Fulfillment City is about collapse—the slow, sticky unraveling of a woman, a city, an industry, and, in a broader sense, American identity. The story kicks off with Lydia Calligan, once a powerhouse in San Francisco’s boutique advertising world, and follows her as her crown jewel campaign. A wholesome berry ad featuring a lisping Black child implodes spectacularly in a culture-shifting scandal. What follows is a ghost story, but not the kind with cobwebs and creaky doors. Lydia becomes a living specter, wandering the city in a trench coat, haunted by both personal and public failure, as her former colleague Paul, sharp-tongued, prickly, and strangely endearing, tries to drag her back from oblivion. From its hip urban core to a strangely eerie prefab town in rural Colorado, the novel explores guilt, reinvention, and the absurdities of a country selling itself one delivery box at a time.

What I really loved was how quietly funny the book is, even when it’s steeped in grief and disappointment. The writing is whip-smart but never showy. The scene where Lydia, now adrift, sits in silence at a café while Paul performs his one-man comedy routine, trying to draw a single flicker of recognition from her, is painfully hilarious. I could practically hear the espresso machine hissing in the background as he babbled nonsense, and she stared through him like he was just another ghost. The comedy sneaks up on you, poking at the tragic bits without letting you sink. And Lydia’s fall from grace was Brutal, but also believable. The way the berry campaign spirals into controversy, starting with a lisp and ending in a death, is satire so sharp it practically bleeds.

Paul, for me, stole the show. He’s this oddball mix of charming, petty, broken, and brilliant. I didn’t expect to feel for him so much, but watching him scramble for relevance while his world shrinks to the size of a secondhand teacup was quietly devastating. His dry midwestern sass and resentment give the novel its bite and his weird antique obsession is oddly grounding.

The section set in the artificial town of Saltair Springs was deliciously eerie. The contrast between Lydia’s haunted sophistication and the soulless sheen of a fulfillment-center utopia gave me chills. You can feel Lydia’s unease seep through the page and yet, the town isn’t just a prop. There’s real life and love there, like with Cherise and Darnell, a couple that somehow blooms in the middle of all this engineered happiness. That sweetness tucked between cynicism and corporate doom felt like a little glimmer of hope.

Fulfillment City doesn’t wrap itself up in neat bows. But its honest about loss, about compromise, about how easily people and institutions get swallowed whole. I’d recommend this book to anyone who likes their fiction with bite and wit, who’s curious about what happens when the culture machine eats itself alive. If you liked Mad Men, White Noise, or just want to read something that feels both current and weirdly timeless, this one’s for you.

Pages: 245 | ASIN : B0DZ3RWF83