In her debut novel, Charlotte Orsini delivers a wickedly funny and painfully honest account of a young woman’s quest to escape mediocrity. And Then There Were Many is a sharp, unflinching look at academia, feminism, expatriate life, and the existential dread of being thoroughly unremarkable. For anyone who’s ever experienced imposter syndrome or wondered if they’re the only adult faking their way through life, this book feels like finding your diary from an alternate timeline where you were brave enough to write down all your most embarrassing thoughts.
From the moment our unnamed protagonist declares that “being average is the worst thing in the whole world,” we’re plunged into a mind that overthinks everything, judges mercilessly (but mostly herself), and desperately seeks validation through achievement. What follows is a journey that’s by turns hilarious, cringe-inducing, and unexpectedly moving.
Navigating Academia, Love, and Existential Crises
Orsini’s protagonist embarks on an academic career that takes her from Paris to London, dragging along her insecurities like overstuffed luggage. Her relentless inner monologue provides some of the book’s most delicious moments:
“Something had to happen and soon. Something, anything. An earthquake so that I could rediscover myself as a selfless hero, cutting strips of her own magnificent skirts to bandage handsome strangers. A political revolution igniting my soul and revealing the exquisite Robin Hood complex within me. I would be a kind of Mother Theresa, but hot and slutty. Nothing happened!”
The narrative moves beyond traditional coming-of-age territory into a more nuanced exploration of early adulthood. We follow our protagonist through a series of life-defining moments: earning her PhD, falling in love with Yann (a wonderfully pragmatic German who somehow manages to navigate her emotional chaos), confronting workplace sexual harassment with uncomfortable awkwardness, and eventually embracing motherhood and entrepreneurship.
Character Development: A Gallery of Perfectly Flawed Humans
What elevates this novel beyond typical millennial angst literature is Orsini’s talent for creating characters who feel startlingly authentic. They’re messily human in ways that commercial fiction often sanitizes.
- The Protagonist: While unnamed, she’s fully formed—neurotic, ambitious, insecure, and painfully self-aware. Her voice comes through so clearly that by the end, readers will feel they’ve spent hours with a slightly exhausting but ultimately lovable friend who talks too much after a few glasses of wine.
- Emilie: The protagonist’s best friend emerges as her emotional anchor—assertive where the protagonist hesitates, practical where she dreams, and steadfast when everyone else proves unreliable. Their friendship provides some of the book’s most emotionally resonant moments:
“Five weeks and a day after our fight and her touch-down, I called her. ‘Hi. My wedding is in six weeks and I have been a humongous jerk to my best friend and Maid of Honor!’ Unbearable silence that lasted five full seconds. ‘My baby just puked on me for the fourth time today, I haven’t showered in three days and I also was a jerk to my best friend.’ ‘Well, those bitches probably had it coming.'”
- Petit Paul and Marie-Lu: The protagonist’s father and his enigmatic female companion are brilliantly drawn—simultaneously loving and infuriating, supportive and judgmental. Their relationship status remains ambiguous throughout much of the book, mirroring the protagonist’s stubborn refusal to see what’s obvious to everyone else.
- Yann: Perhaps the most grounded character, Yann provides a perfect counterbalance to our protagonist’s tendency toward catastrophizing. Their relationship evolves organically from an initially reluctant attraction to a partnership built on mutual acceptance of each other’s eccentricities.
Thematic Depth: Much More Than Millennial Malaise
Beneath its sardonic surface, And Then There Were Many explores substantial themes with surprising nuance:
The Tyranny of Potential
Orsini brilliantly captures the crushing weight of potential—how being “gifted” can become a burden when every achievement feels inadequate compared to what might have been. The protagonist’s academic career becomes a case study in how imposter syndrome can paralyze even the most capable minds.
Feminist Identity in Practice
Rather than offering tidy manifestos, the novel shows the messy reality of navigating gender dynamics in academia and relationships. The protagonist’s encounters with sexism—from the overtly predatory (her drunken boss) to the casually dismissive (colleagues who question her commitment after motherhood)—feel depressingly authentic.
Cultural Identity and Displacement
As the protagonist moves between France, England, and eventually creates a community with both French and German influences, Orsini explores how cultural displacement affects identity. The protagonist’s observations about British plumbing, German punctuality, and French family dynamics provide both comic relief and thoughtful commentary on European cultural differences.
Stylistic Brilliance: Structure and Voice
Orsini’s prose sparkles with wit and self-awareness. She employs several noteworthy techniques:
- Direct reader address – The protagonist occasionally breaks the fourth wall, particularly when acknowledging her own unreliability or dramatic tendencies
- Temporal signposting – Each chapter begins with a year and cultural reference that anchors us in time
- Internal contradiction – The protagonist frequently argues with herself, creating delightful tension between her aspirations and her reality
- Deceptive levity – Serious themes (death, mental health, career disappointment) are introduced with humor before revealing their emotional depth
The result is a narrative voice that feels intimate and authentic—like eavesdropping on someone’s most honest therapy session.
A Coming-of-Age Story for Thirty-Somethings
What makes And Then There Were Many particularly refreshing is its recognition that coming of age doesn’t end with college graduation or first jobs. The protagonist continues to evolve well into her thirties, challenging the notion that adulthood arrives on schedule:
“Let’s put an option on life: ‘I swear I’ll have my mid-life crisis ten years later than normal, in exchange for another decade of non-judgmental creativity’.”
Her most significant growth occurs not during her academic achievements but when facing unexpected challenges: her father’s death, an unplanned pregnancy with twins, and the leap into entrepreneurship. Through these experiences, she gradually redefines success on her own terms rather than seeking external validation.
Humor as Survival Strategy
The novel’s greatest strength may be how it uses humor as both shield and revelation. The protagonist’s sarcasm initially serves as self-protection, but as the narrative progresses, her humor evolves into a tool for genuine self-reflection. By the epilogue, she can laugh at herself without the bitter edge that characterized her earlier observations.
This transformation is exemplified in the creation of “Judgmental Sundays”—a ritual where she and Yann allow themselves to voice their most uncharitable thoughts one day per week. What begins as petty release becomes a way for them to acknowledge their flaws without being defined by them.
For Fans of…
Readers who enjoy the self-deprecating wit of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag, the academic setting of Julie Schumacher’s Dear Committee Members, or the quarter-life crisis narratives of Sally Rooney will find much to appreciate in Orsini’s debut. The novel also shares DNA with works like Taffy Brodesser-Akner’s Fleishman Is in Trouble and Patricia Lockwood’s No One Is Talking About This in its examination of modern identity.
Final Verdict: A Refreshingly Honest Addition to Contemporary Fiction
And Then There Were Many isn’t just another millennial coming-of-age story—it’s a sophisticated, hilarious examination of what it means to build an identity in a world obsessed with exceptional achievement. Orsini has crafted a protagonist whose flaws are as endearing as her strengths, whose observations are as insightful as they are irreverent.
The novel’s conclusion—with our protagonist embracing a life very different from her initial ambitions—feels earned rather than convenient. She doesn’t conquer her insecurities so much as make peace with them, finding purpose not in extraordinary achievement but in the messy, meaningful connections she forms along the way.
In her most vulnerable moment, our protagonist confesses: “This story is about being f*cking average. And don’t you judge me, you don’t know me. You don’t even know my name.” It’s a perfect encapsulation of the book’s central insight: that anonymity doesn’t equal insignificance, and that finding joy in an ordinary life might be the most extraordinary achievement of all.
For readers weary of polished social media narratives and sanitized self-improvement memoirs, Orsini’s debut offers something far more valuable—the unvarnished truth about growing up, settling down, and the perfectly imperfect journey between the two.