Synopsis:
Sisters Zoe and Cassie Grossberg were born just a year apart but could not be more different. Zoe, blessed with charm and beauty, yearned for fame from the moment she could sing into a hairbrush. Cassie was a musical prodigy who never felt at home in her own skin and preferred the safety of the shadows.
In the early 2000s, with the sisters on the brink of adulthood, destiny intervened. The sisters were catapulted into the spotlight. The Griffin Sisters became the pop sensation and achieved all the touchstones of early aughts fame. Their music dominated the charts, they appeared on Saturday Night Live and MTV, and they were featured in Rolling Stone magazine.
After one whirlwind year in the public eye, the band abruptly broke up.
Two decades later, Zoe’s a housewife. Cassie has remained off the grid. The sisters haven’t spoken in many years, and the real reason for the Griffin Sisters’ breakup remains a mystery, although speculation has never waned.
Zoe’s teenage daughter, Cherry, is determined to be a star despite Zoe’s warnings. She’s also on a quest to learn the truth about what happened to the band all those years ago.
As secrets emerge, all three women face the consequences of their choices — the ones they made and the ones the music industry made for them.
Can they forgive each other . . . and themselves? And will the Griffin Sisters ever make music again?
The Griffin Sisters’ Greatest Hits is a story of sisters, motherhood, young love, the dreams we chase . . . and reconciliation.
Review:
Bestselling author Jennifer Weiner published her first book, Good in Bed, in which the main character, Cannie Shapiro, struggles to make peace with her plus-size body, in 2001. At that time, it was rare to encounter a plus-size female character in a work of contemporary fiction. Weiner recalls the “bad old days” when “fat characters were comic relief, or they were on their way to being thin characters. They were the ‘before’ and ‘after’ ads.” But Weiner “wanted to write a story where the big girl stayed big and still got all the wonderful things.” Today, plus-sized characters are “seen as a much more acceptable, normal thing” and that encourages Weiner and makes her “happy.” She observes that today an entire generation of adult women have no awareness or appreciation of what a challenge it was to get Good in Bed published.
Inspiration for Weiner’s twentieth novel, The Griffin Sisters’ Greatest Hits, struck when she was vacationing in Alaska. She imagined a woman living there. Wearing an oversized parka, carrying cleaning supplies, she wondered who the woman was, how she ended up in Alaska, who she might be running from, and “who she used to be.” She had wanted for a long time to write a book about the music industry and while conducting research, recalled Wilson Phillips and the videos in which Carnie Wilson was dressed differently than the other female members of the band – “Even on a beach, she was in a pantsuit!” – and the idea that she needed to be hidden. She wanted to write The Griffin Sisters’ Greatest Hits “as an act of reclamation. I wanted to take those big girls who had been pushed to the side and put them back into the spotlight.”
Weiner created Zoe and Cassie Grossberg, sisters who could not be more different. Zoe is beautiful, outgoing, gregarious. From birth, she loved attention and wanted to be famous. For their mother, Janice, Zoe was easy to love because she was a happy, contented baby. But when she found herself pregnant again when Zoe was just seven months old, she was devastated. Another baby so soon was not what she and her husband, Sam, had planned. Their second child was not supposed to arrive until they saved up enough money to purchase their own home. Moreover, the pregnancy and delivery were difficult, and Janice was convinced she would never be able to love her second daughter who challenged Janice in ways Zoe never did. She named her Cassandra solely because she’d heard the name in a book about Greek mythology, with no knowledge that the Cassandra depicted in those myths “was a prophetess, cursed to speak the truth and have no one believe her.” Later, Janice would wonder if “the name shaped Cassie’s life somehow, condemning her to sorrow.”
Cassie was an overweight, awkward, quiet child who was not popular and did not make friends. Despite how different they were, the girls were close growing up and Zoe protected Cassie. Weiner relates the story from Janice’s perspective, as well as those of Zoe and Cassie, revealing details through flashbacks about the sisters’ childhood and how their parents learned that Cassie was a musical prodigy. They acquired a piano and arranged for her to have lessons. Eventually, she was accepted to a prestigious school where she studied classical music.
In high school, Zoe put together a rock band called Girl Power! (yes, the exclamation point was part of the band’s name), but she was exiled from the group following a dispute about – what else? – a boy. Intent on nonetheless performing in a battle of the bands at a local club, Zoe implored Cassie to sing with her, even though Cassie wanted no part of being on stage. Cassie had never displayed stage fright at her piano recitals, but singing before an audience was an entirely different matter. Self-conscious, she did not want people to look at her, certain that she would be judged on her appearance . . . and cruelly rejected. “The attention, even if it was positive attention, was unsettling, destabilizing and confusing.”
As many times as she’s listened to the song, she’d heard it wrong. Or, at least, she’d missed something. She’d never realized that it could be about a lover who’d broken your heart, but also about a sister, or anyone you’d loved who had cared for you, then hurt you; a person you loved in spite of yourself, because you couldn’t do anything else.
But for Zoe, Cassie relented. And when they took the stage, she closed her eyes as she played the piano and sang. A “reverent hush” fell over the appreciative audience. “It made Zoe feel powerful: that she could take people out of the real world and into the world she was creating with her voice; that she could make them feel what she wanted them to feel. And Cassie could do this all the time.” Zoe felt “the first threads of envy gathering inside her, twisting and knotting into something nasty and sharp-edged.” As Cassie’s confidence grew with each note, so did Zoe’s resentment. Zoe was supposed to be the one destined for stardom, but she instantly recognized that Cassie’s transcendent voice and raw, natural talent had relegated her to the role of backup singer. And always would. For a few brief moments, as the applause washed over them, Zoe’s jealousy abated because of her gratitude for Cassie helping her win the competition.
A talent scout soon arrived on the scene. “The fat girl’s voice was a marvel: agile and supple and full of shades from bright to dark. She sang with power and control, with a range of at least three octaves, maybe more. She could belt, and then sing in a delicate head voice, then drop down into a rolling vibrato. If he’d closed his eyes, he could have been listening to Linda Ronstadt, or Carole King, or Carly Simon, one of the all-time greats.” But first, he realized he had to solve an “essential problem.” Zoe was pretty, but Cassie “was a disaster,” so he began plotting how to “fix” her. “And if they couldn’t, maybe they could hide her. But first they had to sign her. And her sister, who seemed to be part of the deal.” He did. And arranged for the girls to work with songwriter Russell D’Angelo. Again, however, it was Cassie who possessed talent and promise. She and Russell worked well together and created songs that were more than beautiful – they were potential hits. The Grossberg sisters became the Griffin sisters, Russell became their guitar player. They recorded an album, began touring, and quickly achieved the kind of success that most musicians only dream about.
But, as Weiner details, everything fell apart in spectacular fashion. There was no second album, the band broke up, and Cassie disappeared immediately following a night of tragedy that, in the ensuing twenty years, become the stuff of legend and myth.
In 2024, Zoe is a married mother of three — eighteen-year-old Cherry and two younger boys — and a stepmother to Bix who is a year older than Cherry and extremely troubled. Bix’s behavior has been ignored by Zoe and minimized by Cherry’s stepfather. Cherry has had enough and now that she is eighteen, she is “free to become the only thing she’d ever wanted to be: A singer. A musician. A star.” Cherry sneaks out of the house, en route to compete on an American Idol-type show. Her mother has never told her the story of the Griffin Sisters. “Zoe would never talk about her days in the band, no matter how much Cherry pestered and pleaded, . . .” Nor would Zoe talk about Cherry’s deceased father. Cherry has never met her Aunt Cassie.
Cassie is living anonymously in vast, beautiful, but isolated Alaska where she owns fifty acres of woods and three tiny houses, living in one and renting the other two to tourists. She speaks to as few people as possible, preferring the company of her dog, Wesley. She hides from the world, and there is no more music in her life. She lives in a state of “constant torment, a crushed-glass sorrow” never relenting. She is convinced that she “hurt everyone who’d gotten close to her” and feels she is not worthy of forgiveness. She even employs a company to monitor mentions of her on social media and the internet, and have those references removed as quickly as possible. Only three people have her telephone number. To her mother, Janice, she sends a monthly text message, “I’m here. I’m fine.” Her Aunt Bess urges her to talk to Zoe, but she refuses. And CJ, the band’s former manager, calls periodically to try to convince Cassie to accept offers to perform, grant rights for the band’s music to be used, and the like. She always refuses. As the twenty-fifth anniversary of the band’s one hit album approaches, it is selling well again. But Cassie donates her income as part of her self-imposed punishment for whatever it is she did that was so horrific.
Gradually, from the alternating perspectives of her characters spanning more than a quarter of a century, Weiner unravels a complicated, layered, and emotionally fraught tale of the two sisters’ childhoods, quick rise to fame and legendary success in the music industry, and their act’s just as rapid, tragic demise.
Cassie is the beat and soundtrack of the story. Although Weiner never specifically describes her as being neurodivergent, her behavior and feelings suggest that. And, of course, when she was growing up, little was known or understood about neurodivergent children or adults. Thanks to a caring, observant teacher, Cassie’s parents were alerted to the musical talent she dud not exhibit at home. To their credit, they nurtured that talent and encouraged her studies. And when Zoe pressed Cassie to perform with her, the girls were “discovered” and given a contract by a record label, even as Cassie began to discover her talent both as a vocalist and songwriter. Her confidence grew, but Weiner describes the cruel manner in which Cassie was viewed as a commodity by those who stood to profit from her talent. Even if they didn’t belittle her to her face, Cassie was humiliated and hurt by the manner in which she was treated – everything from the wardrobe selected for her to her initial placement on stage was designed by the group’s own team to minimize Cassie’s appearance, even as her incomparable vocal performances refused to be diminished. Audiences adored Cassie’s music, but mocked the way she looked.
For Cassie, the music and Zoe were what mattered. And she developed a productive and meaningful songwriting partnership with Russell. She never sought stardom. Ironically, she could not evade it. The popularity of her music was unprecedented and unstoppable, as were the feelings she developed for Russell.
Zoe, in contrast, wanted fame and all of its accoutrements. Her physical attributes were accentuated by the wardrobe selected for her, the stage lighting, etc. Gradually, though, Zoe found herself pushed further and further from the audience as Cassie’s piano was eased toward the front rows. Cassie sang the lead, while Zoe’s mediocre vocal prowess was relegated to backup status. She became increasingly desperate to remain in the spotlight and engaged in shocking machinations and betrayals designed to ensure that Cassie did not upstage her — professionally or personally.
Zoe is a manipulative, controlling narcissist who, on the surface, is unlikable and undeserving of empathy or compassion. Those characteristics have impeded her ability to mother Cherry and hear her when she has sought her mother’s help and protection. But Zoe is multi-layered and complicated, as Weiner demonstrates, with her ambition fueled by her own insecurity and self-doubt, despite having been blessed with physical attributes that make it far easier for her to navigate the world than it is for Cassie. She may be beautiful on the outside, but Zoe lacks the internal beauty that radiates naturally from Cassie. Can she develop the self-awareness required to change her behavior and the way she relates to those she really does love?
Weiner expertly ramps up the dramatic tension as the narratives alternate. The girls’ history is detailed incrementally, and she eventually reveals exactly what caused their relationship to fracture beyond repair and the band to permanently break up.
Can anything or anyone bring the girls back together to finally talk about everything that happened so many years ago? Can they forgive each other and repair their relationship? Can they ever make beautiful music together again?
The Griffin Sisters’ Greatest Hits is a riveting story about dreams, ambition, and the high cost of achieving success in a competitive and demanding industry. Indeed, Weiner says that one of the principle questions considered in the tale is, “What is the price of having a gift?” Cassie struggles with whether she has an obligation to use the gift she has been given. Weiner examines the difficulty of retaining one’s humanity and care for others in a business that inspires conniving, cutthroat behavior. Weiner compassionately explores the ways in which sisters have the capacity to both love and hate each other; want the best for each other and experience debilitating jealousy and resentment when one excels while the other struggles; and the myriad ways in which they are able to fervently love yet hurt each other with unparalleled viciousness.
The book also illustrates the cruelly callous ways women are objectified, judged, and discarded on the basis of their physical appearance rather than acknowledged for their intellect, talent, and accomplishments. And stereotyped and pigeon-holed, labeled as “the pretty one,” “the fat one,” “the awkward one.” Female readers will recognize themselves and their experiences in the pages of Weiner’s unapologetic depiction of Cassie’s fight to be valued for her talent, and self-flagellation and sense of being “less than” for failing to live up to the standards imposed upon her not just by the music industry, but the culture as a whole.
Weiner delivers yet another book that is emotionally resonant, riveting – readers be anxious to discover what serves as the impetus for the band’s dramatic break up – and thought-provoking. The Griffin Sisters’ Greatest Hits features memorable characters. “I think as women we are taught to be very hard on ourselves, to set the bar high and to beat ourselves up if we don’t clear it,” Weiner says. “And as women, we can forgive everyone else, but sometimes we can’t forgive ourselves.” Cassie, Zoe, Cherry, and Janice are all fascinating, sympathetic, and trying to clear that bar in their own way. Readers will cheer for them to find a way to reconcile, forgive each other and themselves, and reunite.
Excerpt from The Griffin Sisters’ Greatest Hits
Cassie
Alaska, 2024
Cassie Grossberg zipped her down parka. She put on her left glove with her right hand and used her teeth to tug her right glove over her wrist. She strapped a headlamp around her forehead, over the brim of her knitted wool hat and opened the door. It was nine o’clock in the morning, the starless sky still black as a pot of ink outside, with an icy, knife-edged wind blowing hard enough to make the sides of her wooden house groan. Winter in Alaska felt like punishment. It was cold, of course, and endlessly dark. The sky was black at seven in the morning, when kids left for school. It was dark again by three in the afternoon, when the dismissal bell rang. The hockey teams played under floodlights; the kids on the cross-country ski team practiced with headlamps. Everyone learned to live with it. Either that, or they flew off to Hawaii.
Alaska’s winters suited Cassie. The sharp-edged wind found all of the gaps in her clothing — the space between her scarf and her parka’s zipper, the gap between her hat and her collar — and probed at them zealously. It felt purposefully cruel; a wind that held a grudge, that sidled close and whispered in your ear every shameful, stupid thing you’d ever done. It was unrelenting and pitiless. It felt like what she deserved.
That morning, Cassie felt the cold, but she felt something else, too — a prickle of unease at the back of her neck; an unwelcome sensation that meant that, somewhere, her songs were being played; her name was being spoken. It had been that way for years. She’d get that goosebump-y feeling, that feeling of being watched, and she’d turn on the radio or the TV, and boom, there they’d be, her voice and Zoe’s, singing “The Gift” or “Flavor of the Week” or “Last Night in Fishtown.” And she’d be forced to think of her sister, to remember, even though remembering hurt.
When they were girls, Zoe had been Cassie’s companion, her protector; once, she’d believed, her friend. Had things gone the way they should have, they would have grown up and gone in separate directions: Cassie, to a life in classical music, and Zoe, probably, to college, unless her sister had managed to find some other path to the stardom she’d always yearned for. A degree, a husband, a regular kind of job.
That hadn’t happened. And now . . . “Never mind,” Cassie rasped.
Her dog, Wesley, looked up at her. His expression seemed vaguely startled. Cassie wondered how long it had been since he’d heard her talk. She crouched down to scratch behind his ears. At just under 20 pounds, Wesley was conveniently portable, easy for Cassie to scoop up under an arm or tuck into her coat as needed.
Cassie had never planned on getting a dog. Pets were a comfort. They provided companionship. Cassie hadn’t thought she deserved either of those things. But six years ago, she’d opened her door to find a small dog with reddish-brown fur and white spots, his tail tucked neatly underneath him, ears quivering uncertainly as he looked at her.
“Hello,” she said, before she could stop herself. He hadn’t been wearing a collar, and when she’d brought him to the vet, she found that he wasn’t chipped. “You could take him to the shelter,” the tech said. “But, you know, older dogs . . .” Her voice trailed off, and, right on cue, the little dog had whimpered, as if he understood what he’d heard. Cassie did not deserve the comfort of a dog. She’d hurt everyone who’d gotten close to her. But the dog didn’t deserve a death sentence. Cassie had paid the bill and carried the dog to her car.
“I’m not going to be a lot of fun,” she warned the dog, unlocking the car’s doors. Wesley regarded her warily. She put him in the back seat and googled the location of the nearest pet shop, where she bought a leash, a collar, a bag of kibble and a crate that Wesley ended up never using, preferring, instead, to sleep curled up at the foot of Cassie’s single bed.
Cassie had done her best to make a life where she saw, and spoke to, as few people as possible. She’d had enough of people; enough of attention, enough of the world. Early on, after everything had gone wrong, she’d thought about killing herself. She’d wanted to die. Only that felt like the easy way out, like she was ducking her punishment, avoiding what she deserved. Which was to live out her days alone, with the knowledge of all the pain she’d caused the people who had loved her.
She’d started out in Oregon, 3,000 miles from home, in an A-frame, an hour outside of Portland. Stunning views of the Pacific Ocean, rolling sand dunes and Salmon Creek, the ad had read. Cassie had ordered blackout curtains to cover the windows that faced the water and had plodded through her days. She didn’t have a TV, didn’t buy new clothes, didn’t go out to the movies or to restaurants. She ate the same three meals each day: cereal for breakfast, a sandwich for lunch, a chicken breast for dinner. She didn’t listen to any music, didn’t buy a piano or sing in the shower. On the rare occasions when she needed to go somewhere, she kept the car radio tuned to the all-news channel. She shopped for groceries early in the morning or late at night and did her banking online. But there were too many people; too many eyes that lit up in recognition at her face; too many occasions when she’d hear a bar or two of the band’s music and be sent hurtling back to a place she didn’t want to go.
Zoe
Haddonfield, 2024
It was 7:30 on a Thursday night, 30 minutes into the planning of the PTA’s annual winter gala, and Zoe Rohrbach’s butt had fallen asleep. She rocked from side to side at her kid-sized desk in the first-grade classroom, where her knees were up in the vicinity of her chin, and wondered what kind of emergency she could fake that would let her leave the room, or at least let her stand up long enough to get the circulation going again.
She looked around at the other women who’d pulled their desks into a semicircle and were introducing themselves, for the benefit of the committee’s newest member. There was Hadley Inslee, who ran the PTA, and Laurel Weaver, Hadley’s second-in-command. Next to her sat Penny Lifshitz, Zoe’s best friend in Haddonfield. Next to Penny was the newcomer. She wore caramel-colored suede boots, dark-rinse jeans, a white angora sweater and a hefty diamond on her ring finger. Her hair was cut in shoulder-length waves; her expression was friendly. “I’m Caitlyn Graves, and I moved here over the summer. My daughter, Maddie, is in kindergarten, and my son, Jasper, is in second grade.”
“Welcome! We’re happy to have you on board.” Hadley nodded at Zoe. “And, last but not least . . .”
“I’m Zoe Rohrbach.”
Zoe saw the moment it happened. She watched Caitlyn’s eyes get wide, saw the other woman’s hand rise to press against her lips. She always knew when she’d been recognized, because the signs were always the same. First came the I-know-you face: wide eyes, the quiet gasp, the dropped jaw. Then the naming would commence. “Oh my God,” Caitlyn breathed. “You’re…” Zoe glanced at her fellow moms. Hadley was poking at her iPad, running through the snack possibilities. Laurel was sidebarring with Monica, probably trying to sell her the skincare products she was currently trying to offload (the previous year, it had been leggings, and the year before that, jewelry). Penny was watching the byplay, a small smile on her lips.
“You’re . . .”
Zoe nodded, very slightly. She leaned forward, lifted a finger to her lips and mouthed, Shhh. Caitlyn, her eyes still big, nodded like a bobblehead doll. Zoe sat back, knowing she’d failed to avoid the interrogation. All she’d done was postpone it.
As soon as the meeting was over — the silent-auction donation–gathering chores assigned; the egg-, nut-, dairy- and gluten-free snacks approved; the language for the program agreed upon — Zoe stepped out into the cold winter air. She said goodbye to Penny, pulled her key fob out of her pocket and had just unlocked her Range Rover, when Caitlyn hurried across the parking lot to intercept her.
“Oh my God,” she said. “You’re Zoe Griffin.”
Zoe gave what she hoped was a pleasant smile, even though she felt no pleasure at all. Just a kind of numbness and the memory of old regret and shame. “That’s right,” she said. “I am.” I was would have been more honest, but never mind.
“Oh my God. You’re here. In New Jersey. How are you . . . when did . . . oh my God,” Caitlyn said, and stopped talking in favor of gazing at Zoe with her hands clasped at her heart. Caitlyn’s clothes and purse and jewelry were all expensive. She had all of the armor and accoutrements of a well-heeled wife and mother in her thirties, but the expression on her face, that soft-eyed, unalloyed awe, made her look younger, like a 14-year-old who should have been dressed in head-to-toe Hot Topic, with knockoff Doc Martens on her feet.
“You guys were my favorite,” she said to Zoe. “My absolute favorite. Your music saved my life.”
Zoe didn’t have to ask who Caitlyn meant by You guys, or which songs had saved Caitlyn’s life. It wasn’t any of the music she’d made after the Griffin Sisters. God knows it hadn’t been her solo stuff, which no one remembered. “Not your fault,” CJ had told her, after her album flopped and her label dropped her. “The industry’s changing,” he’d said. Radio play didn’t matter; streams and downloads did. You couldn’t even get discovered by having a TV show use your music, because there were just too many shows. When Zoe had asked, “What now?” he’d said, “Send my assistant your new songs when you’ve got them, and she’ll pass them along.” Zoe knew what it meant when you got shunted to an assistant. It was You’re not making us any money, so you’re not getting any of my time. It was Don’t call us, we’ll call you. Zoe had decided, years ago, to save herself the postage, to quit while she was ahead and find a new life when she was still relatively young and lovely and her fame wasn’t too distant. If that made her a has-been, Zoe reasoned, it was better than being a never-was.
In the elementary school parking lot, she made herself smile. “Thank you,” she said. “That’s very kind.”
Caitlyn nodded toward the school, and the other mothers. “Does everyone know that you’re . . . you know. You?”
Zoe kept her smile in place. “I’m just a mom now. I’m not anyone anymore.”
“Oh, but . . . I mean . . .” First came the recognition. Then came the awe. They’d now arrived at
Zoe’s least favorite part of the experience: the questions. Why are you here? What happened? Why aren’t you making music anymore? Sometimes her interlocutor was aware that Zoe had done things after the Griffin Sisters broke up. More often, their knowledge of her career began and ended with her first band — which, as far as they were concerned, was her only band. Zoe should have been used to it, but it always stung.
“My husband and I have two boys,” Zoe told Caitlyn. “Noah and Schuyler. They’re in second and fourth grade. So I’ve got my hands full.” She didn’t mention Cherry. She never talked about Cherry.
Excerpted from The Griffin Sisters’ Greatest Hits by Jennifer Weiner. Copyright © 2025 by Jennifer Weiner. Published by William Morrow. All rights reserved.
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