This Could Get Ugly: A review of Daisy Jones and The Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid

I run hot and I always have. I am not going to sit around sweating my ass off just so men can feel more comfortable. It’s not my responsibility to not turn them on. It’s their responsibility to not be an asshole.

I finally picked up Daisy Jones and The Six thanks to my buddy read partner over at Bookstagram. There’s a lot of fanfare surrounding this book (as with a lot of books you choose initially because of its visibility on social media platforms) and it’s difficult to cut through that. However, this is my attempt to put that aside and give it my honest overview. 

Daisy Jones and The Six is a fictional seventies rock band from L.A. The book covers their story in an interview style format, with band members and other significant people looking back, and talking in more recent times. This style serves the subject of the novel well, and makes it a quick and easy read, while adding perfectly and appropriately to the storytelling of a once world famous, but short lived, ego filled, drug fuelled, rock group. The style is a welcome diversion from the usual novel format and offers a different reading experience that, if embraced, provides enjoyment in its own right. It doesn’t seem strange or out of place that it should be written this way, it feels right to me. However, there are, of course, limitations to this narrative style, and it may not be to everyone’s taste. Yet, for me, there is sufficient sense of place and time, character development, drama, conflict, and narrative progression, to call it a success.

When you’re in a situation like that, when you have a man looming over you, it’s as if every decision you made to lead to that moment – alone with a man you don’t trust flashes – before your eyes. Something tells me men don’t do the same thing. When they are standing there, threatening a woman, I doubt they count every wrong step they made to become the asshole they are. But they should.

The spin of the book is that the details of the band’s history differ depending on who is recalling them, and this serves to be more of a character development tool, rather than revealing anything, either subtle or earth shattering, that will affect the narrative. In this way it’s a bit misleading, although it can be forgiven depending on your expectations. The author succeeds in creating quite unreliable characters, whether this be because of their fervent drug taking at the time or because of their huge egos still presenting themselves, and in my opinion, quite unlikable characters too. Daisy, of the title, is a privileged, rich, white girl who seemingly falls into the limelight without much effort beyond frolicking with musicians and celebrities. Her talent seems unquestionable by her peers and critics, but I found myself totally questioning it. Was this intended by the author? I hope so. Leaving a lot unsaid and allowing your readers to read between the lines and create a slightly different narrative to work alongside your own, is a great skill and a clever way to tell a story. Billy, the lead singer with Daisy, is at least equally repellent. Repellent isn’t quite the word, but there’s something about him that’s not endearing despite obvious qualities such as strength of character. It may well be his silent narcissism. In fact, I struggle to pinpoint a band member or other supporting character that I can genuinely say I cared for. And maybe this is because of the world they inhabited – a world of huge egos, huge money, huge excess, and little self control. 

Taylor Jenkins Reid portrays the ugly side of being in a band – the jealousy, the conflict, the addictions, the drugs, and the clash of personalities and big egos. Of course, these are people looking back on their lives: there will be guilt, remorse, regret. But I felt little of the joy they must have experienced as part of making music, performing live, doing what they had always dreamed of. I wanted to feel their joy, their buzz. I missed this. It felt more negative than positive and that was somewhat disappointing. 

A great aspect of the book, however, is the description of the songs. It makes you want to whip on that remastered CD! But, of course, you can’t, as it’s not a real band, it’s not a real album, it’s not real music. Yet, you still want to hear it: is it really as good as everyone says? Is Daisy really amazing? Are the collaborations and performances by Daisy and Billy spellbinding? This book makes you want to know.

In conclusion I think Daisy Jones and The Six has a lot to offer. It’s an addictive read that succeeds in transporting you to late seventies California, to the hot, indulgent days and nights of living an excessive rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle. I think it’s very American – beautiful weather and beautiful people. Yet, for me, it also highlighted the undesirable side to fame and ‘success’.

“I wish someone had told me that love isn’t torture. Because I thought love was this thing that was supposed to tear you in two and leave you heartbroken and make your heart race in the worst way. I thought love was bombs and tears and blood. I did not know that it was supposed to make you lighter, not heavier.”