This is Williams' first novel, and I am amazed at how well she crafted the story. She took these five disparate characters and made them each a protagonist, alternating chapters from each person's point of view to drive the story forward. Despite splitting time, they are each incredibly well-formed, distinct individuals. She also did something else that I normally dislike in novels: she told the story in first person present tense. Usually, I find that distracting. Perhaps because this is a novel about the film industry (where scripts are always written in present tense), it didn't bother me at all. In fact, I think that it is a testimony to Williams' writing prowess that it seemed to be the only appropriate choice, as it gives the story a cinematic quality and makes everything feel far more immediate.

The artifice of Hollywood is immediately apparent in the opening chapter, as Michaela goes to an audition and finds herself the oldest one in the room by "more than a decade" (ageism alert - she's over thirty!). She's wearing a miniskirt "about the size of a washcloth" to give the illusion that she's taller than her actual five-two, and she describes herself in objectively physical terms - "perky breasts and a flawless, rock-hard body;" basically, she's "a midget Tai Bo Barbie." But unfortunately for her, the casting call doesn't go well: they're looking for someone, well, younger. Time for more Prozac.

When we meet Jeb in the next chapter, it opens as a stylized script sequence (in slow motion, no less). He does a Neo impression, blowing up the "typically posh Hollywood agency" with his AK-47; only in passing does he realize there's something missing: yeah, "strippers in a workplace massacre scene!" And while we very quickly realize that Jeb isn't actually shooting anyone, we also recognize that he's fueled by anger and a belief that he's far better than anyone else around him. Williams doesn't use the script technique again, but it was an effective segue into his character (lots of action and anger generally define Jeb) and it is another reminder of the way Hollywood perceives itself.

Again and again we see the reality of Hollywood fall short of the expectation: we see the relative smallness of those in power, whether it be Johnny Treadway belittling Griffin, making him a glorified serving boy ("I feel thirsty," says Treadway, and Griffin knows that's his cue to grab a bottle of water from the fridge in Johnny's office) or Victoria Rush getting her kicks by firing people (in one burst of catharsis, she fires several people all at once). Treadway and Blume are supposed to have some sort of obligation to their clients (for example, Travis Trask) but all they really care about is the ultimate payday, even if it means getting Trask to sign on to a crappy film based on a couple of pages of phony coverage of a script that doesn't exist. In Treadway's case, he is even more self-absorbed than Blume: he's more interested in finding a script that offers him a movie role than anything else.