“The Girl on the Train” and real-world violence towards women

Okay, I’m not going to lie: I’ve been in a reading slump for a while now.

I convinced myself that I needed to pick up something—anything—over break to read instead of doomscrolling on my phone, watching Christmas hauls from rich girls and drooling over Zayn Malik edits (hottest member of 1D—argue with the wall). So, I wandered over to BookTok (not *that* BookTok) and chose the first recommendation I saw: “The Girl on the Train” by Paula Hawkins. I checked it out on my local library’s e-book platform and got to work. I’m so glad I did.

The book is a psychological thriller (a hit-or-miss genre, in my opinion) filled with constant shifts in memory, perception and truth. It’s told through multiple perspectives—primarily that of Rachel Watson, an unemployed alcoholic who becomes fixated on the disappearance of a woman whom she rides past on her daily train route. The other two narrators are Megan and Anna, whose perspectives, along with Rachel’s, intertwine to tell a story of the rot beneath the normalcy of suburban life in London.

I really enjoyed the realistic portrayals of the characters. None of the protagonists were perfect Mary Sues—in fact, quite the opposite, and even though I found some of their actions to be a bit… questionable… I still rooted for them as the story moved forward.

Hawkins’ depiction of emotional abuse feels particularly realistic and a reason why I think the story is able to resonate beyond the genres of thriller and murder-mystery. For example, during their marriage, Tom gaslit Rachel constantly, planting fake memories in her head when she was blackout drunk. He repeatedly convinced her that she was irrational. Embarrassing. Dangerous.

After their divorce, he uses her alcoholism as a shield for his own wrongdoing, ensuring that both Rachel and the outside world see him as the stable one. She internalizes Tom’s lies so deeply that she distrusts her own memories long after she leaves him—after he cheated on her with Anna, who initially believes she’s “won” Tom but slowly discovers that she is just as vulnerable to his deception. In this way, Hawkins highlights how women are often treated as unreliable witnesses to their own lives or are gaslit to believe so: that is, until something catastrophic proves that they were right all along.

It makes me think of the #MeToo movement. Beginning in 2006 by sexual assault survivor Tarana Burke, the hashtag gained popularity after multiple sexual assault allegations against film producer Harvey Weinstein emerged in October 2017. The movement highlights how widespread abuse, manipulation and silencing of women has been normalized across workplaces and other social settings. Much like Rachel who struggles to have her experiences believed, #MeToo reveals that women’s accounts of harassment or assault are frequently dismissed or reframed to protect men.

The movement also echoes the novel’s focus on the psychological impact of abuse. Just as Rachel’s trauma shapes how she perceives events, women speaking out through #MeToo often described the longterm effects of repeated emotional and sexual abuse—self-doubt, anxiety and distrust in their own instincts. And abuse is rarely a one-time event: rather, it occurs as a pattern of harms that accumulate until a woman’s sense of self has been completely eroded.

Similarly, the novel’s themes connect to the ongoing crisis of femicide—the intentional murder of women and girls because of their gender—in South Africa, where it was just recently recognized as being a national disaster. With a femicide rate that is five times higher than the global average (according to Deutsche Welle), millions of women in South Africa are at risk every day. The fact that gender-based violence and femicide (GBVF) is so prevalent resonates with the novel’s depiction of abuse. Women may be controlled, manipulated or threatened over long periods of time before an extreme act against them occurs, a tragic endpoint resulting from the systemic patterns and barriers from authorities and society.

Books like this should be truly fictional. Domestic abuse and murder should be concepts of imagination, or at least a rare occurrence where prosecution is upheld and taken seriously and where women are believed the first time they raise concerns.

But we live in an unfair world. A world where women feel unsafe in places that they shouldn’t—their schools, their workplaces or their houses. First dates. Nights out. Sunday brunches. Birthday parties. Going to the movies. Going to the gym. Doctor’s appointments. Hotel visits. Grocery shopping. Driving. Walking. Speaking. Sleeping. Existing.

Reading “The Girl on the Train” not only got me out of my slump, but it also reminded me of why I love to read. Fiction can be so powerful: it entertains, of course, but it also holds up a mirror for the world around us. Oftentimes, fiction is created in response to a societal issue—think “Planet of the Apes,” “Watership Down,” “Mockingbird” and “The Handmaid’s Tale,” or basically any book you read in your high school English classes. Hawkins brings on a modern twist to the genre, interweaving current social problems and settings that we know all too well with familiar scenarios that have haunted us throughout history.

For readers who enjoy suspense, realism, plot twists and beautifully written chapters (almost as beautiful as Zayn Malik—teeheehee!), “The Girl on the Train” is definitely worth checking out.