Heather McGowan’s Friends of the Museum is a whip-smart, tragicomic ensemble piece unfolding over one chaotic day inside a prestigious yet floundering New York museum. Equal parts satire and introspective drama, the novel examines what happens to institutions—and the people inside them—when the façade begins to crack.
Fans of McGowan’s earlier works like Schooling and Duchess of Nothing will recognize her signature style: long, searching sentences, acerbic inner monologues, and a disorienting narrative flow that straddles thought and reality. But here, her lens widens to include a full cast of anxious, aging, well-intentioned but deeply flawed characters—all spinning around the museum like planets caught in slow collapse.
One Day at the Museum: A Plot That Teeters on Collapse
At 4:30 a.m., Diane Schwebe, the museum’s director, receives an urgent call. A Shiva statue—perhaps looted—is discovered in the museum’s collection. As the day progresses, one crisis quickly snowballs into another: a gala is pending, poisoned shrimp sends staff to the ER, investors threaten to pull out, and internal politics begin to combust.
And by morning, one of them will be dead.
Rather than following a traditional plotline, the novel operates as a ticking time bomb of intersecting anxieties, where personal dilemmas mirror the larger institutional decline. Each chapter takes on a different point of view—from line cooks and curators to security chiefs and film scholars—building a mosaic of mismanaged ambition and quiet despair.
The beauty—and chaos—of McGowan’s narrative lies in its refusal to prioritize one storyline. Instead, she captures the domino effect of human choices inside a brittle system.
Diane Schwebe and the Burden of Cultural Gatekeeping
Diane, the museum’s commanding and conflicted director, is the gravitational center of the novel. McGowan draws her with both precision and compassion. Diane is sharp, efficient, loyal to a fault, but not without her secrets. She’s grappling with symptoms she can’t name (is it pregnancy, perimenopause, or something worse?), a crumbling marriage, and the moral ambiguity of her institution’s acquisitions.
Through Diane, McGowan explores the high-wire act of leadership in cultural spaces. She navigates:
- a looted artifact scandal
- a catering disaster threatening PR fallout
- possible federal scrutiny from the DHS
- personal disorientation and midlife existential dread
Her unraveling is subtle. We see it in the way she squares her pencils, obsesses over floral arrangements, or finds solace in the sun rising through museum windows. She is a woman balancing legacy with disillusionment, power with exhaustion.
A Cast of Sympathetic Stragglers
This is not a Diane-only show. McGowan gives weight and voice to an ensemble of equally compelling characters, all of whom feel emotionally marooned.
- Shay Pallot, the no-nonsense head of security, is secretly battling cognitive decline. Her journal entries, peppered with memories of her sister and fears of vanishing selfhood, are heartbreaking in their quietness.
- Nikolic Peša, the tortured sous-chef, is manic with insomnia and desperation. His failed pesto attempts, obsessive foraging plans, and inner monologue laced with self-loathing paint a portrait of someone spiraling under the weight of his own ambition.
- Henry Joles, the general counsel, is a man past his prime. Witty and weary, he’s trying to fix legal messes while nursing regrets from a long-ago marriage breakdown he never really addressed.
- Katherine Tambling, a costume curator, writes dry letters to her elderly aunt and shaves her head in a heatwave-induced existential crisis.
The side characters—from emotionally frozen donors to self-important investors—serve both as comic relief and sharp commentary on the art world’s hollow pomp. Every character, no matter how marginal, gets a moment of strange, intimate clarity.
A Writing Style as Layered as the Museum Itself
McGowan’s prose is not linear, and it’s rarely easy. Her style is fractured, breathless, often jumping from external action to interior monologue in mid-sentence. Dialogue overlaps. Thoughts interrupt thoughts. Time folds. This is deliberate. It mimics the chaos of modern work, overstimulation, and emotional overload.
Notable stylistic features:
- Stream-of-consciousness narration that blurs thought, memory, and action
- Long paragraphs that capture the mind’s natural restlessness
- Dark humor—deadpan, biting, and frequently absurd
- Rhythmic shifts that move from tragic to comedic within a single paragraph
Some readers may find the prose dense or exhausting. But if you read it aloud—or slowly—it reveals its music. Like the museum itself, there is method in the madness.
Themes: Legacy, Labor, and the Weight of Institutions
Beneath the comedic sheen lies a heavy core of inquiry. McGowan doesn’t just want to tell a story. She wants to examine what institutions mean—and what they cost.
Major themes include:
- Cultural restitution: The Shiva scandal opens a conversation about colonialism, theft, and how museums launder history.
- Emotional labor: From unpaid interns to aging executives, everyone’s worth is tied to their utility.
- Memory and identity: Particularly with Shay’s storyline, the novel explores how memory is identity—and what happens when it slips.
- Capitalism vs. art: The museum becomes a battleground for real estate deals, wealthy donors, and viral content. Art becomes secondary.
The title, Friends of the Museum, becomes a clever irony. Who really are the friends? The ones who fund it, run it, or sacrifice themselves for it?
Praise Where It’s Due
There’s much to admire in McGowan’s Friends of the Museum.
- Authentic workplace satire: Her depiction of office dynamics, from chaotic calendar meetings to passive-aggressive email threads, is uncomfortably accurate.
- Character complexity: No one is a saint or villain. Everyone is messy in a believable way.
- Atmosphere: The museum is a living character—cold, majestic, and decaying.
- Emotional depth: McGowan never sentimentalizes. When pain arrives, it hits like a gut punch.
Where the Novel Falters
Despite its brilliance, Friends of the Museum occasionally buckles under its own weight.
- Overcrowded narrative: There are simply too many perspectives. Some voices blend together.
- Stylistic indulgence: At times, McGowan’s sentences meander into abstraction and lose clarity.
- Pacing issues: The climax—someone’s death—feels underwhelming and unearned.
- Unresolved threads: Many storylines end with ellipses rather than conclusions. This may frustrate readers seeking narrative payoff.
The result is a book that’s more impressionist painting than blueprint—beautiful, if occasionally incoherent.
Comparable Reads
If Friends of the Museum left you hungry for more ensemble chaos and literary wit, consider:
- The White Lotus (TV) – for its day-in-the-life satire of privilege and institutional vanity
- The Imperfectionists by Tom Rachman – a fading newspaper as metaphor for modern disillusionment
- Weather by Jenny Offill – fragmented, anxious, intellectually rich prose
- The New Me by Halle Butler – a bitterly funny look at contemporary office alienation
McGowan’s book lives comfortably in that orbit—cynical but humane, strange but relatable.
Final Thoughts: Should You Visit This Museum?
Friends of the Museum by Heather McGowan is not a breezy read. It demands patience, close attention, and a taste for unresolved endings. But for readers drawn to character-driven stories, institutional critiques, and literary risk-taking, it offers a rewarding (and at times maddening) experience.
Like a museum tour where the lights flicker and the docents argue behind the scenes, the novel leaves you wondering whether you witnessed a disaster—or a masterpiece.
