"I'm not a good person. I'm not even a medium person."
That's roughly where Greta lands early on, and I remember thinking — sitting in my car in the garage at 9:47 PM, both hands still on the steering wheel like I was about to drive somewhere — yeah girl, same energy. Except my moral failings involve hiding the last of the Halloween candy, not secretly transcribing someone's sex therapy sessions and then sleeping with them.
Big Swiss is unhinged. I mean that as a compliment.
A House Full of Bees and Absolutely Zero Boundaries
Here's the setup: Greta lives in this crumbling Dutch farmhouse in Hudson, New York — no insulation, literal bees in the walls — and works as a transcriptionist for a sex coach who goes by "Om." She listens to people's most private confessions all day, which is already ethically sketchy, and then she meets one of the patients in real life. A tall, composed Swiss woman she's nicknamed Big Swiss. And instead of doing literally anything reasonable, Greta pursues her. Hard.
The thing about Jen Beagin's writing is that she's genuinely, viscerally funny in a way that made me laugh out loud during school drop-off more than once. Emma asked me what was so funny and I said "a podcast about bees" because how do you explain this book to a seven-year-old? You don't. You absolutely don't.
But here's what caught me off guard — underneath all the dark comedy, there's real damage. Greta has a trauma history that she handles with deflection and terrible decisions, and Big Swiss (Flavia) has her own, which she processes by being aggressively rational about everything, including her own assault. The way the book treats trauma isn't sentimental. It's messy and uncomfortable and sometimes inappropriately hilarious, which is honestly closer to how real people deal with awful things than most fiction gets.
Five Narrators and Not a Single Weak Link
Okay, the full-cast production. Five narrators for an 11-hour book is ambitious, and I was prepared for it to feel cluttered. It doesn't. Rebecca Lowman does Greta and she nails that sardonic, self-aware-but-still-making-bad-choices voice. You know that friend who can describe their own disaster in a way that makes you laugh even though you're horrified? That's what Lowman brings.
Stephen Graybill as Om is chef's kiss. He plays Om with this slightly pretentious, yoga-retreat-leader warmth that's both sincere and ridiculous. Every time Om spoke I could picture that one dad at school pickup who talks about his "practice" and you're never sure if he means yoga or law.
The therapy sessions are where Joy Osmanski and Matt Pittenger really shine — they cycle through multiple patients and each one sounds distinct. Not just different accents or pitches, but different emotional registers. One patient sounds defensive, another sounds like they're performing vulnerability, another sounds genuinely shattered. It makes the eavesdropping feel uncomfortably real, which is kind of the point.
Carlotta Brentan handles Flavia/Big Swiss with this cool, measured delivery that cracks at exactly the right moments. You can hear the control, and you can hear when it slips.
Where It Got Weird (Even for This Book)
I should warn you — this is not a cozy read. I know, I know, 90% of my library is comfort reads. This was the 10%. There's explicit sexual content, some genuinely dark subject matter, and the plot goes places in the back half that I did not see coming. Around hour 8, things take a turn that's less romantic comedy and more... psychological thriller? Gothic drama? I paused to go deal with Sophie's diaper situation and when I came back I genuinely had to rewind because the tonal shift was that sharp.
Did it survive my 47 pauses? Mostly. The character dynamics are strong enough that I never lost the thread of who these people are to each other. But the plot mechanics in the last few hours — there's a fire, there's a dog situation, things escalate fast — those required more continuous attention than I usually have to give.
Also, I want to be honest: the ending didn't fully land for me. It's not bad, it's just... abrupt? After spending so much time inside these complicated relationships, I wanted a little more resolution. Not a neat bow — this is not a neat-bow kind of book — but something that felt more earned.
Who's Going to Love This (and Who Should Steer Clear)
If you want something sharp and original that treats you like an adult, this is it. If you loved Ottessa Moshfegh or early Miranda July, you'll probably devour this. My book club would love this — if I ever have time for book club again — because there's SO much to talk about. The ethics alone could fuel two hours of wine-fueled debate.
But if you need a satisfying ending, or if heavy content around sexual trauma isn't something you can handle right now (no judgment, we all have seasons), skip this one. It's not comfort food. It's that weird fermented thing your foodie friend brings to the potluck that you end up obsessing over even though you can't explain why you liked it.
Garage Car Time Certified (With Caveats)
I finished this across a week and a half of stolen moments and one late night after the kids were down. It's smart, it's strange, it's darkly funny, and the cast production elevates it into something special. Not my usual lane, but I'm glad I took the exit. Made me think, made me laugh at drop-off, and made me grateful that my biggest ethical dilemma is whether to tell Lucas his goldfish was actually three different goldfish. Though if you want something completely different that still kept me glued to my steering wheel, Eye of the Needle scratched a similar itch — that same can't-stop-even-though-I-should-be-inside energy.
