Wendy Erskine's The Benefactors: A Review

Wendy Erskine’s first novel, The Benefactors, published in 2025 by Scepter, is a powerful read that dives into the messy realities of life in Belfast. Moving from her popular short story collections, Sweet Home and Dance Move, Erskine gives us a novel that’s like a complex jigsaw puzzle, piecing together over fifty voices to tell the story of a sexual assault and its aftermath. Set in today’s Belfast, a city with its own history of struggles, the book explores heavy themes like class, privilege, trauma, and parenthood. As a Belfast writer, Erskine has a gift for sharp, witty dialogue and characters that feel real, flaws and all. I think everyone should read this book because it’s honest about human mistakes, brilliantly

uses multiple voices to show different sides of a story, and mixes dark humour with tough truths. It’s not just a Belfast story, but one that speaks to anyone who’s ever felt trapped by society’s unfairness or fought to rise above it. For Indian readers especially, it’s a mirror to our own issues with class, power, and justice, making it must-read.

The Benefactors focuses on Misty Johnston, a working-class teenager in Belfast who’s sexually assaulted by three wealthy boys, Chris, Rami, and Lyness, at a party. The novel follows Misty, her family, and the mothers of the boys: Frankie, who rose from poverty to marry a tech millionaire; Miriam, a widow still grieving her Coptic Christian husband’s death; and Bronagh, a high-profile CEO of a children’s charity who enjoys her social status. Erskine uses a polyphonic style, weaving in voices from various people in the community, like a chorus, to show how this one incident affects Belfast.

The story begins with Misty’s shock and pain: “I thought they were my friends” (Erskine, 2025, p. 12), capturing her sense of betrayal. Her stepfather, Boogie, a taxi driver, supports her in small ways, like “buying her orange juice and a dressing gown” (p. 45). Her grandmother, Nan D, is her biggest supporter, urging her to report the assault: “You don’t let them get away with it, love” (p. 67). Meanwhile, the boys’ mothers use their wealth and connections to protect their sons. Frankie, thinking about her own journey, says, “I’ve worked hard to get here, and I won’t let it slip away” (p. 89). Miriam, haunted by loss, reflects, “Loss makes you cling to what’s left” (p. 102), explaining why she defends Rami. Bronagh, looking down on Misty, sneers, “She calls herself Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Ridiculous” (p. 134), showing her classist attitude.

Misty’s life gets more complicated because she secretly works on an OnlyFans-like platform called Benefactors, using the name Elizabeth Barrett Browning. She notes, “I moved my old cuddly toy off the bed… that would attract the wrong crowd” (p. 150), showing how she manages her double life. A client, Mike from Wyoming, tells her, “You should tell your mother, or the police” (p. 162), but then disappears, proving how shallow such “benefactors” are: “She’d never heard again from Mike, after that night” (p. 163).

The community voices add depth to the story, some funny, some heart-wrenching. One person remarks, “Most people are stupid and do stuff without too much consideration” (p. 178), poking fun at human nature. Another talks about Belfast’s divides: “This city’s got its lines, and you know where you stand” (p. 201). Erskine ties it all together, noting, “No incident is an island” (p. 245), showing how the assault impacts everyone. The mothers’ alliance starts to fray, with Frankie admitting, “We’re not friends, just bound by this mess” (p. 267). Misty finds strength with Nan D’s support: “You’re stronger than they think” (p. 289). The novel ends on a bittersweet note, with Misty looking forward: “I’ll make something of myself, despite them” (p. 310), leaving you thinking about justice and healing.

What makes The Benefactors special is its polyphonic style, like a big family gathering where everyone’s talking, and you still understand the full story. Erskine captures Belfast’s spirit through these voices, from chatty neighbours to tired workers. Lines like “I’ve seen girls like her, thinking they’re tough, but they break” (p. 220) feel so real, like something you’d hear in a local tea stall. The dialogue is another highlight, sharp, funny, and full of Belfast’s dry wit. Take Bronagh’s line, “She was a 19th-century poet… married to Robert Browning” (p. 135); it’s funny because she’s so clueless, yet it hurts because it shows her elitism.

The characters are the soul of the book. Misty is complex, hurt but tough, as seen in “I’ll make something of myself, despite them” (p. 310). Nan D is a star, with lines like “You don’t let them get away with it, love” (p. 67) that make you want to cheer. Even the mothers, who do some terrible things, feel human. Frankie’s fear of losing her status, “I’ve worked hard to get here” (p. 89), helps you see why she’s so desperate, even if you don’t agree. Erskine doesn’t judge her characters, just lets them be real.

The way Erskine handles class and power is spot-on. The title, The Benefactors, is clever, referring to Misty’s online platform but also asking who really benefits in a society divided by wealth. Bronagh’s snide remark, “She calls herself Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Ridiculous” (p. 134), exposes the class divide. Belfast’s post-Troubles setting adds depth, making the story feel rooted in the city’s history, like it’s part of its heartbeat.

That said, the book has its flaws. The polyphonic style, while creative, can feel overwhelming at times. With so many voices, the main story sometimes gets lost. Lines like “This city’s got its lines, and you know where you stand” (p. 201) are meaningful but can seem random, like flipping through too many radio stations. If you prefer a clear, straight plot, this might frustrate you.

Another issue is the emotional distance. The assault is a serious topic, but Erskine keeps things restrained, maybe too much. Misty’s line, “I thought they were my friends” (p. 12), hits you hard, but we don’t get deep into her feelings. The ending, too, is vague; Misty’s “I’ll make something of myself, despite them” (p. 310) is hopeful but doesn’t give closure. It’s realistic, but it might leave you wanting more.

Some characters also feel exaggerated. Bronagh’s obsession with status, like her comment about Elizabeth Barrett Browning, can seem overdone. Miriam’s quirks, like “stroking mannequins” (p. 202), feel odd and out of place. These moments are few but can make the story feel less real.

Why Indian Youth Readers Must Read This Book

For Indian youth, The Benefactors feels like it could be set in any Indian city, Delhi, Mumbai, or Kolkata, because it speaks to issues we know well. The class divide in the novel, where Misty is looked down on by people like Bronagh, is so similar to how caste and money create barriers in India. Misty’s struggle as a working-class girl mirrors what many young Indians face, whether it’s a student from a small town trying to make it in a big city or someone fighting to rise above their background. Her determination, “I’ll make something of myself, despite them” (p. 310), is the kind of spirit you see in Indian youth chasing dreams against all odds, like a UPSC aspirant studying by candlelight in a village.

The theme of sexual assault hits close to home, given cases like Nirbhaya or the protests we’ve seen over the years. Misty’s experience and the way the mothers protect their sons, as Frankie says, “We’re not friends, just bound by this mess” (p. 267), reflect how power and money often silence victims in India too. Nan D’s fierce support, “You don’t let them get away with it, love” (p. 67), is a call to action, like the women’s groups and activists here who push for justice. Indian youth can draw strength from Misty’s resilience and Nan D’s grit, especially in a society where speaking out is still a fight.

The novel’s many voices feel like India’s own diversity, rich and poor, urban and rural, all with something to say. Lines like “This city’s got its lines, and you know where you stand” (p. 201) could describe any Indian city with its invisible boundaries of caste, class, or religion. Reading this, you’ll start thinking about the different voices in your own community, from the chaiwala to the CEO, and how they shape our world.

Misty’s work on the Benefactors platform is relatable in the age of Instagram and YouTube, where Indian youth are building careers online. Her line, “I moved my old cuddly toy off the bed… that would attract the wrong crowd” (p. 150), captures the balancing act of staying true to yourself while performing for likes or followers. The novel’s take on “benefactors” who don’t really care, like Mike from Wyoming, makes you question the influencers and brands that dominate our feeds. It’s a reminder to think about who’s really benefiting in our digital world.

For Indian youth, The Benefactors is more than a story, it’s a reflection of our own fights, dreams, and divided society. It pushes you to think about power, stand up for what’s right, and find hope in tough times. Erskine’s storytelling makes it a book you won’t just read but carry with you, like a friend who tells it like it is.

The Benefactors is a brilliant first novel that shows Erskine’s talent for telling a big, messy story with heart. Its multiple voices, witty dialogue, and real characters paint a vivid picture of Belfast, tackling tough issues like class, power, and trauma. The book’s strengths, its unique structure, humour, and relatable characters, shine brighter than its flaws, like the sometimes-scattered narrative or lack of emotional depth. Quotes like “Most people are stupid and do stuff without too much consideration” (p. 178) stick with you, blending humour with truth. I’d recommend this to anyone who loves stories that face life’s complexities and show people as they are, flawed, funny, and human.