I have so many issues with this book. But let me discuss first the brief list of things I liked about it: the fact that this is the book version of Pretty Women but with a refreshing subversive twist that’s embodied in the gender role reversal; the honest and clear-eyed exploration of money and how fortune does not touch everyone with the same hand; how there’s a real sense of culture and history in the depiction of Michael’s community (his Vietnamese heritage shines through and there's tremendous joy in his interactions with his family: the banter, the support, the kindness threaded through ruthless teasing); and the knowledge that the events in this book and the author’s continued research has inspired her to seek out a therapist and be diagnosed on the spectrum. It's very important to see autistic women at the forefront of efforts at representation, expanding the conversation and the vision for autistic characters.
I really wanted to love this book. But it was, quite frankly, boring, averagely written, and riddled with clichés. But what grates at me the most is the way The Kiss Quotient demonstrates great knowledge of vital issues only to overshadow the significance of its premise by refusing to delve deeper into something more nuanced and thoughtful. I expected more from this; more thoughtfulness, more artfulness, more craft. Instead, I was left uncertain how to feel about the whole thing—about an ending that felt easy and trivial, almost mocking the seriousness of the rest of the book, and a fizz of uneasiness that I couldn’t quite shake afterwards.
This is the story of a woman who is smart and beautiful and accomplished and who simply has had the poor misfortune of coming across men who had never cared for more than their own entertainment, who didn’t have her welfare anywhere remotely near at heart, and who treated her either like a boring convenience or an exciting toy. So, she stood there and accepted the weight of the blame, because clearly, if someone hurt you, there’s something wrong with you to deserve it. For Stella, it is her autism.
If it were obvious and unmistakable at any point in the book that the author was highlighting this attitude as a problem, I might feel more kindly disposed toward it. Instead, it’s almost positioning autism as an inherent flaw that you’re supposed to overcome, and showcasing the love interest, Michael, as someone who will, and I quote, “seduce [perhaps more aptly termed in this context: fuck] the anxiety out of [Stella]”, failing throughout to properly examine the crucial fact that Stella’s past sexual encounters didn’t go awry because of her autism. Not at all: her past dates are simply pieces of shit who didn’t treat her like a human being. And then, Michael comes along, shows Stella the barest scrapings of human decency, and she feeds off that because she’s been starving and thought such crumbs a feast. It’s like the novel version of those cishetero dating articles whose basic premise is “Ladies, Here Are 10 Tips to Make Men Treat You Like a Human Being.”
This is a frustration exacerbated by the fact that once Stella establishes that she enjoys physical contact with a man (read: a man who treats her decently and who doesn’t leave her laying on the bed like an unloved doll splayed out on the floor), she suggests that they now forgo the sex altogether and work together to figure out how to make her comfortable in romantic situations, and so begins a fake-relationship which of course blossoms into a romance.
I fault this book for trying to depict a well-balanced pairing only to deploy it in ways that feel manipulative and disingenuous. The bar was already set so low for Michael…and yet, he still managed to slide right under it. Michael says all the right things to make Stella feel comfortable, but his words stand in blatant contrast against his actions—which are infuriatingly manipulative and alarming. For instance, when Stella clearly voices her discomfort with something, Michael sweeps aside her comments like you’d brush crumbs from a table and assures her that she’ll enjoy it when she tries it, and of course, she does—her agency completely disregarded by this point. In moments like these, the relentless patronizing Michael is subtly practicing left a deeper impression than anything else, and I couldn't just chalk it up to character unreliability. It made me want to furiously wave my fist at the book in outrage.
Also egregious is how Stella’s symptoms seem to conveniently disappear around Michael. In fact, it is pretty obvious early on that the narrative is charitably embellishing Michael’s traits, palliating his possessiveness and elevating his character only by villainizing literally every single other male character. This is made even more manifest in the second love interest, Philip, Stella’s coworker, who is painstakingly one-dimensional: he’s an unmitigated jerk. That’s it. That’s the extent of his contribution. I can’t overstate how exhausted I am of this trope. If the romance in your book only works because every single character who’s not the potential love interest is even more of an unbearable asshole, that's just not it.
Speaking of unbearable assholes, there is a particular scene early in the novel that almost made me DNF: Philip comes into Stella’s office, casually asks her if she’s a virgin and gives an unsolicited advice from “a man who’s been around the block a few times” (I rolled my eyes so far back I could see the last of my brain cells dying). His advice is that if she goes out and fucks a lot more men, she’d be more experienced and have more luck. The entire scene is howling “sexual harassment in a workplace” and the fact that this whole encounter is just... simply glossed over in a "oh well, boys-will-be-boys" kind of way still strikes a sour note.
At the bottom of everything, that's really my problem with this book as whole: its frustrating refusal to explore and thoroughly examine so many important themes and ideas in favoe of escalating a plot that keeps a very tight, narrow focus on a romance with really questionable dynamics. I know a lot of readers felt differently about this book and will not agree, and that's fine! Regardless of my experience of this novel, I believe books like The Kiss Quotient are important for their capacity to help improve awareness and diagnosis rates for a community that's undeniably under-represented, and I really hope to see a greater plurality of representation for autism in this genre, and all genres. - chai on goodreads
I really wanted to love this book. But it was, quite frankly, boring, averagely written, and riddled with clichés. But what grates at me the most is the way The Kiss Quotient demonstrates great knowledge of vital issues only to overshadow the significance of its premise by refusing to delve deeper into something more nuanced and thoughtful. I expected more from this; more thoughtfulness, more artfulness, more craft. Instead, I was left uncertain how to feel about the whole thing—about an ending that felt easy and trivial, almost mocking the seriousness of the rest of the book, and a fizz of uneasiness that I couldn’t quite shake afterwards.
This is the story of a woman who is smart and beautiful and accomplished and who simply has had the poor misfortune of coming across men who had never cared for more than their own entertainment, who didn’t have her welfare anywhere remotely near at heart, and who treated her either like a boring convenience or an exciting toy. So, she stood there and accepted the weight of the blame, because clearly, if someone hurt you, there’s something wrong with you to deserve it. For Stella, it is her autism.
If it were obvious and unmistakable at any point in the book that the author was highlighting this attitude as a problem, I might feel more kindly disposed toward it. Instead, it’s almost positioning autism as an inherent flaw that you’re supposed to overcome, and showcasing the love interest, Michael, as someone who will, and I quote, “seduce [perhaps more aptly termed in this context: fuck] the anxiety out of [Stella]”, failing throughout to properly examine the crucial fact that Stella’s past sexual encounters didn’t go awry because of her autism. Not at all: her past dates are simply pieces of shit who didn’t treat her like a human being. And then, Michael comes along, shows Stella the barest scrapings of human decency, and she feeds off that because she’s been starving and thought such crumbs a feast. It’s like the novel version of those cishetero dating articles whose basic premise is “Ladies, Here Are 10 Tips to Make Men Treat You Like a Human Being.”
This is a frustration exacerbated by the fact that once Stella establishes that she enjoys physical contact with a man (read: a man who treats her decently and who doesn’t leave her laying on the bed like an unloved doll splayed out on the floor), she suggests that they now forgo the sex altogether and work together to figure out how to make her comfortable in romantic situations, and so begins a fake-relationship which of course blossoms into a romance.
I fault this book for trying to depict a well-balanced pairing only to deploy it in ways that feel manipulative and disingenuous. The bar was already set so low for Michael…and yet, he still managed to slide right under it. Michael says all the right things to make Stella feel comfortable, but his words stand in blatant contrast against his actions—which are infuriatingly manipulative and alarming. For instance, when Stella clearly voices her discomfort with something, Michael sweeps aside her comments like you’d brush crumbs from a table and assures her that she’ll enjoy it when she tries it, and of course, she does—her agency completely disregarded by this point. In moments like these, the relentless patronizing Michael is subtly practicing left a deeper impression than anything else, and I couldn't just chalk it up to character unreliability. It made me want to furiously wave my fist at the book in outrage.
Also egregious is how Stella’s symptoms seem to conveniently disappear around Michael. In fact, it is pretty obvious early on that the narrative is charitably embellishing Michael’s traits, palliating his possessiveness and elevating his character only by villainizing literally every single other male character. This is made even more manifest in the second love interest, Philip, Stella’s coworker, who is painstakingly one-dimensional: he’s an unmitigated jerk. That’s it. That’s the extent of his contribution. I can’t overstate how exhausted I am of this trope. If the romance in your book only works because every single character who’s not the potential love interest is even more of an unbearable asshole, that's just not it.
Speaking of unbearable assholes, there is a particular scene early in the novel that almost made me DNF: Philip comes into Stella’s office, casually asks her if she’s a virgin and gives an unsolicited advice from “a man who’s been around the block a few times” (I rolled my eyes so far back I could see the last of my brain cells dying). His advice is that if she goes out and fucks a lot more men, she’d be more experienced and have more luck. The entire scene is howling “sexual harassment in a workplace” and the fact that this whole encounter is just... simply glossed over in a "oh well, boys-will-be-boys" kind of way still strikes a sour note.
At the bottom of everything, that's really my problem with this book as whole: its frustrating refusal to explore and thoroughly examine so many important themes and ideas in favoe of escalating a plot that keeps a very tight, narrow focus on a romance with really questionable dynamics. I know a lot of readers felt differently about this book and will not agree, and that's fine! Regardless of my experience of this novel, I believe books like The Kiss Quotient are important for their capacity to help improve awareness and diagnosis rates for a community that's undeniably under-represented, and I really hope to see a greater plurality of representation for autism in this genre, and all genres. - chai on goodreads