Final Girls: A Novel

“I understand that urge for more information, that longing for details. But in this case, I’m fine without them. I know what happened at Pine Cottage. I don’t need to remember exactly how it happened. Because here’s the thing about details—they can also be a distraction. Add too many and it obscures the brutal truth about a situation.”

Although the previous passage points to Quincy’s penchant for detail, this passage points out a contradiction in her worldview. For Quincy, details matter only when they push forward a narrative of normalcy. She fears that if she goes too deep into the details of her experience, she may confront a truth too disturbing to bear.

“There’s such a thing as too much sweetness, Quincy, he told me. All the best bakers know this. There needs to be a counterpoint. Something dark […] They cut through all the sugar, taming it just enough so that when you do taste the sweetness, you appreciate it all the more.”

Quincy recalls her father’s first baking lesson, which helped her to cope with her first exposure to the Final Girl experience. His lesson also serves as a metaphor for the dark parts of the human experience, showing Quincy how hope can still shine through one’s worst moments. Quincy carries this lesson with her throughout her healing journey.

“You can’t change what’s happened. The only thing you can control is how you deal with it.”

Quincy also holds on to the advice she’d been given by Lisa in the wake of Pine Cottage. What characterizes Lisa is her honesty about the experience of being a Final Girl. She is the first to suggest that Quincy must own up to her identity as a Final Girl to transcend it. This defines much of Quincy’s emotional arc throughout the novel.

“The press will sniff me out anyway […] They won’t be able to resist trying to get a quote from the only accessible Final Girl.

We are, after all, their creation.”

In the Final Girl trope, the final girl is effectively created by the traumatic experiences they suffer at the hands of the slasher. Sager adds a new dimension to the trope by suggesting that in a real-world context, the Final Girl is conceptually created by mass media. Quincy, Sam, and Lisa are distinguished by the ordeals they went through, as if they are not quite survivors but something else entirely.

“We were, for whatever reason, the lucky ones who survived when no one else had. Pretty girls covered in blood. As such, we were each in turn treated like something rare and exotic. A beautiful bird that spreads its bright wings only once a decade. Or that flower that stinks like rotting meat whenever it decides to bloom.”

Quincy reflects on her portrayal in the news. One of the reasons she rejects the Final Girl label is that the media sensationalizes and objectifies her suffering. This not only makes her feel worse about it but hinders her healing by making her think that acknowledgment means accepting her objectification in the public eye.

“For girls like you and me and Samantha, there’s no such thing as normal, she said. But I understand why you want to try.”

Echoing her earlier advice, Lisa pushes forward the truth that the Final Girls will never achieve normalcy again. Despite Quincy’s attempts to seem normal at the behest of her mother, her journey involves recognizing the truth of Lisa’s words. When Quincy acknowledges this, she effectively repeats Lisa’s statement to her mother.

“But Jeff is different. He’s perfectly normal. Polo by Ralph Lauren normal. We dated an entire month before I dared bring up Pine Cottage. He still thought I was Quincy Carpenter, marketing grunt about to start a baking blog. He had no idea I was actually Quincy Carpenter, massacre survivor.”

Jeff is characterized as an emblem of normalcy. He is so removed from Quincy’s trauma that he isn’t even aware of her experience when they first meet. This aligns with Quincy’s desire to feel normal at the beginning of the novel, though as she comes closer to directly confronting her trauma, her need to maintain a relationship with Jeff also diminishes.

“Baking is a science, as rigorous as chemistry or physics. There are rules that must be followed. Too much of one thing and not enough of another can lead to ruin. I find comfort in this. Outside, the world is an unruly place where men prowl with sharpened knives. In baking, there is only order.”

Quincy’s relationship to baking is defined by the sense of control it gives her. As a baker, she doesn’t have to account for unexpected elements, like mothers or the press or unexpected visitors. She can steer the result of her baking in a direction she wants, but only as long as she remains conscious and in control of her actions.

“‘I’m not suicidal,’ I say.

‘But I wouldn’t have known it if you were. If you ever need help or something, tell me. I’ll do the same for you. We need to look out for each other. So you can talk to me about what happened. You know, if you ever need to.’”

Despite Quincy’s claims that she is okay, Tina extends herself as a potential member of Quincy’s support system. Tina is moved by the guilt she feels over Lisa’s death, responding by initiating a bond with Quincy and offering Solidarity in Survivorship.

“‘That you’ve become more than a victim,’ Jeff says. ‘That your life—our life—isn’t defined by that night. I don’t want that to change.’”

Jeff’s role as the stable element of normalcy in Quincy’s life brushes against the acknowledgment of her experience as something abnormal. Jeff mistakenly thinks that Quincy can fully move on from her past, veering dangerously into suggesting that she should detach herself from all reminders of the past, including her sympathy for Tina.

“‘Because He doesn’t deserve to have His name spoken!’ I yell, my voice loud in the predawn silence. ‘After what He did, no one should say His fucking name!’”

Quincy’s decision to refer to the Pine Cottage killer only through pronouns is a manifestation of her desire to repress the truth of what happened to her. To acknowledge his identity as a person is to remember him, which she believes will push her farther and farther away from healing. It also hints, however, at the possibility that Quincy’s memories of the killer can’t be trusted, especially since it is later revealed that Coop, not Joe, is the killer.

“Now, that’s what I’m talking about! Show some emotion, Quinn. That’s why I wanted you to say his name. That’s why I broke into your secret goodie drawer. I want to see you get angry. You’ve earned that rage. Don’t try to hide it behind your website with your cakes and muffins and breads. You’re messed up. So am I. It’s okay to admit it. We’re damaged goods, babe.”

Tina wants to break through the façade of Quincy’s normalcy to prove that Quincy hasn’t fully healed from her trauma. She provokes her into showing the anger she has been holding onto for the last 10 years by breaching the boundaries of Quincy’s private life, such as her secret drawer.

“The question then becomes, what are you going to do about it? […] I’m not talking about the press now. I’m talking about life. The world. It’s full of misfortune and unfairness and women like us getting hurt by men who should know better. And very few people actually give a shit. Even fewer of us actually get angry and take action.”

With Quincy provoked, Tina encourages her to channel her anger into outlets where the anger could prove useful in saving other women’s lives. With this passage, Tina pushes forward the themes of Women Reclaiming Agency in the Wake of Violence and Solidarity in Survivorship.

“As soon as Jeff leaves, I pull the key from around my neck and open my secret kitchen drawer. The pen Sam stole in the café is there. I pick it up and scrawl a single word across my wrist.

SURVIVOR

Then I hop into the shower, forcing myself not to blink as I watch the water smear the ink away.”

Quincy symbolically recreates Tina’s tattoo on her own wrist, suggesting that she wants to live with the self-assurance that Tina has as a survivor. The fact that she writes the word with the pen Tina stole for her acknowledges Tina’s role in her support system, which she must downplay in front of Jeff, who disapproves of Tina.

“‘To be blunt,’ Freemont said, ‘we can’t understand why you lived when all the others died.’

That’s when Quincy finally heard it—the accusation hiding in his voice, peeking out suspiciously between his words.

[…]

‘Maybe,’ she said, her voice like steel, ‘I’m just tougher than they were.’”

Quincy shows her resentment towards the detectives when they imply that she might have been involved in the killings. Outside of Tina’s efforts to provoke her, it is the only thing that prompts Quincy to own up to her identity as a Final Girl. The doubt this introduces surrounding Quincy’s character also transcends to the reader. Quincy, notably unreliable because of her repressed memories, is revealed to have been considered a suspect.

“‘Final Girls.’

[…]

‘I guess you don’t like that label.’

‘Not at all,’ I say. ‘But I suppose it’s better than being referred to as victims.’

‘What would you like to be called?’

‘Survivors.’”

Sager uses this passage to note the distinction between victim, survivor, and Final Girl. Quincy doesn’t want to be a Final Girl because of the connotations it attaches to her identity, fetishizing her survival as something sensational. Calling herself a survivor, on the other hand, puts her on the same footing as all the other people who have emerged from traumatic experiences, which helps her to feel less alone.

“Stop pretending to be someone you’re not! […] You act like this perfect girl with this perfect life making perfect cakes. But that’s not you, Quinn, and you know it. […] I’m the only one who knows you. You’re a fighter. One who’ll do anything to survive. Just like me. […] You’re a fucking Final Girl.”

Tina calls Quincy out for trying to maintain a façade of normalcy. Because their relationship is defined by their shared survivorship status, Tina is incensed that Quincy would even try to hide her scars and pretend she is anything but a Final Girl.

“‘But you looked fine.’

‘Because you forced it on me, Mom. The pills and the refusing to talk about it. That was all because of you. Now, I’m—’

I don’t know what I am.

Screwed up, obviously.

So screwed up that I could tally for my mother the many ways in which I’ve failed as a human being. I’m likely in trouble with the police. I’m possibly harboring Lisa’s murderer in an apartment I could only afford because my friends were butchered. I’m addicted to Xanax. And wine. I pretend I’m not depressed. And angry. And alone. Even when I’m with Jeff, I sometimes feel so unbearably alone.”

When Quincy confronts her mother about forcing her to desire normalcy, she traces the domino effect that her upbringing has had on her present life. By refusing to engage with her trauma, Quincy’s emotions have seeped out in difficult ways, including her addiction to Xanax and her loneliness despite Jeff’s company.

“You don’t know how lonely I am, Quincy. So completely alone. I live in a house big enough for five people. But there’s only me. Some rooms I haven’t entered for years. They’re empty, the doors closed.”

Coop is usually secretive about his life, which hints at the emptiness he reveals in this passage. Coop comes clean about the fact that he is usually lonely while admitting his feelings for Quincy. On one hand, he is appealing to her sense of sympathy to get her to return his affections. On the other, he is suggesting that he has no one else in his life other than her.

“Tina did allow one last look at that, instantly regretting it, for it made her think about Joe. She had been ordered not to think about him.

Yet she did. All the time. Leaving wouldn’t change that.”

Tina is characterized as the opposite of Quincy, as demonstrated in this passage. While Quincy has tried her best to forget the traumatic events of Pine Cottage, Tina is unable to forget how the same events affected her support system, robbing her of Joe, the only person to genuinely help her through her healing process.

“Each year, she thought it would be different, that the memories would fade. But now, though, she suspected they were a permanent part of her. Just like the tattoo on her wrist.”

Though the novel is mostly presented through Quincy’s perspective, the interlude chapters break away to show how things like Tina’s tattoo can be recontextualized through her own perspective. This passage shows that Tina’s tattoo symbolically functions as a reminder of the time she spent in Blackthorn with Joe.

“The Final Girls. Such strong, defiant women. And I had made one. Me. In my mind, it made up for all the other bad things I’d done. And I swore I’d never let anything bad happen to you. I made sure you’d always need me. Even when it looked like you were drifting away from me.”

One of the dominant tropes of the slasher villain/final girl dynamic is that the villain’s actions always result in the creation of the final girl. Though he uses it to emphasize the way he has protected her over the last 10 years, Coop’s monologue aligns with this trope by taking responsibility for Quincy’s transformation into a Final Girl.

“I want him to know that I’m more than a survivor, more than the fighter he always imagined me to be.

I’m his creation, forged from blood and pain and the cold steel of a blade.

I’m a fucking Final Girl.”

The climax of the novel ends with Quincy’s acceptance that she is not just a survivor, but a Final Girl, symbolized by the act of overcoming and killing her slasher villain, Coop. This passage represents the final turning point in Quincy’s journey as she comes to accept that being a Final Girl, which she has always run away from, is now a fundamental part of her identity.