Two years ago, I published a novel of psychological suspense. It was my debut, and it was a very special book for me because, until I decided to sit down and write that manuscript, I’d only been familiar with the genre as a reader. I hadn’t gone to conferences or participated in workshops or read a mountain of books on plotting the perfect thriller. I wrote what would become Girl Last Seen from sheer instinct. It had all the markings of what I call a true passion project: a story I’d been dying to tell, with a character who’d been demanding my attention for a while, and everything else coming together in a series of those lightbulb moments that every writer is familiar with, the ones that make you feel like you’ve won the lottery.

Sure, the book had some pretty dark stuff in it, and I worried it would alienate agents and editors, let alone readers. And it did, to an extent, but my writer friends told me to stick with it and stay true to my vision. It paid off; I found an agent and publisher soon after. It got published by Grand Central in 2017 and sold far beyond my wildest expectations.

Of course, the fact that it had “girl” in the title didn’t hurt. Books with similar titles had been appearing regularly on bestseller lists by then. The title of my second book was deliberately chosen to have “sister” in it. Now, my third book, which releases this June, is called The Starter Wife. And I’m far from alone. Several books with “wife” in the title release this summer. So why do these concepts continue to capture the imagination all these years after this titling trend began?

You see, when I wrote my debut, I didn’t set out to write a “girl” book. Just like I hadn’t set out to write a “sister” book or a “wife” book. At the time, I would have had a hard time defining what a “girl” book is. It had a different title, and if anything, I was a little reluctant to rename it: back then, (male) reviewers were already starting to complain about all these derivative, unoriginal girls in titles. After much discussion, my publisher and I decided to go for it: it suited my book perfectly, and I think readers agreed. But “girl” in the title or not, I always wrote books that centered on complex female characters. (I prefer to say complex rather than strong—they don’t have to be strong to be interesting or well-written.)

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Why? Any writer will tell you that their own life experiences end up seeping into their writing one way or another. These days, we’re all pondering our place not just in thrillers or in literature at large but in our own lives: from girl/daughter/sister to wife/mother. When you say the words, certain stereotypes come to mind. One can’t help but feel boxed in and forced to conform to a role that may or may not fit, especially when society at large doesn’t look kindly on women who don’t play their roles.

[G]enre and commercial fiction tends to be at the forefront of the zeitgeist, reflecting the larger public’s tastes and mentalities.

In the “girl” books, however, the female characters are also ruthless killers, kick-ass vigilantes, and skilled manipulators. The wives spy, snoop, and poison, and the mothers don’t always know best. Granted, some of these are extremes. It’s not like all of us are secretly fantasizing of murder most foul. But seeing these extremes on the page is great fun, and I daresay therapeutic to an extent. Sure, complicated and well-written female characters have always existed, but now that they’re in style, a reader can have her pick. Want to be a badass detective for a day? Sure! Want to be the psycho murderer she’s hunting? This way, please.

Of course, when a book is fun to read, it gets dismissed as “formulaic genre fiction”, “an airport read,” or, that worst insult of all, “commercial.” (I never understood that. Every author I know would commit literal murder to have her books stocked in airport bookstores. And if “commercial” is the worst insult I have thrown at me, I’ve done my job as a writer.) Yet genre and commercial fiction tends to be at the forefront of the zeitgeist, reflecting the larger public’s tastes and mentalities. So what does that say about the proliferation of the “girl” novels?

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Likewise, a number of big, bestselling “girl” books (I’m using it as an umbrella term for all the sister/woman/wife/mother books as well) have been written by women. On top of that, we’ve been seeing a new trend of male writers taking on female or neutral pseudonyms to write in the genre. This isn’t something often seen before, in suspense or literature as a whole: imagine going to the book signing of Amantine Dupin to find yourself face-to-face with George Sand. (As for us female authors, we can either feel gleefully vindicated that the roles have been flipped or roll our eyes when those books get giant advances and a marketing budget bigger than the GDP of some countries.) And I think it’s safe to guess that a large part of the audience is women as well—the very same women who have been condescended to for years by smug pop culture that assumed we don’t want cerebral entertainment and shy away from dark themes. But the readers proved it wrong with Gone Girl in 2012, and have continued to prove it wrong since. My debut, which deals with dark themes indeed—kidnapping, abuse, and addiction, among others—resonated with an audience I could only guess existed. Other authors out there, like Karin Slaughter, deal with even more sinister subjects with great success.

As for me, I’ve always loved writing badass, flawed, occasionally evil women, and I plan to continue doing so. What changed is that now I have an audience.