The Change

“The energy released in that one little building could have powered most of Mattauk—or, as Jo sometimes fantasized, burned the whole fucking town down.”

This description of Jo’s gym, Furious Fitness, uses a metaphor to give voice to the collective rage that women often feel when confronted with misogynistic oppression and unjust social structures. The passage highlights the theme of Channeling Anger to Enact Change. The fantasy of burning the town down employs the fire motif and foreshadows Jo’s use of her pyrokinesis to destroy Culling Pointe.

“But one day your life will grow quiet, and that’s when you’ll be able to hear them again. Like my auntie used to say, the gift arrives after the curse ends.”

Nessa recalls her grandmother’s words, which reframe menopause as a source of power. The quote explicitly equates the end of menstruation (“the curse”) with the reawakening of Nessa’s psychic abilities (“the gift”), and this scene is instrumental in foreshadowing the vital role that Nessa’s abilities will play in solving the mystery at Culling Pointe. Miller’s reframing is also central to the novel’s argument that this phase of life brings women new purpose and strength.

“How many years—how much energy—had she lost trying to control something that could not be controlled? How long had she feared being outed as female? How much frustration had she endured, inhabiting a world that wasn’t designed for her kind?”

After being fired, Jo experiences an epiphany, realizing the futility of her long war against her own body. These rhetorical questions mark her pivot from blaming herself to indicting a society not built for women. As she externalizes her rage, she finds new ways to challenge certain aspects of systemic patriarchal control.

“Yes, you’re afraid of me because I’m better than you are. And if you give one talented woman the power she deserves, another will follow. Then another. And together they’ll show that their way is better. Then your whole fake fucking world will come tumbling down.”

In her climactic confrontation with Max, Harriett voices the novel’s core feminist argument, declaring that misogynistic men fear the prospect of female coworkers whose competence equals or exceeds their own. In her view, this issue is the very root of the systemic sexism that has derailed her career. Her words deliver a broad indictment of mainstream society’s patriarchal order, and she even predicts its eventual collapse if women are granted the power they deserve.

“‘Nothing ages a person like poverty and misery,’ Harriett said. ‘Despite what all the ads claim, it’s not skin cream that helps some women keep their glow. The only true youth serum has two ingredients—luck and money.’”

Harriett’s cynical observation about Amber serves as a sharp social commentary, for she adroitly critiques the very beauty industry that her years of ad-related efforts were designed to benefit. She also highlights the brutal physical toll of economic hardship, contrasting the false promises of consumerism with the realities of class-related struggles.

“Bad luck waits for women like us around every corner. When it found me, I dealt with it expeditiously. And that is the only reason we are here talking today.”

In this scene, a 102-year-old woman is giving advice to a young, naïve Amber, but she is speaking in code that veils the true meaning of her words. When she claims to have “dealt with” her “bad luck,” she is referring to her own past use of vigilante justice. As the narrative later reveals, her description is a euphemism for her secret murder of a man who once did her serious harm. With the inclusion of this scene, Miller tacitly endorses extreme measures as a necessary survival tactic for women who must survive in a predatory world.

“They all turn the murderers into supervillains with comic book names. It’s all about the killers—not the women they kill. There was one guy in Providence—they called him the Head Hunter because he cut off women’s heads. The podcast kid I met today could probably have rattled off every place in Rhode Island where the guy hid a head, but he couldn’t name a single one of the victims. The women are just props in the killer’s story.”

This quote critiques the true crime genre’s tendency to sensationalize perpetrators while erasing the identities of female victims. Jo observes how murderers become “supervillains,” reducing the women they kill to mere “props” in a macabre form of entertainment, which highlights a systemic dehumanization within popular culture.

“‘The Pointe may be five miles away by map, but it’s really a parallel universe,’ Harriett said. ‘It doesn’t belong to our world. The people who live there look normal, but they’re not like the rest of us. They hand off all of life’s unpleasantness to others, and everything they want magically appears. After a while, it changes them. More than anything, it changes how they see us.’”

When Harriett describes Culling Pointe as a “parallel universe,” her comment examines the deep disconnect between the ultra-wealthy and people of ordinary means. Her observation suggests that extreme privilege insulates the rich from life’s hardships and thereby causes a far more insidious effect by fundamentally altering their perception of reality and of other people’s inherent worth. In her view, this dynamic creates a dangerous sense of detachment which gives rise to the very culture of permissiveness that leads to abuse.

“‘Of course we’re allowed,’ Harriett replied. ‘Women are allowed everywhere these days. Golf courses, nudie bars, the Racquet and Tennis Club. It would be scandalous if we weren’t allowed. So instead, we’re just not invited.’”

Harriett exposes the subtle mechanisms of patriarchal exclusion in modern society. She explains that while formal prohibitions against women are gone, a more insidious form of exclusion persists through social customs. The scene occurs as she and Jo contemplate the exclusive roof-deck gathering at Jackson Dunn’s house: a space of power where women are technically “allowed” but are deliberately “not invited.” Harriett’s matter-of-fact tone indicates that she has long since accepted the realities of the world and is now set on calmly breaking the unspoken rules that have kept her constrained for so long.

“You’ve got a spark. And even now, after everything you’ve been through, it’s as strong as ever. That’s what keeps Franklin fluttering around you like a lovesick moth.”

This quote invokes the fire motif and directly articulates the novel’s focus on Menopause as a Source of Empowerment. Harriett uses the metaphor of a moth drawn to flame to illustrate the primal nature of Nessa’s inner power. Her underlying goal is to compel Nessa to confront her true romantic feelings and to set heart free from the self-imposed celibacy that has kept her isolated since her husband’s death.

“‘God gave you a gift, Nessa,’ Franklin said. ‘Now he’s brought us together twice. I think it’s pretty clear that I’m supposed to help you. I think that’s what I was sent to do.’”

Franklin’s declaration frames their mission in spiritual terms, validating Nessa’s supernatural abilities as a divine “gift.” His belief that their partnership is fated elevates their investigation beyond mere police work into a moral imperative. Most importantly, his earnest tone shows that he fully accepts Nessa as she is and wishes to forge an important alliance. In many ways, his words help Nessa to trust her gift.

“I want everyone passing by to look. I want whoever did this to know that the girl buried here hasn’t been forgotten. I want him to see what we can do. And I want that motherfucker to worry.”

This statement perfectly encapsulates Harriett’s role as the “punisher” of the trio, for the iron-hard tone of her declaration betrays the depths of her own coldly controlled fury in the face of the serial murderer’s crimes. But rather than passively mourning the girl’s violent death, Harriett resolves to do something about it, and even her gentler gestures, like planting flowers on a grave, ultimately serve her self-appointed purpose.

“‘No,’ Harriett said, and Jo could see she was no longer joking. ‘Nessa is a good guy. I do what I believe to be necessary.’”

Harriett rejects the simple binary of good and evil, instead defining her actions by necessity and rejecting the strictures of conventional morality. However, she is clear-eyed about her chosen role, and she draws a firm distinction between her motivations and Nessa’s, seeing the sensitive Nessa as an inherently “good” person who may or may not have the resolve to do what is “necessary.” Ironically, however, Nessa’s very name invokes the concept of necessity, and she eventually proves herself to be in accordance with Harriett’s worldview.

“Now when the dream came, she let herself burn. Heat was energy, and energy, power. She wondered if she could learn to control it—to channel the fury and indignation that fueled it. She wanted to find out exactly what she could do.”

This passage links Jo’s menopausal hot flashes directly to her emerging supernatural abilities, reframing a physical symptom as a source of strength. The author employs the motif of fire and heat to transform a common experience of aging into a formidable, controllable power.

“The men responsible would be punished. But Jo would never be able to forgive herself for leading Spencer Harding straight to her family.”

This moment of internal conflict highlights the high personal stakes involved in the women’s quest for justice. Jo’s maternal guilt over the intruder’s assault on Lucy fuels her determination, transforming her protective instincts into a powerful, righteous anger that sets the corrupt world of Culling Point aflame. Yet beneath Jo’s fury lies a distinct emotional vulnerability, and Miller uses this element to underscore the depth of Jo’s resolve to dismantle the corrupt system that has ruined the lives of so many girls and women.

“The way Nessa saw it, in these situations, you followed the rules first. You toed the line. You made sure to cross every t and dot every i. And when that didn’t work, it was time to bring out the goddamned gators.”

This quote reveals Nessa’s pragmatic shift toward vigilantism. Initially committed to the rules and laws of society, flawed as they are, she now accepts that when legal channels fail, extreme measures like Harriett’s become necessary. The reference to “gators” links her current viewpoint to her grandmother’s story about Miss Ella’s punitive actions in the swamp, and Nessa too now subscribes to this specific, brutal form of justice.

“‘In this war, there isn’t a Switzerland,’ she told him. ‘There is no such thing as neutrality. You have to choose sides. You are very lucky, Mr. Gibbon. You have a chance to decide how you’ll be remembered, and I’m now certain you will make the right choice.’”

Harriett’s ultimatum to Josh frames the novel’s broader conflict in absolute moral terms, and she does not leave him the option of hiding behind his journalistic objectivity. Her declaration characterizes the struggle against the Culling Pointe men as a war, and this wording reflects the novel’s pattern of creating hyperbolic, exaggerated scenarios to examine the misogynistic elements that exist in the world in both greater and lesser forms. In essence, Harriett’s words stand as a bold challenge to patriarchal systems that enable complacency and inaction.

“‘He’s rewriting the story,’ Harriett explained in a tone that suggested she shouldn’t have to. ‘You guys have been around the block a few times. Don’t you know this is what they do? By the end of this, we’ll have a whole new set of heroes and villains.’”

As the trio of women watch Rocca spin lies on television in the aftermath of their podcast, Harriett’s cynical observation succinctly diagnoses his deceptions as another example of how patriarchal systems erase female contributions from official narratives. Her comment highlights the pattern of corrupt men who co-opt women’s work for their own benefit and recast events to center themselves as the central actors.

“No one teaches girls how to take care of themselves. We train them to be pretty and kind and polite right before we set them loose in a world filled with wolves. Then we act surprised and horrified when some of them get eaten.”

Claude’s statement critiques a society that prioritizes politeness over self-preservation and fails to provide girls with the tools they need to survive. The metaphor of “wolves” starkly illustrates the dangers of a world where women are left without adequate weapons of self-defense. This quote articulates the core philosophy behind Jo’s self-defense program, framing it as a necessary corrective to systemic vulnerability.

“If you’re looking for justice these days, you have to find it by other means. That’s what you did.”

Franklin’s statement offers the women support from a former law enforcement officer, confirming the novel’s premise that when official systems fail, alternative—and often radical—methods of justice become necessary. His words codify the women’s actions as a righteous response to systemic corruption and moral failure. Yet it is also important to note that these women would proceed with their plans either with or without his approval.

“‘Think of it as a recipe for the last thing you’ll ever need to bake,’ Harriett told her. ‘But the truth is, Ms. Rocca—and I suspect deep down, you already know this—every recipe is a spell. And all cooks are witches.’”

This quote reclaims images of domesticity as a source of occult power. By equating cooks with witches, Harriett empowers Juliet, John Rocca’s long-suffering wife, to use her designated sphere of the kitchen as a site of rebellion and lethal justice against her husband’s many wrongs. While Juliet’s quick acquiescence to Harriett’s influence is perhaps less than realistic, it does align with the novel’s hyperbolic approach to advancing a distinctly feminist message.

“Our lives our designed to have three parts. The first is education. The second, creation. And in part three, we put our experience to use and protect those who are weaker. This third stage, which you have entered, can be one of incredible power.”

Isabel’s speech explicitly articulates one of the novel’s central themes, reframing menopause as a transition into a woman’s most powerful phase. The author uses this monologue to reject societal narratives of aging as a loss of value, arguing instead that it marks the beginning of a woman’s purpose as a protector and agent of justice.

“She saw heat ripples radiating from her skin and smelled the grass singeing beneath her feet. She’d tried her best to control it. Now Jo closed her eyes and let go. Nothing had ever felt so good.”

This moment marks the climax of Jo’s inner journey, as she finally embraces her rage and uses it to wield a purifying and destructive force against the grim enclave of Culling Pointe. The sensory imagery of heat and singeing grass illustrates the physical manifestation of her anger, while her feeling of catharsis suggests that such righteous fury, when unleashed, is both justified and liberating.