When Love Traps You: Exploring Sarah Manguso’s ‘Liars’
By Natalie McCarty
“Liars is a crime novel, except the crime is a heterosexual marriage. It’s a whodunit and the villain is the patriarchy… A brilliantly paced gripping novel of love and betrayal.”
We all have that one friend—the one who shows up late with a story so absurdly intricate, so outrageously detailed, you’re caught somewhere between disbelief and awe. If you didn’t know them better, you’d swear they were lying. Back in my college days, I was definitely/probably/maybe that friend. Hell, I might still be.
Either way, Liars by Sarah Manguso feels like it was written for that friend, or maybe about them. Its stories are so sharply captivating that you find yourself questioning not just the narrative, but everything: your friends’ tall tales, your past relationships, even the truths you thought were solid in your own life.
Nine pages in, I felt the panic rising. Was this book… eerily mirroring my ex-relationship? Then, thankfully, a realization hit: no, Sarah Manguso married that guy. Not me. I’m safe. It’s not about him, or me, obviously.
But then another, more unsettling thought crept in: Why the hell did this happen to more than just me?
Liars is a masterpiece—part horror story, part liberation manifesto for women. It’s raw, honest, and painfully precise in its exploration of what happens when love transforms into entrapment.
For me, the greatest fear has always been losing myself in a marriage, being reduced to a single label: “the wife.” I’ve spent years building a life and career I’m proud of, and the thought of it slipping away is terrifying. Manguso captures this tension–the precarious dance between love and self-preservation—with an incredible honesty. Liars doesn’t just reveal the traps; it shows us the keys to escape them.
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In Liars, Manguso’s prose is spare yet powerful, each word carefully chosen and deliberate. She has this wonderful ability to find the universal in the deeply personal. She writes about her own experiences with such precision and honesty that readers can’t help but see their own lives reflected in her words.
The book’s structure mirrors the fragmented nature of truth itself. Not a linear, neatly packaged story, instead, Liars unfolds in a series of vignettes. She has a knack for capturing those small, absurd moments of life that reveal larger truths. It’s a form that perfectly suits the subject matter, forcing readers to peel back another layer of the human psyche with each phrase.
While the subject matter is heavy, Manguso’s signature wit keeps Liars from sinking into despair. Her humor is sharp, often catching you off guard, making you laugh just when you think you should cry, which is ultimately what makes it such a compelling read. Manguso understands that life is rarely one or the other: it’s both, all at once.
This is not a book that offers easy answers or tidy conclusions. Manguso doesn’t provide a clear path out of the maze of deception; instead, she invites readers to sit with the discomfort, to wrestle with the contradictions and uncertainties of life. It’s for anyone who has ever felt trapped by their own lies, or who has struggled with the weight of societal expectations. Liars challenges, provokes, and ultimately liberates. Manguso’s writing is a reminder that the truth is rarely simple, but that, in facing it, we find a deeper understanding of ourselves and the world around us.
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Sarah Manguso’s Liars is a masterful exploration of the lies we tell and the truths we hide, especially in love. The natural progression of marriage. The nuanced sacrifices we make for a relationship. It stands out as a bold, unflinching look at the power of honesty.
