The more I share about our relationship and breakup, the more vindicated he will feel in his fears. But if I don’t write about it, he succeeds in forcing my silence. If I don’t go into enough detail, the story won’t resonate with people who have experienced similar dynamics, but if I share too much, I run the risk of coming across as bitter and vengeful. I can’t prove I wouldn’t have written about the relationship had it not ended in this way, just like I can’t prove I wouldn’t write about a child I don’t have. It’s a trap. I found the protagonist here to be unbearable, the story difficult to care about, and the #metoo theme forced, as if the author wrote this book because she wanted to capitalize on the movement and threw together a copycat and clichéd way to make it happen. Nor is she innocent to the power dynamics of the industry, securing her position through nepotism like many of those before her. He didn’t suggest that I give up writing. He purported to support my ambitions, and I tried to come up with justifications for keeping a private journal. I didn’t counter that maybe he should choose his words as if I’d remember them.

I know how it sounds to suggest my boyfriend dumped me because he’s scared I’ll become like Nora Ephron. You’re thinking: that’s what you’re going with? Or maybe: what’s her name?Is it my job to tell him “you, too”? If I thank him for his congratulations and leave it at that, am I demonstrating complicity, failing to practice what I preach? But on the other hand, why should the emotional labour of calling him out fall to me? This book captures that feeling of your early 20's so well, when you start to feel like you are in over your head, when you realize that all the things you thought you knew about yourself and your family and the world may not be true.

You thrive under pressure, and are determined to excel. But there's a dark side to the industry that's about to rear its head. And soon, you must decide your place in it: For fans of The Morning Show and My Dark Vanessa , a compulsively readable debut novel about a young woman trying to succeed in Hollywood without selling her soul You know the rules of this world. When someone senior tells you how pretty you look, you smile and thank him - and make a mental note never to wear that dress alone with him again. We urgently need to develop avenues for conversations about all the behaviour that lives in this grey space. We also need to stop blindly applauding powerful women in Hollywood as if their success is inherently “good for women” or an illustration of the system working in a more egalitarian way. Some of the worst men in Hollywood are women. It’s an ugly truth, and one that’s difficult to discuss in the nuanced way it deserves, but women are often better foot soldiers of the patriarchy than men. Particularly women who have held positions of power for a while. Understandable: they, too, are the product of structural forces. That may explain, but it doesn’t excuse. And a number of them wield their gender as a protective shield against criticism. She has an idea of what she wants her life to be but she is just starting to learn that maybe none of that will make her happy. In addition to her work life we see her romantic life and in particular her regular interactions with her mother, who is paying for a lot of the things our narrator can't afford on her small salary, and who constantly demands her time and attention. Her mother in particular is a fascinating character, and a type we have seen often in the last decade, a woman who knows and understands the structures that men use to assault women, who knows how difficult it is to bring charges up at work or to the police, and a woman who will say "Oh Robert didn't do that," when the man involved is a friend.

Isabel Kaplan’s novel about the “toxic underbelly” of the Hollywood TV system has gone to Penguin Michael Joseph (PMJ). Here is what has changed in Hollywood since #MeToo: not much. If the bar for tolerable behaviour was on the floor before – no, make that underground – then now, it’s hovering just above floor level. It is widely understood that you are not to grope or make sexual advances on your employees, and that if you do so, you may face consequences. Throwing items in the office, and particularly in the direction of your employees, is now off limits. People previously unaware of the terms “implicit bias” and “microaggressions” have now attended training sessions about them and know that they are bad. They believe themselves to be free of them. I remember being 23, anxiously navigating halls where executives didn’t look me in the eye, holding the muted phone to my ear, thinking: if I have the opportunity to speak, I hope I make the most of it. I’m trying my best. I’m not, of course. I’m a 32-year-old writer who has published two books and is trying to build a literary career. Only once that began to seem like a legitimate possibility did my ex-boyfriend feel threatened by it. Read the synopsis? You basically read the book. With the exception of one reveal the book adds literally nothing to that synopsis. Even that last line is how the book ends. You never find out her decision. Such a waste of time. Do yourself a favor and read The Change and I’m Glad My Mom Died instead. They make a lot of the same points / prompt the same discussions and they’re actually well done.

Nora Ephron was the patron saint of militarized vulnerability. She refused shame. Take, for example, her Esquire essay about having small breasts. Society said: hate your body, but don’t talk about it. Nora said: you don’t get to have it both ways.My own novel is currently on submission for screen adaptation. If I am fortunate enough that people are interested in adapting it, I may be faced with a dilemma: what if someone I know to be part of the problem, someone who I encountered in my previous job or have heard about through the whisper network, wants to buy it? Will I be principled enough to say no? Will I try to convince myself that if they are interested in supporting a critique of Hollywood, the ends will justify the means? Do I actually care enough about these systemic issues or am I also, in a way, exploiting them as literary material for my own professional gain? How can I separate my desire to raise awareness and increase discussion about complicity in Hollywood from my desire to be one of the voices in the conversation? Does it count for anything that I am asking myself these questions or no, not really? I have more questions than answers. I’m not sure if asking them out loud is useful, but it’s a start, and it feels more productive than silence. A book with a title like NSFW is practically daring you to read it, especially at work. YOLO. But NSFW is more than a book with a buzzy title; it's also an incredibly ambitious and timely novel about rape culture, and what working in Hollywood was like prior to the widespread progression of the #MeToo movement in 2017 following the Harvey Weinstein allegations. The ability to bend an inch at a time while seeming to stand up straight is a useful and gendered skill. Most women I know do it regularly. They bend until they’re pretzeled and then blame themselves for the body aches. I’ve thought a lot about these dynamics. I wrote a whole book exploring them. And yet. There I was. A frank account of the inherent filthiness of leaning in. A study of the psychological, and at times literal, gymnastics that are required of striving women. Raven Leilaini When I found myself sad and lonely in the Upper West Side apartment of my now-ex-boyfriend’s dreams, I turned to Nora Ephron. I hunted through her body of work searching for clues, trying to understand who and what my ex-boyfriend loved and feared. I was like an obsessed detective with a bulletin board full of snapshots, but instead of suspects, I had still frames of Meg Ryan. I connected threads until they were tangled in knots.

Sharp, funny . . . The writing is fresh and stylish and the conversational tone helps the thought-provoking narrative zip along. I loved it Daily Mail Blisteringly sharp, hypersmart, and compulsively readable―meet Isabel Kaplan’s searing debut novel about a young woman trying to succeed in Hollywood without selling her soul. Our heroine, a young Jewish Los Angeles native who has just taken an assistant job at a TV studio, is no naïf. Atkins said: “I was utterly consumed by Isabel’s writing when Not Safe for Work first reached my inbox, reading it in a single night. The power struggles she explores will be instantly recognisable to all who have found themselves at the murky crossroads between doing what’s right and doing what is best for oneself. I am proud that it will hold a place on our list at Penguin Michael Joseph.”

Not Safe For Work Book review: Playing the Hollywood game

People misunderstand her phrase everything is copy,” my boyfriend explained. “It’s really about making yourself the butt of a joke first so that other people can’t do it to you.” A frank study of the psychological, and at times literal, gymnastics that are required of striving women' RAVEN LEILANI, bestselling author of LUSTER With blisteringly sharp prose and a darkly humorous voice, Not Safe For Work is an unflinching exploration of the grey area between empowerment and complicity, and a searing, unforgettable portrait of what success costs in a patriarchal world. Frank, funny and unputdownable . . . behind the glitter and the justice, everyone is tarnished and compromised - including even our narrator. Kaplan, with her sharp and nuanced eye, sees it all, and tells it brilliantly Claire Messud, New York Times bestselling author of The Woman Upstairs