India, Nov. 2 -- Dear Reader,

I'm on the flight to Delhi. You know that space. Neither here nor there, suspended in the air, and the only thing tethering you to any kind of reality is the book in your hands.

Except my book is about a girl who has no reality at all.

In Julie Chan is Dead, the protagonist steals her twin sister's identity-this influencer life, all gloss and filters and curated brunches. She gets addicted to likes and shares, to the little hits of dopamine that come from building a beautiful, perfect lie. It's a prison of performance, but one of her own making. I read it in one gulp, this thriller about the most modern form of theft, of your very self. I look out the window at the clouds and think, God, how exhausting. Ma...