What it do, y’all? This week we
crazy in love with “Gone Girl” by Gillian Flynn. It’s been five years since Nick Dunne hit da jackpot by puttin a ring on Amy Elliott — a girl who almost as fine as she is rich. But what was supposed to be anotha depressing anniversary celebratin a dead-ass marriage turns in to a full on sh*tshow when Amy goes missing. Where dat girl go? Now there’s somethin I gotta cover real quick: this book ain’t just narrated by one fool tellin us what’s up with the Dunnes. Naw. We gettin da lowdown from two different sources — Amy and Nick. And at first, Amy conversatin wit us through her journal. Dat journal make it sound like things were real legit between them, in the beginning, but da party don’t last too long. Nick loses his job like a scrub, makes em leave their life of swank city-livin and move to da boonies of Missouri to care for his mama, and then uses Amy’s inherited ends to open up a bar with his sista. Not only dat, but according to da journal, Nick been whoopin on Amy lately, and she scurred for her life. Anyway, when da popo hit da scene, erryone start suspectin Nick of killin Amy. I mean, ain’t you eva seen da news?
Da husband always did it. ‘Cept OJ, I guess… But when more and more evidence start pilin up against him, da media gets a big ol’ sensationalism boner and start hatin on Nick like he da killer fo real. Turns out, Amy ain’t even dead. Matta fact, girl faked her own death, wrote a bunk-ass diary lyin her ass off, and left a whole buncha clues to make Nick look guilty — all cuz he’s been cheatin on her like a dick. Nick soon figure out his wife is alive and jus tryna burn him — but how’s a brotha gonna prove it to the dumbass police? Nick take some of da heat off by
playin da game dat Amy playin. Brotha start workin it to make sho public opinion is on his side by showin his mug on TV, runnin his mouth bout how bad a husband he was, and sayin he jus miss his baby girl and want her to come back home. As for Amy, her master plan gets sh*t on when when some trailer trash honkies boost all her cash. Now she ain’t got no choice but to hit up her first boy toy, Desi, who been prayin fo a crack at dat ass fo years. Da tables turn on Amy, though, who realize dat Desi jus wanna control her like almost every otha dude she ever met — ‘cept Nick. Eventually, she tired of bein holed up in
his swag pad, so girl slices dat fool up and runs back to Nick, tellin da media that Desi was behind her whole disappearance. Some messed up sh*t, right? But at least my man, Nick, is off da hook. Nick know he gotta get his ass far
from this crazy biddy, and even start to choke a b*tch. But brotha stop when he realize his
life would be way too empty without her. Still, he does wanna stop Amy from bonin up anyone else’s life and plans to expose da truth. But Amy one step ahead of him: girl
impregnates herself with his love juice, leftover from tissues, porn, and otha sh*t. Fo real! To top it off, she say, “Look playboy, you even dare try to come forward wit yo story, who knows what’s gonna happen to yo baby boy.” Damn, girl! You crazy! So in the end, Nick and Amy stay
togetha, with Amy keepin his ass in check, and Nick spendin his days thinkin how righteous it would be to kill this b*tch. Man. Nick’s lawyer said it best: “’You two are the most f**ked up people I have ever met, and I specialize in f**ked up people.” Whew! This book makes my nuts shrivel up. See, most love stories gonna drop some romantic rhymes on yo ass, sayin dat love is da baddest and sweetest sh*t you’ll eva know. But Fynn ain’t playin no fairy tale game. Naw, blood. Da book’s epigraph set da stage fo somethin way mo fu**ed up: “Love is the world’s infinite mutability;
lies, hatred, murder even, are all knit up in it; it is the inevitable blossoming of its opposites, a magnificent rose smelling faintly of blood.” Real love means da whole package —
not jus’ the smiles, da laughs, and da good times; love got a darker side, too. Dat’s why instead of jus’ describin love with images of sunshine, happiness, and roses, Flynn talks bout nuclear explosions, cancer, and my fave — thorns. Check it out: “Nick and I fit together. I am a little too much, and he is a little too little. ￼I am a thornbush, bristling from the overattention of my parents, and he is a man of a million little fatherly stab wounds, and my thorns fit perfectly into them.” So on da one hand, we got a symbol of love where two peeps perfectly complement each otha. But at da same time, dat complement all about thorns foreva jabbing into open wounds. God. Damn. Anotha one of “Gone Girl’s” main jams
is narrative, and how reality is all in da power of da homie holdin da pen, mic, or camera. Like Amy’s pops say on page 190, “The truth is malleable; you just need to pick the right expert.” We livin’ in a world where there be so many images flashin in front of our eyes 24/7, dat da truth can get lost in all the bullsh*t. Ain’t nobody realize this mo than Amy. Girl always creatin fake narratives in line with what da media wanna believe, in order to f**k wit Nick and get her way. For example, she makes some bullsh*t bout Nick bein a wife-beater in her journal, but since da “abusive husband” is a character dat da media gets hard for, they eat it up, and what’s true don’t even matta no mo. But da truth ain’t da only thing dat get lost in our world of sensationalist media sh*tstorms — our identities do, too. The title “Gone Girl” ain’t only reppin da fact that Amy’s physical body went missing, but also dat who she is has been gone for a long time. Cuz of this jacked-up world, she been: “Amazing Amy. Preppy ‘80s Girl. Ultimate-Frisbee Granola and Blushing Ingenue and Witty Hepburnian Sophisticate. Brainy Ironic Girl and Boho Babe (the latest version of Frisbee Granola). Cool Girl and Loved Wife and Unloved Wife and Vengeful Scorned Wife. Diary Amy.” People been exposed to so many
narratives, like the corrupt politician, the lazy trust fund baby, or da violent gangsta-lookin dude, dat there ain’t no room for self. And the scurriest thing is: when you gettin marginalized and defined 24/7, you sometimes find that you become exactly the kinda monster dat errybody makin you out to be. Hell, just look at Nick! Eventually, he does physically abuse his wife and fantasize about icin her. That’s some messed up sh*t right there, man. “It’s a very difficult era in which to be a person, just a real, actual person, instead of a collection of personality traits selected from an endless automat of characters.” Yo, thanks for checkin me out, man. If
you guys wanna see mo dark stuff, click this gun to see me break down “Watchmen” by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons. If you want some lighter sh*t, click this python, right here, to see me break down “The Cat in the Hat” by Dr. Seuss. Don’t be jealous. Don’t hate. This is all real. No roids. I don’t juice, yo. Peace!