In The Luckiest Girl Alive, Jessica Knoll rips off the veneer and exposes the harsh reality of women who have been raped. The PTSD episodes. The pretense that everything’s fine here. The impossibility of real intimacy. The rage. The self-doubt. The impossible task of trying to put back together the shattered shards of our spirit, dignity, and self-respect after we have been brutally violated by arrogant, self-entitled, powerful men who know they’ll never be held accountable. . .men who will make us wish we’d never been born if we break our silence and speak the truth.
The publisher made a mistake suggesting this was another Gone Girl. No. Today, it would be pitched more accurately as the brave, raw, haunting fictionalized memoir of a #MeToo survivor. Ms. Knoll was gang-raped before she was old enough to drive. She was an editor at Cosmopolitan and Self before becoming a best-selling author.
Yes, the book gets off to a rough start. Yes, TifAni FaNelli is annoying. The black rose on the cover is a clue that she’s not, in fact, the Luckiest Girl Alive despite how desperately she would like to be.