Eve is a flamboyant, vulgar woman; ‘she seemed too much like a plump middle-aged Barbie doll’, her staff complain, ‘to be able to run a prestigious, venerable company like Papyrus Press’. The novel examines the lives of these employees. With the rapid cutting of costs (and staff), they struggle to work with Eve and her sadistic assistant, Hilary. Hidden agendas are rife. The story meanders into a series of mysteries, which involve the arrival of remarkable dolls on the doorsteps of newly fired employees, an anonymous publication of a radical management book and, of course, the figure of Eve herself.

Lawson’s characterisation is exceptional. Eve and Hilary are memorable creations, each carefully balanced between the comic and the ridiculous. Lawson’s prose is sharp and candid. There are weaknesses, however. Lawson has too many primary characters; their individual storylines make the novel confusing and slightly convoluted. Also, the narrative begins sluggishly; it would have benefited from a more strenuous edit.

Overall, Don’t Tell Eve is an intriguing and often hilarious novel, full of surprises and astute social observations: ‘It was a thank-God-that’s-not-me-don’t-catch-anyone’s-eye-least-of-all-Eve’s kind of silence.’ Ultimately, it offers insightful and entertaining glimpses into the publishing world. One beguiling question remains at the end of Don’t Tell Eve: if Miranda Priestly, from The Devil Wears Prada, was based on fashion’s head honcho, Anna Wintour, who inspired the hideous Eve?