Flo serves as a crucial foil to Irina, embodying a complex mixture of codependence, devotion, and unwitting enablement. Her relationship with Irina is the novel’s central emotional axis, characterized by a deep, almost pathological attachment that has persisted for nearly a decade since their university days. Flo’s online blog reveals the extent of her obsession; she is admittedly still “pathetic and in love with her” (16) and pathologizes Irina’s behavior, armchair diagnosing her with borderline personality disorder as a way to frame her own role as that of a necessary caretaker. This dynamic allows Flo to justify her constant presence in Irina’s life, from cleaning her house and buying her groceries to providing emotional support and facilitating her art by letting her use the college printers. However, this care is double-edged, as it enables Irina’s destructive behavior and insulates her from consequences, making Flo a complicated figure who is both a victim of and a participant in Irina’s toxicity.

Beyond her role as an enabler, Flo is also characterized by a performative sense of self, which makes her particularly vulnerable to Irina’s dominant personality. Irina observes that Flo’s taste in men and music changes to match prevailing trends and notes her tendency to adopt an affected “nasal, babyish voice” (15) in social situations. This chameleon-like quality suggests a lack of a clear core identity, causing her to constantly seek validation from others, especially Irina. This is most starkly illustrated after Irina’s breakup with Frank, when Flo cuts her hair and adopts a butch style in an attempt to become a substitute for Irina’s ex-girlfriend. This deep-seated insecurity and desperate need for approval make her the perfect counterpart to Irina, who thrives on control. While Flo occasionally recognizes the destructive nature of their bond and attempts to distance herself, her gravitational pull back to Irina is inevitable, illustrating the powerful and damaging nature of their codependent relationship.

Eddie is a pivotal character who functions as both a primary subject for Irina’s artistic gaze and a catalyst for the escalation of her predatory behavior. He embodies a type of masculinity that Irina finds ideal for her work: shy, submissive, and easily malleable. His introduction as “Eddie from Tesco” immediately defines him by his working-class job, positioning him as an object of Irina’s class-based analysis. He is acutely aware of his own perceived shortcomings, telling Irina, “I’m short. I’m really short and… weird” (116), a vulnerability that makes him a perfect model for her. He is bewildered and flattered by her attention, a reaction that grants her immense power over him. This dynamic is central to their relationship, as his desire for her validation makes him compliant and eager to please, both in photoshoots and in their sexual encounters.

Because Eddie is afraid of how his relationship with Irina will affect his everyday life, especially his ambitions of becoming a teacher, he agrees to model in her photoshoot so long as he dons the symbolic rabbit costume. This prop transforms him from a person into an anonymous, helpless prey animal, visually representing Irina’s process of dehumanization and objectification. The subsequent film of their encounter, in which she is sexually and physically aggressive, becomes the centerpiece of her exhibition at Hackney Space. The event leaves Eddie traumatized and confused, marking a turning point where Irina’s artistic violence and her real-world aggression become indistinguishable. His heartfelt, drunken email to her after the fact reveals a sensitive and broken individual struggling to comprehend her cruelty, yet still craving her approval. Ultimately, he represents the human cost of Irina’s art, a “nice boy” (33) whose insecurities are exploited and whose identity is consumed for the sake of a transgressive aesthetic.

Will is one of Irina’s recurring models, a character who exemplifies a certain type of malleable masculinity and becomes a central figure in Irina’s unreliable narration of trauma. As a model, he is desperate to please her, maintaining his long hair at her command and tolerating her controlling behavior during shoots. At the same time, he makes efforts to project a more conventional masculinity, growing a beard to look “butcher” (30) and adopting a “forced, cockney twang” (31) that Irina immediately identifies as performative. The tension between Will’s natural submissiveness to Irina and his attempts at a traditional masculine identity makes him a fascinating subject for her lens, as she enjoys bending his “soft/stiff body into improbable, uncomfortable shapes” (32).

Will’s character becomes a contentious figure, given the ambiguity that surrounds the events at his house party. Irina’s memory of the night is fractured and surreal; she recalls him attempting to sexually assault her while she is incapacitated. However, her history of fabricating events and her later use of this memory as blackmail cast doubt on the truth of her account. This ambiguity is central to the theme of The Unreliability of Memory. Whether he is a perpetrator or a victim of her manipulation, Will becomes a key accessory in the narrative of Irina’s victimhood, a story she weaponizes to gain sympathy and power. His character highlights the unstable nature of truth in the novel, where memory is a tool for self-preservation and control.

Irina’s mother, Yvonne, is a significant minor character who serves as a primary source of Irina’s acute class anxiety and her obsession with taste and appearance. Though her appearances are infrequent, her influence is pervasive. She embodies the “common” (20) working-class background that Irina desperately seeks to escape. As a result, she is constantly criticizing her daughter’s choices in fashion, art, and men. Yvonne’s comments are relentlessly cutting, intended to police Irina’s presentation and enforce a conventional, socially acceptable femininity. She tells Irina her pointed red nails make her look like “a working girl” (20) and dismisses her prestigious exhibition as worthless because she has never heard of the gallery. This constant stream of judgment fuels Irina’s own hypercritical nature and her weaponization of aesthetic taste as a means of establishing superiority. In many ways, Irina’s controlling behavior is a warped reflection of the control her mother attempts to exert over her, making their relationship a key to understanding Irina’s core motivations.

More of a symbolic figure than a fully realized character, the boy from the bus stop represents the darkest depths of Irina’s psyche and the ultimate expression of her unreliable narration. He exists primarily in her fragmented memories, dreams, and hallucinations, a sallow-skinned youth whose murder she may or may not have committed. His recurring image, often associated with the motif of glass, signifies the gap between Irina’s memories and reality. The Polaroids she claims to have taken and burned are the central, unknowable piece of evidence in her narrative. Whether he is a real victim of her violence or a manifestation of her guilt and psychosis, he embodies the gravest possible outcome of her predatory impulses. His persistent, ghostly presence ensures that the question of what Irina is truly capable of remains terrifyingly open.

Sera Pattison, who now goes by the professional name Serotonin, is Irina’s former friend from her MA program. She represents the pretentious, nepotistic London art world Irina both scorns and secretly craves acceptance from. Sera has successfully navigated this world by changing her name, adopting a posh American accent, and leveraging her connections, becoming a foil to Irina, who sees herself as a raw, authentic talent. It is Sera who, through her connections, secures Irina the exhibition at Hackney Space, a fact that deeply wounds Irina’s pride and forces her to confront the reality that success in the art world is often based on privilege rather than pure merit. Sera’s character highlights the performative nature of identity and success, complicating Irina’s self-image as a self-made artist.

Remy Hart is a minor antagonist who functions as a foil for Irina and a personification of the privileged, untalented artist she despises. Encountered at the Hackney Space gallery, Remy is a “little Home Counties prick” (260) whose presence in the exhibition is the result of his wealthy uncle being a major donor to the gallery. His work, a collection of lazy Polaroids, is technically and conceptually weak, yet he displays an immense sense of entitlement, throwing a tantrum when he feels his space is overshadowed by Irina’s larger, more commanding photographs. His character serves to validate all of Irina’s deepest insecurities and resentments about class, privilege, and nepotism in the art world, provoking a rage in her that culminates in their violent sexual encounter in her hotel room.

Ryan is Irina’s manager at the bar where she works. He embodies a type of mundane, toxic masculinity that Irina finds grotesque and easily manipulates. He is described as a short man who overcompensates with muscle, has a “teeny tiny pea head,” (7) and is professionally negligent, selling cocaine to his staff. His attempts to exert authority over Irina consistently fail, as she uses her cunning, tears, and knowledge of his drug dealing to control him. He functions primarily as a figure in her mundane life from which she seeks to escape, representing the kind of unimpressive, easily dominated man who populates the world outside of her art.

Finch is a member of Irina and Flo’s small social circle, one of Flo’s former students who has become a hanger-on. A quiet and often passive observer, Finch serves as a half-reluctant enabler of their nightlife activities, consistently supplying drugs and tobacco. He is often visibly uncomfortable with Irina’s aggressive behavior and Flo’s emotional volatility but rarely intervenes directly in their relationship. He represents a more sensitive and aware form of masculinity compared to other men in the novel, yet his passivity renders him largely ineffective as a moral counterpoint, allowing him to be swept along by the dysfunctional dynamic between the two women.