Brilliant or boring? The verdict on Rachel Cusk’s new novel

Miranda DarlingAugust 28, 2026 — 11:00amReading Rachel Cusk’s Life of M is a destabilising experience. The pages shadow you; the strange discomfort of their atmosphere lingers – as intended, surely, as most specifically intended. This is Cusk, after all, and her writing is no one’s comfort zone.Life of M has provoked much debate “in real life”, fed by the supposedly furious reactions of the famous actress whom “M” is allegedly based on, with entertainment channels thrilling about a feud between the writer and the Hollywood superstar. Outrage is performed, and it’s VERY EXCITING; more stories probe the line (maybe it’s more of a demilitarised zone) between what’s acceptable and what’s not when turning a famous life into fiction. The actress’ friends are said to be incandescent; others call out Cusk’s novel as a “cheap publicity stunt”, as if this were a brand-new form of intrusion, an unprecedented liberty taken. In other words, it’s difficult to read Life of M on the page alone, to experience it without the subsonic thrumming of this parallel storyline creating and/or revealing a whole other dimension to the novel.Rachel Cusk’s new novel has attracted attention well beyond the page. It took me a while to finish. After an enthusiastic dive into the familiar spartan beauty of Cusk’s sentences I found myself reacting with a mix of frustration, incredulity, boredom and confusion. I resisted reading for a few days while I unravelled my reluctance. Then I realised that the interesting dance was taking place off the page, that the novel was a commentary and a mirror, a performance, a provocation and a participation, all at once.We are warned in the very first paragraph: “Would you just make it up? she said.” Many scenes do feel “made up” in the sense that they feel clichéd, like the work of a lazy writer skimming the well-worn surface of things – the fashion model in the bookstore stood out as a clanger. Other scenes have descriptions of tables and glass tumblers and flowers that have a flatness to them, a banality, almost a Dick-and-Jane quality: “They are filled with books but also with other things, perhaps put there in haste to clear the room: [a list follows].”The reminder that Cusk’s writing can be electrifying bursts in occasionally. Describing an art exhibition that M attends, there is a sudden rush of blood and life in the writing. The warning is there: Cusk is a fantastic, whip-smart writer who doesn’t ask to be liked, and we underestimate her at our peril. It remains, though, that Life of M presents more surface: the occasional descriptions of ugliness as some form of antidote fail to fragment the power of “seems”. The theatre director who chooses to pay no attention to his appearance as a statement of his power opens a small and interesting thematic door that the narrator fails to walk through. Indeed, in their brittle self-regard, the narrator resembles M to the point that we almost have a conflation. (This resonates if the narrator is indeed “making it all up”.)I found myself reacting with a mix of frustration, incredulity, boredom and confusion. I resisted reading for a few days while I unravelled my reluctance.Complicity runs through the work. The novel begins with first-person narration, and the ground seems solid. Early references to “we” appear initially to refer to the narrator and a partner; the use of the first-person plural then becomes increasingly claustrophobic until it becomes clear we are now dealing with a single entity of sorts that could very well include us, the “we” retaining the intimacy afforded by “I” yet adding a layer of reader inclusion. “We” unfixes the point of view. It can be read as a self-aggrandising royal “we” as a pretentious affectation, or a distancing from the earlier authorial “I”; “we” might be a comment on how completely we give over our identities to a partner that even childhoods blur into a shared space; it could suggest a mild psychosis, or offer a comment on the ubiquitous reach of non-binary pronouns. Very possibly and likely, all of the above and more are in play.The novel provokes and performs a destabilisation of “truth” that goes beyond an unreliable narrator. It pulls us as readers into a co-creation that is fed by our own half-knowledge and dark assumptions. It’s all through the book: “People begin to see her, as though she were an image developing out of their own knowledge. She sometimes wonders whether it is she who needs this process to occur.”The last line of the book (I won’t give it away) seems to acknowledge the gaze of the unknown reader, one that both creations – M and the narrator – are only too aware of, almost as if a prop door has opened unexpectedly in a painted backdrop.Life of M raises more questions: is the real-life movie star part of the collusion? Is the novel brilliant or boring? Perhaps it’s all in the twist of the wrist, and how you hold it up to the light.What else is happening in the book world?The Sydney Writers’ Festival has named its new artistic director.Looking for a new favourite book for your child? Try one of these award-winners.This is the email many authors dream of getting – but beware, it could be a trapArtist Tom Carment reflects on five decades of friendship with the late Robert GrayNovelist Richard Flanagan opens up about his early-onset dementia misdiagnosisA 3000-year-old poem is suddenly back on the bestseller list. Here’s whyLife of M by Rachel Cusk is published by Faber ($33) on September 1.The Booklist is a weekly newsletter for book lovers from Jason Steger. Get it delivered every Friday.More:ReviewFor subscribersSpectrumLiteratureSpectrumSee & DoFrom our partners