and Bonner is still struggling and realizes this can't miss novel has never been published and Evan Parker died shortly after the seminar. He decides that it is okay for him to use the plot and he writes a novel based on it that becomes a huge success. Ultimately, he begins to get Twitter etc. messages from someone (Tom Talent) who knows that he stole the story. The rest of the book deals with trying to find out who this is. There were holes in the plot with much of the action based a lot of things breaking just right for the ultimate ending to unfold. It did deal well with the nature of being an author and the publishing business. If you want a page turner with a good villain this is a worthwhile read.

[tangledthread · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

A literary suspense novel. Success has eluded Jacob Finch Bonner after his first novel won a promising title award. His subsequent efforts are flops, so he turns to teaching creative writing at a B-list program where me meets Evan Parker. Evan is a bully, condescending, and is convinced that anyone can write a successful novel. He claims to have a plot that will be a blockbuster and make him famous. Though very guarded about this, he does reveal the outlines of it to Jacob.Three years later, the creative writing program has gone online and Jacob has had to move out of New York City due to declining finances. While coaching at a retreat center in upstate NY, he realizes that Evan Parker's novel has never been published and upon further investigation Even Parker is dead.Jacob writes that novel, it becomes wildly successful, is optioned for a movie with Stephen Spielberg, and he meets Ann Williams a program director for a radio show where Jacob is a guest. Shortly after he and Ann get together, mysterious emails and social media blurbs begin to appear accusing Jacob of theft. The rest is a suspenseful downward spiral.Included in the story are excerpts of Jacob's book, Crib. There are also numerous references to famous authors and books, which are fun for the dedicated reader. But in all honesty, I had it figured out as soon as the suspense started...the author tipped her hand.

[kalliegrace · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The first 100 pages or so are pretty slow to get through, but as soon as we meet Anna things pick up and keep your attention. Unfortunately, the twist is also evident from the start here, to anyone not as dense as the main character anyway. It was still a quick and entertaining read, and the dastardly ending was perfect.

[kulmona · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I have read or watched versions of this, well... plot. But, as mentioned in this one, a plot can not be copyrighted. But it still feels wrong somehow. Like stealing someone else's story. But who was the real victim? And who was to blame? This particular book had a slow build-up. It had its moments, but it dragged. I debated whether I had the patience to see it through. Would it be worth it?Ultimately, it was NOT worth it. It was a challenge to get through this book-within-a-book. Not only was it slow, but I had a hard time keeping track of the characters. Also, I had figured out the twist early on.

[geauxgetlit · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

This book is a story of a writer, Jake, who was also a writing teacher. He was a NYT Best Seller for his first novel and his subsequent books have fell short. In comes a cocky student, Parker, exclaiming he has an idea of a book that will be read by all. Jake is rather dismayed and doesn’t give it much thought especially only given the first few chapters of the book, Parker thought would make World status. Parker then explains the plot to Jake, which is untold to the reader, and Jake knew without a doubt that this plot would indeed reach best seller status and everyone in the world would be talking about it. Forward a couple years, Jake found an obituary notice for Parker, and realized his book was never published.

Jake went on to write the book with the plot that was given from his student and it did indeed reach people far and wide. The only problem is that someone on the internet has began spreading rumors that Jake’s book was plagiarized and it wasn’t his story to tell. Who is doing it and what happens when Jake discovers the truth?

For me, this was a really slow burn. The twist at the end wasn’t as nearly shocking as I was hoping it would be. I did enjoy reading more about the publishing world, but all in all only 2.5 stars for me.

Thank you to Celadon books for the gifted copy.

[arubabookwoman · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Jacob Bonner has published one well-received novel, but now several years later is having trouble following through with another book. To get by, he is teaching creative writing. Evan Parker, one of his students, tells Jacob that he doesn't really need to learn writing skills because he has the perfect plot for a book, a plot which can't help but make the book a bestseller. Ultimately he discloses this perfect plot to Jacob, and Jacob tends to agree with him.Fast forward a couple of years, and Jacob's career has gone even further downhill, when a chance encounter reminds him of Evan Parker and his perfect plot. As far as Jacob is aware, Evan has not published a book. A quick google search soon tells him why: Evan died shortly after attending the creative writing course at which he revealed the plot.Jacob decides to write a novel using the perfect plot. It's not plagiarism, he decides, because he's creating his own characters, setting, and details, merely using the bare bones of the plot. The book is published, and it's a wildly successful bestseller. The book tour goes on for years, media rights are sold and Jacob becomes fabulously wealthy. And then: a note, "You are a thief."The rest of the novel is a psychological thriller as Jacob tries to determine who knew the plot was Evan Parker's and what they want from him. The story of Jacob's investigation alternates with excerpts from the novel Jacob wrote, so that as the investigation proceeds, we learn what this perfect plot actually is.This was a diverting read, well written, and there were no false notes to draw me out of the story. Recommended.3 stars

[eyejaybee · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I have always enjoyed straying into metafiction, and this novel offers a rich example.Jacob Bonner scored a critical success with his first novel, published during his twenties, but he has never managed to follow it up with anything of similar quality. He did manage a volume of short stories, published through a university press, but he has never managed to complete another novel to his own satisfaction, far less succeed in having one published.On the back of that early success, he has managed to establish a passable career as a teacher of creative writing, participating in various residential courses around the country. At one of these he encounters a particularly unpleasant student to whom he takes an instant dislike. He is, therefore, disappointed to find himself impressed with a sample of the student’s writing – he had been looking forward to tearing it apart and putting the man in his place. The student takes Jacob’s positive comments for granted, and explains to anyone who will listen that he has a brilliant plot in mind, and that it is a matter of when, rather than whether it will materialise into a bestseller. Before the course ends, he gives Jacob a synopsis of this allegedly brilliant plot. Jacob grudgingly acknowledges that it could probably work, and thinks no more of it.A few years later, confronted with another equally unpleasant student, Jacob remembers that earlier encounter, and realises that the anticipated bestseller had never in fact materialised. Driven by curiosity, he does a quick internet search on his former student, and is shocked to discover that he had died, without ever bringing his novel to fruition.A few more years down the line we catch up with Jacob on an exhausting tour across America, given talks and readings from his runaway bestselling novel, written by himself but utilising the plot that he had heard so long ago. He has just negotiated the sale of film rights to Steven Spielberg, and he is financially secure for the rest of his life. Everything is looking rosy … until he starts receiving messages from someone who claims to know what he has done.Ms Korelitz’s novel is very powerful, and gripped me from the first few pages. This often happens, but was particularly noteworthy in this case as, having been subjected to considerable hype about the book, I was probably feeling slightly disinclined to like it. The hype is, however, entirely justified. The plot (of The Plot) is tightly drawn and carefully developed, and the novel has as many twists as Jacob’s creation. It also offers some amusing insights into the author’s role within the publishing machine. While their creation and inspiration may be the fuel on which the whole machinery runs, they are often treated as little more than a commodity. After a lifetime of reading thriller, I did spot some of the twists, but far from all of them, and thoroughly enjoyed the book, despite my earlier determination to remain aloof.

[capewood · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

2021 book #67. 2021. Jake is a washed up writer teaching a graduate writing course. An arrogant student outlines a plot which Jake later turns that plot into an insanely great selling book. Then he starts getting emails calling him a thief. Good story with some great plot turns.

[bookczuk · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Okay, I saw that and that coming, and maybe That, but I didn't see THAT coming until right as it unfolded.Another eerie thing about this book is that it had settings in javaczuk's home area, where I went to (one) college, where an offspring lived, a place where we lived and something else, none of them big areas,5 out of 5 were rural/backwoods/country.

[mcelhra · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Jacob Finch Bonner is a washed-up author who teaches writing a local college. One day, Evan Parker, one of his students, tells him that he’s written the perfect book with the perfect plot. Jake is dubious but after he reads it, he agrees. He’s sad and jealous that one of his students is a better writer than he is. When he hears that Evan has died, he decides to publish Evan’s book as his own. It makes him rich and famous. Then one day, he gets an email that says, “You are a thief.”The Plot was so good. It is Jake’s story but it also has excerpts from Evan’s book. It really is the perfect plot – tons of twists that I did not see coming. I don’t want to spoil anything for you – just read it and see for yourself!

[mzonderm · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Jake Bonner wrote a really good, very popular book. But he was in danger of remaining a one-hit wonder when chance threw an opportunity in his way. Many years ago, when Jake was a teaching at a low-rent writer's workshop, a student told him about the plot of the book he was writing. Recognizing that the idea was sure to become a bestseller, Jake couldn't help but be jealous. Several years later, he comes to learn that the student has died, his book never written. So Jake takes the idea and runs with it.Sure enough, the book is a hit, jumping onto the bestseller list, becoming an Oprah pick, everything Jake always thought he wanted. But he can't enjoy his fame and fortune, because he's just waiting for someone to expose him. And then one day, he gets a note: "You are a thief." Someone knows his secret, but who? And what do they want? As the threats of exposure intensify, Jake falls down the rabbit hall of his former student's life, where he unearths more secrets than might be quite healthy for him.Like other reviewers, I too found the plot twist to be kind of predictable, but there was still plenty of suspense as I read to find out how Korelitz was going to pull it all off. On one level, this book is a disturbing, twisty story, with a somewhat pathetic main character you couldn't help but have some sympathy for. On another level, this book is a meditation on the ownership of ideas and the responsibility wrtiers have to one another. On either level, the book falls a little short, as characters and ideas aren't as fleshed out as one might like, but that doesn't prevent it from being an overall enjoyable read.FTC Disclaimer: I received this book from the publisher in exchange for this review.

[sblock_16 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A great read if you don't mind disliking just about everyone in the story. Readers of contemporary fiction will figure out a plot twist fairly early.