Two Nights in Lisbon

“The only thing Ariel can detect in this language is tone—good or bad, yes or no. This must be what it’s like to be a dog. What she’s sensing is no. Bad. If she had a tail, it would be down between her legs.”

Ariel appears anxious, out of her depth, or even inept. She compares herself to a dog trying to understand humans, which deepens the sense of her dependence on others. She imagines herself with a tail, abject and humiliated. This passage encourages the reader to see her as the beleaguered tourist that she wants the police to see, not the mastermind of an elaborate plot for revenge.

“It’ll be one minor injury after another, augmented by occasional major ones, plus increasingly severe illnesses, an unrelenting deterioration leading to an ultimate demise. Like climate change, a trend that goes in only one direction and culminates in inevitable catastrophe, with no alternative endings. She realized that whatever she was going to do, ever, she needed to start doing it.”

The catalog is one of inevitability and increasing suffering. Choice is an illusion. Ariel decides, however, that inevitability will spur her to action. The future is limited, so she should act with that in mind. This passage explains why she accepts John’s proposal to team up. Ariel is a publicly devoted spouse and a privately fierce fighter for justice.

“‘I think that this woman does not know her husband as well as she believes.’ In Moniz’s experience every cop is cynical, but Carolina Santos takes it to a whole different level. ‘This is of course true for almost all women,’ Santos continues. ‘We are all lied to. All the time.’”

The moments where the narration focuses on the Lisbon detectives underline that their temperaments and personalities influence the investigation. Moniz almost admires his partner’s refusal to take anyone at face value or trust their motives. Santos’s words are less about the case than about the world at large—Ariel is lumped with her entire gender as being overly credulous and now paying the price. Santos will never see behind this mask, although the reader will come to learn Ariel shares the detective’s sentiments.

“Barnes clearly doesn’t understand how a woman could reject this everyday politeness that he’s trying to inflict, unsolicited and undesired. Ariel has learned that it’s the excessively polite ones whom you should trust the least, the ones who try to convince you of their gentlemanly manners, their generosity, their chivalry.”

Ariel’s biting observations of Saxby Barnes reveal more of her intelligence and observant nature. This passage is a subtle clue that she is not what those around her think—simply an anxious spouse. Ariel rejects outward performances of civility, seeing them as traps. Her words increase the reader’s curiosity about how she formed these opinions and assessments.

“Something that looks at first like nothing much, just a hiccup, but then you’re choking to death, and you have only seconds to save yourself. Is this how Ariel should be behaving, right now? Last winter, if she hadn’t called Sarah and gone to the ER in the middle of the night, she might have died from the pneumonia. Sometimes what looks like panic is really rational self-preservation.”

Once more, Ariel is drawn to images of peril and threat. She reminds herself that assuming the worst has saved her life before. The question in this passage, like so much in the novel’s first part, can be read on multiple levels, leaving it ambiguous whether Ariel is concerned for John or concerned about playing a worried spouse well enough.

“Ariel felt as if she were observing a different species, in some simulacrum of its natural habitat—like the zoo, or the dioramas at the Museum of Natural History. The little brass plaque would read HOMO OBSCENICUS, NORTH AMERICA, C. 21ST CENTURY. And yet there was no denying it: Ariel had been one of these beasts.”

Ariel once more takes on the role of a cynical, disinterested observer. The mock Latin name she gives Tory underlines that the wealth and shallowness she displays are somehow shameful. Ariel admits, however, that she had been one of them—a “beast” rather than a person. The reader does not yet know who Ariel used to be, but it is obvious she regrets it.

“She’d learned that she wouldn’t be believed, not even by her own parents. She’d learned that she should never be drunk, not even with her close friends. She’d learned that she should never again believe that any boy—any man—was completely trustworthy. She’d learned that there was nothing she could do, no lifetime of lessons she could learn: It was going to happen any goddamned way. And it did.”

Ariel’s parents didn’t believe her or show concern after her girlhood experience of sexual assault. Being doubted and dismissed compounded the trauma of the assault, causing a lifelong suspicion of men and distrust of authority. Ariel’s childhood hurt turns into simmering adult rage after she is raped by Wolfe, and it becomes the motivation for her elaborate plan for revenge.

“Ariel stares at this leather glove holding this thing out to her: It’s a cell phone, just inches from her own hand. These days, the most common weapon of all. She glances again toward where the biker’s face should be, but all she can see in the broad expanse of visor is a reflection of herself, wide-eyed terrified, forehead crinkled and mouth open and shoulders hunched forward. A cornered animal.”

In Ariel’s anxious state, even ordinary objects take on an air of menace. Cell phones are “weapons” as if communication is an arena of war. This passage foreshadows that Ariel’s phone calls and those of others will imperil Charlie Wolfe’s political aspirations. Ariel’s attention to her reflection emphasizes her fear that she is at the mercy of forces larger than her. Only later will the reader understand that she unleashed them willingly.

“She chose to be a person who will research how to do almost anything, then do it—draft a sublease agreement, change a flat tire, repair a leaky faucet, balance books and file taxes, build a tree house and a campfire, reignite a pilot light, tape and spackle and sand and paint a patch of drywall. Also a woman who knows how to defend herself. Even how to kill someone, using nothing but her bare hands.”

The novel’s second part sees Ariel more conscious of her goals and demands as she gradually reveals the scope of her plan and abilities. This catalog of skills emphasizes her capacity, a stark contrast to the helplessness of the woman the reader first meets. Ariel is not merely an anxious spouse.

“Ariel turned her eyes to Beverly, who also said, ‘Thank you.’ No, this woman was not Ariel’s enemy. She was a fellow combatant.”

Ariel observes the wife of a man who tried to assault her. She determines that only the man is responsible. His wife is not an enabled but a “fellow combatant,” a metaphor that suggests all women are in a fight not only to show each other care but also to resist the men who would hurt them.

“‘But some prices are hidden, invisible. Sometimes the price doesn’t become apparent for a very long time. Sometimes you never even recognize it, never understand that you already paid it.’ Ariel turns her gaze back up to this CIA officer. ‘Sometimes,’ she says, ‘you yourself are the price.’”

Ariel presents life as a series of transactions and invisible compromises. She also puns on her chosen name—Ariel Pryce. The metaphor goes deeper than that, suggesting that Ariel’s old life was a kind of sacrifice on an altar of privilege. This passage comes as close as she will ever get to revealing her life to an outsider, which perhaps reflects the similarities between herself and Griffiths.

“So many of this man’s problems would be solved if Ariel’s life ended tonight. Not just the immediate problem of her phone calls and her attempted extortion, but the long-term threat of her very existence. A problem that has probably been on his mind for a long time, and increasingly so recently, as various people scratch at the surfaces of his life, looking for what’s underneath. Ariel: She’s what’s underneath.”

Pavone’s wording adds to the sense of menace—Wolfe is called “this man,” making him nebulous and shadowy. Ariel is also depersonalized, the “what” rather than the “who” of Wolfe’s past. She is “underneath,” buried but not dead, much as she fears that Wolfe will change this fact.

“Doubt about things that are obviously open to interpretation, subjective matters of opinion. But eventually also doubt about things that aren’t. Doubt about facts. No: It was midnight, not ten. You’d had six drinks, not two; you were the drunk one, I was sober. You were asking for it, so I gave it to you. That’s how you lose faith in objectivity, in reality, in yourself. That’s how gaslighting works.”

Repetition of the word “doubt” underlines the uncertainty Ariel describes. The litany of denials prevents her and by extension all who experience sexual violence from processing their experiences and assigning responsibility where it belongs. The term “gaslighting” refers to a film in which a husband convinces his wife she is becoming mentally unbalanced by denying obvious facts, such that the gaslights in their home were dimmed.

“She doesn’t like where Moniz is going, wearing this Columbo-like cloak of confusion. Ariel suspects that the whole thing—his messiness, his distractedness, his air of ineffectuality—is a smoke screen. The rumpled clothes, the food in the beard, all of it an act, the guy an actor. And here she’d been thinking that she was the actor. Ariel is apparently never going to be too old to learn the same lesson again and again: Everyone is an actor.”

Ariel’s increasing unease and allusion to Columbo underline that she feels herself to be the perpetrator in his sights. He is both a detective and an illusionist, concealing his skills in the hope she will betray herself. Her belief that “everyone is an actor” expresses her cynicism but may allude to Shakespeare’s famous quip that all the world is a stage. Ariel is also an actress and shares the name of the sprite from The Tempest.

“‘A nondisclosure agreement, madam, does not change history. It merely gags certain witnesses to history. But if a nonsignatory discovers these same facts on his own, without assistance from signatory parties?’ Jerry shrugged. ‘What?’ ‘There’s nothing a nondisclosure agreement can do.’ Jerry finished his drink with a flourish. ‘Facts are still facts,’ he said. ‘Truth is truth.’”

Jerry’s dramatic delivery underlines that he, too, is a performer. His statements are also a series of clues: Ariel is not powerless. She may be muted, but she can lead others to others could uncover what she knows. Ariel’s curiosity hints that she will choose a more active path. She will direct the drama that plays out because of Jerry’s revelations.

“But then what? Then this is who Ariel would have become, for tonight and tomorrow, for the rest of her life: the woman whom Charlie Wolfe assaulted during his summer party. No: allegedly assaulted.”

The phrase “tonight and for the rest of her life” is an allusion to the film Casablanca, taken from a speech about regret. Ariel decides that speaking out will not hurt Wolfe or change the broader patriarchal culture that doubts those who speak out against powerful men.

“Maybe last night could have been expected. Maybe a self-described apex predator like Charlie Wolfe would of course—of course—want to screw his business partner’s wife. Because that’s how he wins, isn’t it? That’s how he proves he has won. Winning in complete privacy is meaningless. Without at least one witness, it isn’t really winning. Ariel was the witness.”

The wording is resigned, with a bleak view of humanity and power relations. The word “win” appears multiple times—Wolfe is devoted to dominance, not collaboration. Ariel is reduced to a passive role, the observer of his horrific triumph. Her current project is a reversal of this dynamic, both personally and societally.

“Ariel realized this with a sickening thud: She’d married a terrible person, and this was the proof. ‘What to think?’ Her tears stopped. Her sadness was replaced instantly with fury, which had been lurking just beneath the surface, ready to take over. ‘Are you kidding me? Tell me, Bucky—please tell me—what it is you think you’re debating?’”

Ariel’s view of the world is transformed as she seeks to rebuild her life after her rape. Awareness crashes into her, likened to a collision, and she does not soften her view of Bucky, declaring that he is a “terrible person.” She demands being believed as the bare minimum of respect she deserves.

“A forever war, and these are the casualties. Ariel is one of them. Somebody needed to do something about this. In fact, everybody needed to do something about this. ‘No,’ Ariel said. ‘I definitely don’t want to do this. But I have to, don’t I?’”

The combat analogy, one Ariel has used before, underlines that patriarchy is a threat to survival. Ariel sees fighting it as a communal obligation. Though she is alone in the police station, in a better world “everyone” would be in solidarity with Ariel and others in her situation. Ariel does not flinch from her sense of obligation. The emphasis on her actions and responsibility emphasizes her isolation in this moment.

“This was long before Harvey Weinstein, of course, before grabs by the pussy, #MeToo. Expectations of consequences were much dimmer, fourteen years ago; a different era. Hopes for recourse were much slimmer. Ariel had finite goals. This confrontation was just between the two of them, not a political matter, not an issue of national significance.”

The reference to public figures associated with sexual violence, including former president Trump, underlines that Charlie Wolfe, while fictional, reflects an established pattern of men avoiding accountability. This passage reflects the real-life social movements and changes in norms that cause Ariel to view her situation in a new way. She feels empowered to seek vengeance because she is more likely to be believed now than she was when the assault occurred.

“‘Listen, we’re not enemies, you and me. I don’t want to be antagonistic. But I have to ask, with all due respect: What the hell do you want from me?’ ‘You know what I want: the truth.’ ‘The truth?’ Ariel snorts. ‘The truth has a steep price.’”

Ariel’s blunt words underline that she dropped her role as a concerned spouse to focus on her goals and survival. She does not bother with politeness, using profanity at Griffiths’s naive insistence she disclose her plan without regard to the legal consequences. Ariel both puns on her surname and alludes to the vast sums of money involved to establish that truth is both valuable and dangerous.

“‘So you lied to him too.’ Ariel thinks about trying to stifle her tears, or hide them, but this too is something that the boy ought to see; this should be part of his fabric. The lies, the tears, the whole mess. ‘Yes, I lied to him too.’ Her multimillion-dollar lie. Her first multimillion-dollar lie.’”

Ariel’s vulnerability with George means that he sees her real self while others look past her or see only what she wishes to cultivate. Ariel feels that she owes him “the whole mess” and that it is something that belongs to the two of them. The amount of money involved evokes not only Wolfe’s power but also Ariel’s refusal to settle for less than she wants.

“‘I remember noticing when something I said seemed to come as a revelation for you. Flipped a switch.’ Ariel doesn’t need to ask what that was. She looks to her left, and her right, making sure no one can overhear. Another surreptitious conversation, with another man, on another barstool. Another life-defining interaction.”

Ariel realizes that she underestimated Jerry, as others underestimated her. She compares it to her earlier exchange with Charlie Wolfe—the last time she even remotely alluded to the truth of her life. This time, she is more eager to protect herself, even as she speaks to a man she trusts.