For most of the book, I was reading along at a pretty good clip and thinking it was a perfect candidate for a two-star rating: not stellar, not particularly inspired, somewhat obnoxious, but easy to read, with a decent story engine to propel you along amiably enough. After that atrocious ending, though, I can't even give it the grace of a second star. Double Exposure is truly a waste of time, with the last fifty pages being the worst offenders of all. The resolution is honestly so slapdash, sloppy, and stupid (the three S's) that I was gritting my teeth trying to barrel my way through to the end.
The characters are cardboard cutouts. Rainey, the protagonist, runs a private eye firm but has that perfect psychological profile that heroines need to have in these books to keep from seeing the obvious solution to the mystery within the first few pages: dumb and damaged (the two D's). She's one of those people who seems to have made it decades into adult life without having ever manufactured a single independent thought. As an example of how preternatural her investigative skills are, she's lived and worked in Los Angeles for years, even at film studios, but is somehow flabbergasted to find out that reality shows have writers and directors.
Her two co-workers are the Plus-Sized Woman Who Doesn't Make a Big Deal About It and the Black Wheelchair-Bound Woman Who Doesn't Make a Big Deal About it--and yes, they're just as shallow as you'd expect from a Skinny White Author Who Wants To Show She's Progressive By Checking As Many Diversity Boxes As Possible. Both are described as being exceptional at their jobs but don't really contribute much to the case at hand; their primary role is to push back against the poor decisions made by our Broken, Damaged, Emotionally Vulnerable Narrator and then immediately accept her back into the fold after she throws a temper tantrum, shuts them out of her life, and practically disbands the P.I. agency because she's so horny for the Hot Sexy Damaged Possibly Dangerous Female Client they tried to warn her away from. They are emotional caregivers to our extremely immature protagonist, there to provide support while asking for none in return (even though at least one of them has a backstory that is just as traumatic as our Poor Fragile White Narrator, but it never seems to get her down because she is the picture of A White Person's Idea of Black Excellence, displaying nothing so inconvenient as her own thoughts, feelings, and needs).
The plot is bloated, chock full of subplots that don't matter, situations that don't go anywhere, scenes that contribute nothing, and background characters who serve no purpose. Rainey has a stalker ex-boyfriend who is built up as a Bad Dude, but in spite of all her paranoia and dread, he is efficiently dispatched less than halfway through the book in a bout of Deus Ex Krav Maga. What was the point of that cul-de-sac? Just to show that she is a Strong Female Character Who Can Handle Any Threat? Way to deflate the tension for the next 200 pages. Rainey's mother walked out on her family when Rainey was a child, and that plays absolutely no role in the story, except to veer into that manipulative storytelling device where the narrator slowly doles out information over the course of the book to create Tension and Mystery, even though everything she's relating to the audience already happened in the past and was fully known to the character before the book even began. I keep saying this about new novels, but WHERE ARE THE FUCKING EDITORS? Why are such tumefied manuscripts constantly being released as-is? I feel like traditional publishers have gotten to the point where they're encouraging authors to add in as much inessential, plot-adjacent crap as possible to convince streaming services there's enough material for an eight-episode limited series. Here's a novel idea: just give me a satisfying story arc with a beginning, middle, and end, and cut out all the baloney.
The story hinges on Rainy becoming infatuated with client Melia van Aust, a rich woman whose family (except for her now-missing brother) were murdered years ago, and someone is now leaving her threatening messages. Noir is, of course, the genre for imperfect (anti-)heroes making bad decisions and indulging vices, but the chemistry between Rainey and Melia that is necessary for this to work just doesn't exist. The extent of Melia's "sedutive" nature is stretching ostentatiously when she gets up from the couch, and I suppose the scar on her chest obtained during the fatal attack on her parents is meant to be titillating. Pretty much every person in the novel (including Rainey herself) keeps commenting on Melia's reputation for being volatile and manipulative, and there is never really any convincing evidence produced to the contrary. The steamy relationship that ought to form between them to override Rainey's good sense is entirely told-not-shown.
The writing style is irritating. In addition to the "Deep Thoughts" tone I mentioned above, where Rainey narrates like a sixteen-year-old constantly having her mind blown at the nuances of the "real world" and then immediately turning around to start lecturing you with all her newfound wisdom, it's repetitive and inelegant. Distinct phrases like "a thin line appeared between her eyebrows" appear multiple times over the course of a few pages, and I wanted to scream at the repetition of tags like, "she said softly" or "she whispered" or "she said, her voice quiet" (often within the same conversation). The setting is Los Angeles, but like everything else, Barry's descriptions of it are superficial and bland. I've been to Los Angeles a handful of times and I'm pretty sure I could write a better description of it than this character, who supposedly lives there; the book offers the literary equivalent of using stock footage for the establishing wide shot and then cutting to closeups of the actors standing in front of a green screen in a different state altogether. The visuals are correct, but the atmosphere doesn't land. This is the kind of novel you write when you're only read like two books in your life (both of them by Gillian Flynn) and lift the rest of your inspiration from NCIS reruns.
Noirvember rating: 1/5 overall, .5/5 on the noir scale (and the half-star is entirely for the cover)