The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo Is About So Much More Than Marriage

In an era where readers are increasingly drawn to unapologetically complex characters, The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid—first published in 2017—feels as fresh and resonant as ever. This is not simply a novel about old Hollywood glamour or scandalous affairs. It’s a gripping, carefully constructed reflection on identity, morality and the cost of self-preservation in a world that scrutinizes and commodifies women.

At the heart of it all is Evelyn Hugo: a name that feels plucked from Liz Taylor’s Hollywood era, a character so vividly described that you might find yourself double-checking she isn’t real. Evelyn is, without question, one of the most captivating literary characters I’ve ever encountered. She is ruthless, self-aware, fiercely ambitious and delightfully human.

What makes Evelyn’s story so unsettling, is that Reid never asks you as a reader to decide whether she’s good or bad. Instead, she lays Evelyn bare, in all her contradictions: a woman who lies to the public while telling gut-wrenching truths to the one journalist she chooses to confide in; a woman who manipulates others for love and survival and carries the wounds of being measured against impossible standards.

It’s the kind of character that makes you question yourself. One moment you’re horrified by her choices, the next, you’re rooting for her. And you’re never fully confident that you wouldn’t have done the same.

This moral complexity is echoed in the relationship between Monique-–the reluctant journalist—and Evelyn’s story. There is a raw honesty in how Monique admires Evelyn while also begrudging some of her choices. That admiration is further complicated by the truth Evelyn ultimately reveals.

That truth—without giving it away—is something you never see coming. Reid plants the seed early, but when it hits, it does so with the kind of emotional force that sticks around long after the book is closed.

Reid is also remarkably skilled at weaving timely political and social commentary into the fabric of Evelyn’s life: the erasure of bisexuality, the shame and stigma attached to women’s sexual autonomy, domestic violence, racism, latino identity struggles and the loneliness of living a truth that she refuses to accept. The novel is historical fiction that feels urgent. Evelyn’s experience of being loved only for what she looks like—never for what she is—speaks to today’s culture of curated beauty in the age of social media. As Evelyn puts it: “It’s not so great being loved for something you didn’t do.”

When Evelyn calls herself a horrible person, you’re left wondering if you will agree—or if you’ll discover the world made her play that role to survive.

This book made me laugh, broke my heart and left me with the unsettling realization that morality is more fluid than we admit it to be. The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo may be wrapped in Hollywood glam, but it’s more than a fantasy. It’s a critique. One so sharp and well-executed that it shames the faux complexity of certain fantasy heroines (Sarah J. Maas, I’m looking at you) and reminds us what layered, deep character work actually looks like.

Years after its release, Reid’s novel remains a triumph of narrative empathy. And Evelyn Hugo? She’s simply unforgettable.