For Joanna, her husband, Walter, and their children, the move to beautiful Stepford seems almost too good to be true. It is. For behind the town’s idyllic facade lies a terrible secret—a secret so shattering that no one who encounters it will ever be the same.
At once a masterpiece of psychological suspense and a savage commentary on a media-driven society that values the pursuit of youth and beauty at all costs, The Stepford Wives is a novel so frightening in its final implications that the title itself has earned a place in the American lexicon.
Hey! This isn’t our first rodeo with Ira Levin. Never mind, I thought I wrote about Rosemary’s Baby and was shocked to find that I hadn’t. I read Rosemary’s Baby before I started writing. I think. I don’t know, man.
In any case, this is a short, easy read. I picked it up because it’s pretty much a core piece of horror in the American lexicon. It’s a good, strong read— MC moves in. MC tries to push for women’s rights. The slow dawning realization of everything going horribly wrong happens with the reader and MC at the same time.
And by the time Joanna realizes she’s fucked, it’s too late, man.
