A Reflection on Something Borrowed by Emily Giffin
Every so often, a book calls to me from my Kindle like an old friend I haven’t spoken to in years. That was my experience with Something Borrowed by Emily Giffin. Given its place in the chick-lit genre, I found myself curious about how this story, published in 2005, would resonate today, especially amid my recent true crime binge. What initially drew me in, however, was the opportunity to reflect on a tale that navigates the murky waters of friendship and betrayal.
At the heart of Something Borrowed is Rachel, a 30-year-old attorney who finds herself entwined in a moral quandary at her birthday party, courtesy of a few too many drinks and her best friend Darcy’s fiancé, Dex. What should have been a moment of celebration spirals into a night of poor decisions that sends Rachel down a guilt-ridden path of self-justification. As the story unfolds, Rachel grapples with her feelings of guilt and attraction, all while attempting to rationalize her choices—something I found particularly vexing.
One of my main grievances with Rachel’s character is how Giffin portrays her internal conflict. On one hand, we see a woman burdened by her actions; on the other, we witness her tendency to vilify Darcy, rather than embracing the complexity of their friendship. This felt like the author was trying to balance the scales of morality, forcing readers to root for Rachel through a somewhat absurd lens. As someone who abhors the idea of infidelity—especially among friends—I struggled to muster any empathy for her situation. In my opinion, Giffin should have delved deeper into the ethical nuances rather than simplifying it with a “bad friend” trope.
The pacing of the novel was another stumbling block for me. By the halfway point, Rachel’s justifications had begun to wear thin, and I found myself longing for more engaging dialogue or character development. It felt as though Giffin was stuck in a loop, reiterating the same cycle of guilt and poor decision-making. The writing style, while at times witty, lacked the cohesiveness I craved—each moment felt stretched thin, hollowing out what could have been a gripping narrative arc.
However, there were moments of brightness. The character of Ethan, Rachel’s mutual friend, shines like a beacon of reason amid the drama. I found myself rooting for him to sweep her off her feet instead of Dex, who, frankly, came across as dull and somewhat self-serving. If nothing else, Ethan’s presence offered a break from the tension, hinting at what a real connection might look like.
As for a memorable takeaway, Giffin’s exploration of the gray areas of love and friendship resonated, albeit in a frustrating way. There were moments I would have liked to see Rachel confront her choices more directly, rather than tiptoeing around her feelings for Dex. The ending, which I’ll leave ambiguous, felt hopeful in theory, yet left me a little unsettled.
If you’re a fan of complex interpersonal dynamics and can handle morally gray characters, Something Borrowed might still capture your interest. However, for readers like me, who prefer clear moral delineations, this book may elicit more eye-rolls than empathy. In any case, it was certainly a thought-provoking read that nudged me to reevaluate notions of friendship and fidelity, even if it didn’t quite win my heart.
In the end, this exploration through Giffin’s work reminded me that not every book needs to be a feel-good story. Sometimes, the messier, more complicated tales warrant equal attention. Here’s to hoping the sequel, Something Blue, finds a way to improve upon these tangled relationships. Until next time!
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