The kids are not alright: A review of The Push by Ashley Audrain

First off, I have to preface that while this book was unsettling throughout, the end was absolutely explosive. I was left with this total WTF moment — and trust me, it takes a LOT to do that nowadays — but in the best way. It’s hard to believe that this is Audrain’s debut novel because she writes with such force and emotion that I couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable while reading, which I think was exactly the point.

Quick synopsis: New mother Blythe wants to be the mother she never had — but when her first child Violet is born, Blythe is convinced that something isn’t right about her and fails to connect with her as most mothers do. No one, including her husband, seems to believe her worries about Violet. Several years later when her second child Sam is born, Blythe has that special connection she always dreamed about. But when unspeakable tragedy occurs, she is forced to face her worst fears about motherhood, Violet, and herself.

This psychological family drama/domestic suspense forced me to question every preconceived notion about motherhood. Blythe, the narrator, is far from reliable, which was further reinforced by the book’s second-person narrative, as we clearly are only shown her point of view. I was constantly questioning what was real and what was fake, especially around the book’s focal tragedy. For the rest of the book, I was wrestling with how much blame can Blythe’s husband, their daughter, or her family history have on the ensuing tragedies that the book is centered on? Or is it Blythe herself who is to blame?

This book did an amazing job showing that motherhood is far from perfect and battling the societal idea that motherhood is the highest ideal of womanhood. It also addressed the unbelievability of women — what will it take for Blythe, a woman and mother, to have her wildest fears and motherly instincts taken seriously? And the less others believe her, the more she even questions herself, a gaslighting tactic that I’d argue many women have experienced at some time or another. Additionally, it made me question the idea of what makes someone a good mother. And is being a “good mother” learned or inherited?

This book is far from cheery and certainly shows the ugliest sides of motherhood, from conception to birth to raising them into personhood. It was deeply unsettling but in a way that made me admire Audrain’s abilities as a writer — I still can’t believe this is her debut novel.

This book, however, does need to come with basically every trigger warning possible. It’s likely a difficult read for anyone with a heart, but it does hit on many issues that could be traumatic to readers. But for anyone looking for a deeply unsettling, though-provoking, and well-written read that will really challenge your typical view on motherhood, I recommend this fast-paced psychological thriller.

CW: childbirth, parent-child abuse, violence, death of a child, severe and postpartum depression… and I’m sure there’s still some I’m missing 

The Push is published by Pamela Dorman Books, an imprint of Penguin Random House.

The burden and blessing of memory: A review of Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi

Last year, I read Transcendent Kingdom, and it instantly became a favorite of 2020 due to its incredible character development and exploration of tough topics such as religion, racism, addiction, and mental health. So of course I went into Homegoing with HIGH expectations. Through powerful storytelling that discusses the collective power of memory and the meaning of home, I fell in love with this book even more than Transcendent Kingdom and think this one needs to be read by everyone ASAP! It was just that incredible, thought-provoking, heartbreaking, and so much more.

Quick synopsis: Two half sisters in 18th century Ghana — unknown to each other — find themselves on two very different paths: one, the wife of a wealthy Englishman who lives in the Cape Coast Castle, the other imprisoned in the castle’s basement and destined for slavery in the U.S. The book proceeds to tell the parallel storylines of these two half sisters through multiple generations, across continents.

This book’s format is unlike any other I have read before. The first two chapters tell the stories of half sisters Effia and Esi, while chapter three focuses on Effia’s son Quey, and chapter four discusses Esi’s daughter Ness, chapter five is Quey’s son James, chapter six is Ness’s son Kojo, etc., etc. While each chapter reads like a standalone story, it is clear that they both build off of the previous generation’s experience, while paralleling with that of their generational counterpart over the course of eight total generations. This may be a tad confusing to explain and is a bit complicated to read at first, but Gyasi provides readers with a family tree at the start of the book — I had this page dog-eared and flipped back pretty much every chapter to make sure I had my characters straight! It was a huge help. But this complicated, multigenerational story was so worth every word.

What was most incredible about each chapter was how invested I became in the individual character. Each chapter was perhaps 20 or 25 pages in length, yet by the end of each one, it felt like I had known these characters as deeply as if I had read a full-length novel about them. Each chapter often takes place over a number of years and dives deeply into not only the character’s experiences but also their emotions, livelihoods, and innermost thoughts. Each character was so well-developed in such a short amount of space, that I wished I could have had an entire book on each of them! And over the course of these eight generations, I got to the end of this novel feeling as if I had read an entire epic — yet over the course of only 300 pages. The character development and generational storylines felt as expansive as if had a bird’s eye view of this family tree, yet as intimate as if I knew each family member personally.

Most importantly, I loved how the book addresses the role of shared, generational memory. As each half sister’s family line parallels the other’s, it is clear the role of generational memory. Each character carries the weight of the love, trauma, pain, hope, livelihood, and much more of the generation(s) before them. It is a heavy weight, sometimes a burden, other times a blessing. But it is a powerful idea, nonetheless, and an important one.

Additionally, I loved the exploration of what home means. As each generation either builds upon the parents’ or grandparents’ choices or decides to forge a new path for him or herself, home took on many meanings. It made me ponder — is home a place? An idea? The people we call family? Or something greater or far more intangible?

As we begin this wonderful month of celebrating Black History Month, this book reminded me of the importance of reading own voices stories. I am so thankful for own voices writers like Gyasi who are willing to share stories like this one that can help us as readers continue to learn from and empathize with characters whose experiences are different then our own. Just another of the countless reasons I love fiction!

If you haven’t checked Homegoing out, I highly recommend it, as it is short, sure to get you thinking, and full of incredible character development and writing quality from Gyasi. If you have, I’d love to hear your thoughts! Comment below or reach out to me via Instagram.

Secrets that burn: A review of Malibu Rising by Taylor Jenkins Reid

First off, thank you to NetGalley and Penguin Random House for a free eARC in exchange for an honest review. I’m a huge Taylor Jenkins Reid fan, and I requested this title honestly expecting not to hear back or to be denied. When I got the news that I was accepted to check it out early, I might have literally jumped and screamed a bit! Malibu Rising is probably my most anticipated read of 2021, and I loved it so much that I’m sure I’ll have to snag myself a physical copy when it comes out on June 1.

Quick synopsis: It’s 1983, and it’s the day of the Riva siblings’ — Nina, Jay, Hud, and Kit’s — notorious end-of-summer party, hosted at Nina’s beautiful cliffside home on the Malibu coast that attracts a wide variety of the rich and famous. But throughout the course of 24 hours (along with many flashbacks), more than a few secrets come to light that have the potential to ignite some major flames and force each sibling to come to terms with what it means to be family.

Dare I say it… but I think I might have loved Malibu even more than Daisy Jones & The Six and The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo?! And both of those novels were outstanding to say the least. Unlike her last two novels, this story is a family drama at its core, focusing on the lives each of the Riva siblings, whose father is the world-famous — yet largely absent — musician Mick Riva. But similarly to TJR’s past stories, she created a book that perfectly balances stunning character development with a fast-paced, highly readable plot that was ambitious, glamorous, and steamy, yet also so warm and tender in how it portrays its main characters, primarily each of the four siblings along with flashbacks to their mother June. I also enjoyed the large cast of characters — lots of times in books, extra characters can feel unnecessary or be too complicated to keep track of, but like always, TJR’s always writes characters with a purpose that perfectly ties them into her story in a memorable, meaningful way.

I especially loved the Riva siblings. While none of them were even close to perfect, so full of flaws and mistakes and secrets that you knew were bound to hurt those they loved the most, each one was so lovable and relatable despite major star-power. I especially adored the sisters, Nina and Kit, who I felt were the glue that held both this story’s plot and the Riva family together.

For lovers of TJR’s past works or those who just love a sensational, steamy family drama, I highly recommend Malibu Rising — it’ll definitely be the perfect beach read of summer 2021!