Carrie Soto Is Back

I have never played serious tennis and still found myself whispering scores while cooking. Carrie Soto Is Back was published August 30, 2022 by Ballantine Books, 384 pages in hardcover, ISBN 9780593158685, author Taylor Jenkins Reid. Carrie Soto, fierce champion called Battle Axe, retires with twenty Slams, watches her record fall, and at thirty seven returns for one year with her father Javier coaching. I found it her most emotional book, about fathers and daughters more than trophies.

Carrie grows up with Javier Soto, former champion from Argentina who never won Slam due to nerves and politics. Her mother died young. Javier coaches Carrie from age two with cruel kindness. Run. Hit. Again. No crying on court. He teaches topspin, footwork, and a code. Fight for every point. Never apologize for winning. Carrie absorbs and becomes great and lonely. She wins Slams, endorsements, enemies. Press calls her cold. Rivals call her worse. She does not care until she must care to win back.

Retirement at thirty one after knee trouble feels like relief. Commentary gigs. Money. Quiet. Then 1994 US Open. Nicki Chan, brutal young star with power and joy, ties Carrie's twenty. Carrie sits in stands with Javier, hears crowd love Nicki, feels record slip. At thirty seven, old for tennis, she decides to return for 1995 season to defend twenty against twenty one. Javier, older with heart trouble, agrees to coach. The tour, the press, even friends say she is done. Bowe Huntley, aging male star she once almost loved, trains nearby with his own last chance story. Their paths cross with banter and ache.

Training chapters are the best sports writing I have read in literary fiction. Sprints. Weights. Serve tosses. Diet. Ice baths. Javier plans surfaces. Hard courts for power. Clay for patience. Grass for nerve. Carrie relearns timing after years off. Her body rebels. Knee swells. Back locks. She vomits after drills. Javier adjusts without softening. He times with stopwatch and tells stories about his own failures to teach. A scene where Carrie finally holds serve against a young hitter after weeks of breaks made me pump fist alone. Process as plot works.

Matches are written point by point without losing non fans. Scores given as 15 love, deuce, break. Tactics explained through Carrie's mind. Hit to backhand. Move her wide. Take time away. Crowd noise described as weather. Nicki plays with joy and power, smiling between points. Carrie plays with calculation and will. Their contrast is theme. Joy versus will. Youth versus experience. Talent versus work. Reid respects both. You root for Carrie while liking Nicki, which is hard and good.

Javier and Bowe

Javier as father coach is the heart. Argentine, charming, strict, haunted by his own Slam losses to bigger names and bad calls. He loves Carrie with everything and uses her to redeem himself, a fact both know and rarely name. He pushes her past health. He apologizes by cooking. He tells stories about her mother to calm. When his heart falters during comeback year, he hides to keep her focused. That hiding nearly kills him and her chances. Their reckoning about using and loving is the book's bravest talk. No simple good dad. A great coach who sometimes fails as father and tries to repair late.

Bowe Huntley as almost lover adds warmth. Handsome, funny, aging lion with bad knees and good hands. He and Carrie clashed young, almost dated, chose tennis over. Now both returning, they practice together, trade insults, share physio tables. He brings her coffee exactly right. She tapes his ankle without asking. Romance grows slowly through respect rather than rescue. A scene where Bowe tells press Carrie is best he ever faced, knowing it hurts his own hype, shows love as witness. Their final decision about tennis and each other avoids fairy tale while satisfying. Two people who choose work and each other without quitting selves.

Nicki Chan as rival is written to be loved, not hated. Young, Black, powerful, joyful, with a father who believes loudly. She respects Carrie and wants her record, not her ruin. Press tries to pit Battle Axe versus Joy. Both refuse simple script. A locker room scene where Nicki asks Carrie about handling hate and Carrie answers honestly about ignoring versus hearing is generous and real. Champions teaching across eras. I finished admiring Nicki as much as Carrie, which makes final Slam matter more. Someone good will lose.

Press and public as chorus show sexism and ageism plainly. Headlines call Carrie shrill, old, done. Male veterans get comeback praise for same age. Commentators praise Nicki's smile while critiquing Carrie's frown for same focus. Carrie answers with play, not speeches, though she gives one press conference about deserving that made me cheer. I am entitled, she says, because I worked. That line divides readers. Arrogance or honesty. For a woman told to be grateful, claiming feels political. I read it as both flaw and strength, which is why Carrie lives.

Winning and cost

The season arc moves through Australian Open, French, Wimbledon, US Open with wins and losses that feel earned. Carrie loses early to rust, wins small events, loses to Nicki, beats others, enters US Open as underdog. Javier's health forces a coaching change mid event that tests Carrie's independence. She must call her own patterns without father's nod. That growth, from drilled daughter to thinking player, is the real comeback. Trophies follow or not. I will not give final score, but final match with Nicki is vivid and fair. Long rallies. Cramping. Crowd split. No miracle, just tennis.

What it costs is clear. Knees, sleep, friendships. Carrie misses a friend's wedding for practice. She skips endorsements that want smile. She hurts Bowe by choosing training over date. She hurts Javier by pushing him to push her. The book does not pretend greatness is healthy. It asks what price is chosen and who pays besides chooser. Javier pays with heart. Bowe pays with waiting. Carrie pays with body that will ache at fifty. All choose knowing. That consent matters though sadness remains.

Reid's style here is leaner than in Daisy Jones. Less oral history, more interior during points. Short chapters with scores as titles help non fans track. Research shows without info dump. Strings, rackets, surfaces explained in action. Argentine Spanish phrases appear sparingly. 1990s details, pay phones, early ESPN, feel right without nostalgia bath. Pacing is strong for 384 pages. Training, tournament, rest, repeat. I never skimmed though I do not love sports. Momentum comes from father daughter stakes, more than balls.

Criticisms are mild. Tennis non fans may still find point by point long in final. A few early matches could shorten. Carrie's unlikeability is intentional but will lose some readers before she softens. She insults, ignores, demands. Growth arrives late by design. Stick past hundred pages. Javier's health scare as plot device risks melodrama, though handled with care and medical detail that grounds. The ending, while satisfying, ties up press redemption a little neatly. Real media rarely learns. Here one columnist admits wrong. Wishful but welcome.

Who should read. Sports lovers, father daughter story lovers, Reid fans, anyone who was told too old. You do not need tennis. You need stamina for training montages and heart for a coach who says fight while learning to say rest. I closed wanting to call my own father and to stretch, which is odd and good.

Surfaces, press, and Bowe

Surfaces as teachers deserve a paragraph. Hard courts reward Carrie's flat power. Clay rewards patience she lacks and learns. Grass rewards nerve and low bounce. Javier plans season to build from hard to clay to grass to hard, peaking at US Open. Carrie hates clay early, sliding, losing long points to grinders. She learns to slide, to wait one more ball, to use drop shot. Those lessons mirror emotional work. Wait one more exchange with father. Slide into Bowe's honesty. Patience as tactic on and off court. A clay final she wins ugly teaches more than hard win easy. Ugly wins count.

Press as opponent is drawn with weary accuracy. Headlines about age, likeability, Battle Axe nickname coined young and stuck. Male veterans get lion praise for same comeback. Young Nicki gets joy narrative that flattens her work. Carrie learns to answer with short sentences and play. Bowe teaches her to smile once for cameras then ignore. Javier tells her press is weather, not coach. Play in rain. Those media literacy beats felt true to 1990s sports coverage and to now. Women athletes still judged on smile while men judged on serve. Reid names without lecturing. Scores do arguing.

Bowe as practice partner and almost lover grows across year. Morning runs together. Physio tables side by side with ice packs. Video review with teasing. He tells Carrie she telegraphs backhand when tired. She tells him he rushes net when scared. Mutual scouting as flirting. A night before big match they almost sleep together and choose sleep instead to protect legs. That choice, desire deferred for work, shows adult love better than speeches. When they finally kiss after US Open grind, win or lose, it feels like rest rather than prize. Two bodies sore choosing softness. I liked that order. Work first, then tenderness, both chosen.

Javier's heart scare mid season forces Carrie to coach herself. He hides chest pain to keep her focused, collapses at practice, hospital with monitors. Carrie sits with his stopwatch and cries angry. He apologizes for using her to redeem his losses. She forgives slowly while calling her own patterns without his nod. A match she wins by changing tactics mid set, something Javier always called for her, proves independence. He watches on TV from bed with nurse shushing. Pride mixed with fear. Parents learning to let children play own points is universal in sports or music or school. Letting go as final coaching.

Nicki's father as loud believer contrasts Javier's quiet control. He shouts, dances, wears bright shirts. Press loves him. Carrie envies easy joy even while competing. A locker room chat where he asks Javier how to handle loss for his daughter, and Javier answers honestly about letting her cry then feeding her, bridges rival camps. Fathers learning from each other while daughters fight. Sweet and unforced. Tournament as family reunion with scores.

The final US Open run with Carrie older, slower, smarter had me scoring aloud. Serve percentages. Break points. Tiebreaks. Reid writes points so non fans follow. Deuce as story. Advantage as turn. No miracle winners every shot. Errors, double faults, challenges. Truth in stats. Win or lose, and I will not say, Carrie leaves court knowing she fought correctly. Correct fight as redemption for years of winning ugly in spirit. That distinction between winning and fighting well is the book's mature heart. Trophies rust. How you played stays.

Practice weeks and press week

Practice weeks deserve detail for non fans. Monday sprints and serve. Tuesday weights and return. Wednesday rest with ice and video. Thursday points with Bowe. Friday match play with juniors. Javier writes plan on whiteboard with times and targets. Carrie follows though knee swells. She learns to sleep with leg elevated, to eat protein before hunger, to say no to late invites. Discipline as love for future self. A week she follows perfectly and still loses Saturday shows process over outcome. Growth without trophy still counts. That lesson steadies later losses.

Press week before US Open is circus. Photo shoots. Panels. Old rivals commenting. Nicki charming crowds. Carrie short with reporters who ask about age and likeability. Bowe jokes to deflect. Javier naps in corners to save heart. A press conference where Carrie says she is entitled because she worked divides room. Some call arrogant. Others, especially older women athletes, nod. Claiming as politics. I cheered while noting risk. Entitlement can alienate fans needed for endorsements. Carrie chooses honesty over popularity, consistent to Battle Axe. Cost accepted.

Tournament housing with players in same hotel creates village. Elevator nods. Laundry rooms. Practice courts booked at dawn. Nicki's team loud with music. Carrie's team quiet with stopwatch. Shared physio room where rivals ice side by side and talk about shoes, not scores. Those neutral zones humanize. Enemies as coworkers. Final matches hurt more for knowing. Sport as job with friends as obstacles. Reid captures without cynicism. Play hard, ice together after.

Facts held: first published August 30, 2022 by Ballantine Books in the United States, 384 pages in hardcover, ISBN 9780593158685, author Taylor Jenkins Reid. Summary follows that text.