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67 pages 2 hours read

Caroline Kepnes

Hidden Bodies

Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 2016

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Character Analysis

Joe Goldberg

Joe Goldberg is the novel’s narrator. It is difficult to call him the story’s protagonist, given that his goals involve killing Amy—and erasing the evidence of other murders—but one of the author’s greatest feats is to make Joe feel like a sympathetic character at times. Despite, or perhaps because of, how unabashedly scathing Joe’s observations are, it makes him a hilarious character whose internal monologue endears him to readers and highlights the ways in which he is an everyman.

Early in the novel, Joe expresses vulnerabilities that make him relatable. He thinks, “Being together is the best feeling in the world, better than sex, better than a red convertible or that first I love you” (19). This need for togetherness is at odds with Joe’s need for secrecy and, at times, a solitude that borders on isolation. His need for connection is also part of what makes Joe vulnerable; he needs external validation to feel valued. He wants to be loved, but his view of love is distorted. For instance, he sees “mimicking as a sign of love” (19). While that is scientifically true, it’s a sign of his sociopathy that he must consciously analyze signs of love rather than feel them.

Joe is a skilled chameleon. He is able to integrate himself into social situations easily, despite his emotional distance from others. Regardless of his unease with—and disdain for—certain people, he is good at seeming comfortable. He enjoys performing for others, as long as they flatter him as a result. For instance, at dinner with Love’s parents, Joe speaks eloquently about the implications of social media culture. His philosophical, critical framing gets him a round of applause from Ray, although it would have had a different result had he vented his uncensored internal monologue. While giving Forty’s elegy, he moves various jaded celebrities, even though his speech is filled with lies. Joe is both intelligent and cunning, but he is also impulsive and has a low tolerance for being mocked or thwarted in his desires, which can cause him to act irrationally and against his best interests.

Throughout the novel, he alternates between berating himself for his (and humankind’s) refusal to learn, and congratulating himself on how much he has changed and grown. For instance, he says, “I’m stupid. I teach and I teach and I test and I test, and yet I’m the one who never learns. I choose wrong every time” (373). After he chooses to spare Amy, however, he says, “I’m a changed man. I saw Amy on the beach, Amy, the reason I moved here, the person who stole from me and broke my heart, and I didn’t kill her. I’m not that guy anymore and this seems relevant, but then legally, it isn’t” (427). The reader is left to decide whether someone like Joe should be punished for crimes committed, even if he has changed.

Amy Adam

Amy is Joe’s rebound relationship after Beck. Originally, Joe defines her as the “anti-Beck” (8) because she is “taking all of it away, my healer, my Bactine beauty” (8). Of course, the reader only has Joe’s perspective on Amy, and his perspective is only loving as long as she indulges his desires, his need for flattery, and remains agreeable. When she runs afoul of Joe, he switches gears instantly: “She is evil. She is dangerous. She is incapable of love. She is a sociopath. Worse than a borderline” (34). Here again Joe shows he is incapable of living in any shade of gray. He cannot tolerate hashtag or borderline personalities; one either is or is not good.

Unfortunately for Joe, Amy proves to be a thief and a con artist who steals from him. Amy is an astute judge of character, particularly when it comes to sensing Joe’s insecurities and vulnerabilities. For instance, she bonds with him over the Philip Roth novel Portnoy’s Complaint, knowing Joe’s genuine passion for books. Amy is a different sort of chameleon than Joe: she knows how to ingratiate herself to him to the point where she can steal from him, but she is not violent or hateful. She is, rather, an opportunist who is willing to be whatever she needs to be as long as it benefits her. She has no problem skipping out on the check, role playing, or giving herself to Joe sexually if it will get him to lower his guard.

Amy’s perspective on Charlotte & Charles provides some insight into her character. Its dark message of humanity’s unwillingness to learn from its mistakes makes it one of Amy’s favorite books, and she has had her “whole life to think about it” (23). Joe spares Amy at the end of the novel. She helps him experience an epiphany about himself, even if he is drawing the wrong conclusion from her words. She says he is “so obviously desperate for someone to come in and change [his] life” (418) that it annoys her and everyone else. Joe pities Amy as “a sad, lonely girl. She carried a book around that she didn’t even understand, and she wants the world to be like a Richard Yates book, with sad endings” (419). Amy functions as a plot device that allows Joe to spare her, which tricks him into thinking that he has grown emotionally.

Love Quinn

Love Quinn is Joe’s love interest. When he meets her, she is 35, a movie producer, and the de facto caretaker of her brother, Forty. During their initial meeting, Joe thinks, “She’s a pervert too” (114). They sense a kinship. Slowly, Love helps Joe start to let go of his mania to find Amy. Love is a gateway to better things. He describes her as “a passport” (117) that leads only to better places. Love is compassionate and empathetic. Despite Forty’s many irritating and infuriating habits, she tries to understand what it must have been like to be the twin who was loved less, even by their dog.

Joe is initially drawn to her physical beauty, but the reality exceeds his expectations, with the exception that she does not engage in oral sex. Forty tells Joe that she is “incapable of being single” (193). He also says she is, “deeply, profoundly, erotically, supremely, wholly sexual” (194). Love has been married twice, and each of the marriages ended badly, which makes her susceptible to rare bouts of melancholy. Throughout the story, Joe is looking for acceptance. However, his ideas about acceptance are skewed because he has to hide so much of his past from any potential partners.

Love is the one who hears Joe’s darkest secrets and still accepts him. She is the only person—outside of his victims—who knows the truth about him. Love has a dark side that rivals Joe’s, minus the apparent capacity for killing. Regardless, she is willing to keep his secret, love Joe, and even retrieves the mug that could indict him. Earlier, Joe thinks that Love must be “the least judgmental woman alive” (176). After she stays with him, post-confession, it appears that his observation might actually be true. At the novel’s conclusion, Love’s inability to hate anyone is what saves Joe when the detective tries to find details that will make them contradict each other’s stories.

Forty Quinn

Forty is the epitome of the Hollywood persona that Joe despises. Forty is a self-absorbed, self-pitying, emotionally stunted drug and alcohol addict who constantly torments Love and their parents by disappearing. Forty is an opportunistic climber who will do anything to succeed in Hollywood. However, his ability to self-sabotage may be his defining characteristic. Love tells Joe that “Forty is drawn to everything bad. It’s like whether it’s people or writing or his drugs or anything, you know, he has the worst instincts of anyone” (203). This is born out many times, including the fact that Forty tries to blackmail Joe, even after Joe tried to kill him. He would rather try to profit from Joe and maintain contact with his attempted murderer than turn him in for revenge or justice.

Love says that Forty is, with regard to her parents, “an outsider and he knows it and he’ll never stop punishing them. When I tell him they love him, I sound like I’m lying” (321). In this view, many of Forty’s actions make more sense when framed as someone who lashes out at everyone on behalf of what he has been denied. When he coerces the newlyweds in Las Vegas to let the bride kiss him for $10,000, he sabotages another relationship in lieu of finding one for himself. He believes that he will always be a disappointment, so he constantly behaves in ways that will guarantee that everyone is disappointed in him. Joe thinks about Forty’s parents and feels like a liar when he tells Forty that they love him: “Lies sound like lies and it’s impossible to know which came first, the selfish, repugnant nature of this man or the missteps of his nurturers” (321).

In a final ironic twist, Forty dies, not at Joe’s hands or because of his own addictions, but because a woman who wanted to see a piece of Hollywood lore—the hotel where Pretty Woman was filmed—got distracted and hit him with her car.

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By Caroline Kepnes