McElroy, Isle. People Collide. HarperVia, 2023.

A blend of satire and queer fiction, People Collide by Isle McElroy takes readers by surprise with its sharp humor and emotional depth. The novel follows Eli and Elizabeth, a married couple who seem perfect together on the surface—Eli is sweet, funny, and attentive, while Elizabeth is ambitious, successful, and confident. Yet beneath their charm lies mutual dissatisfaction. Eli resents Elizabeth’s constant criticism and sexual demands, while Elizabeth grows tired of his lack of ambition and emotional availability. When an unexplained event causes them to switch bodies, they are forced to confront the very parts of each other they have avoided—and, in doing so, the unspoken distance between them.

At its core, the novel explores recognition and empathy within relationships: the desperate need to be seen, understood, and appreciated. Both Eli and Elizabeth fail to listen to one another, and their transformation becomes a metaphor for what happens when communication collapses. The reader is reminded that true connection comes only when we are comfortable within ourselves—and capable of hearing others.

Eli, insecure and self-critical, longs to be noticed by Elizabeth, the woman he adores but feels overshadowed by. His self-sabotaging behavior manifests through an eating disorder—

“Eli would throw up after meals while she was always at her desk writing” (75)—
and through infidelity, as if seeking pain in exchange for attention. Once trapped in Elizabeth’s body, Eli experiences an entirely new vulnerability. The physical form he once idealized now becomes a source of fear and insecurity. As the narrative deepens, McElroy cleverly shifts perspective, giving Eli’s internal voice more space than Elizabeth’s, symbolizing the emotional distance that defines their marriage.

From Eli’s point of view, readers gain an honest reflection of gendered experience and self-awareness:

“I always walked faster than everyone else like I didn’t care. It didn’t bother me until I was in her body” (112).

Now living as Elizabeth, Eli also encounters the world’s perception of himself:

“Is that what you think of him?” I asked. “That Eli was negligent?” (188).

Through this inversion, Eli gains insight into how others view his failures—a painful but transformative realization.

Elizabeth, in contrast, is ambitious and driven, yet emotionally distant. She perceives Eli as dependent and unmotivated. Her professional success and self-assuredness lead her to view Eli as an obstacle rather than a partner. After the body swap, however, Elizabeth experiences a new kind of freedom in living as Eli—a freedom that feels less confined by social expectations. Instead of nurturing Eli’s insecurities, she begins to relish autonomy and sexual exploration:

“This place is loaded with dicks,” she said. “There’s no better place to talk about dicks” (198).

McElroy uses humor and discomfort to illustrate gendered liberation and the ways in which societal conditioning shapes our desires.

Ultimately, the two remain trapped in a cycle of unmet needs—the woman seeking companionship, the man craving freedom. Even in their new bodies, their minds remain unchanged, unable to bridge the emotional gap between them. Eli reflects on this repeating pattern:

“There are things you won’t be able to plan for… You can plan for the towels and the flashlights and the recycling and the aunts, but at some point you’ll have to trust me, because all I can do is aspire to the version of you I find the most accurate, which is the version of you that I love, the kind and brilliant and generous person—someone who would, I truly believe, let her partner sleep through the night” (218).

This reflection captures the tragic irony of their relationship: love filtered through self-interest, intimacy blurred by projection.

By diving into dark psychology and relational imperfection, McElroy forces readers to confront the parts of love that society often avoids—jealousy, resentment, and incomplete listening. For me as a writer, this novel underscores the power of storytelling to reveal the truths we hide from ourselves. It reminds me to bring awareness to my own characters—to let them stumble, misunderstand, and grow. Through such honest portrayals, fiction becomes not just reflection, but revelation—of culture, of identity, and of the fragile art of being human.