Yesteryear
This novel is an exploration of the endless conflict between internalized patriarchal womanhood and feminist personhood: snarky, scary, and far too relatable for far too long. For who among us has not swallowed rage rather than feed yet another spousal argument that's going nowhere? Who hasn’t told herself lies about loving her children when she is so exhausted she hates the very thought of them? What woman has not donned her makeup like it’s armour, thick enough to keep her alive if not to protect her completely from the day that’s coming at her?
The writing is crisp, the characterization subtle and efficient. The story of one determined decision after another keeps up the pace. But be warned: those final chapters are a terrible and terrifying mind-bender for any woman.
Depending on where you’re starting from in your own life, the first part of this book will turn you green with envy or make you so nauseous you could lose your lunch. It’s a look behind the excruciatingly curated life of a tradwife influencer, narrated by a woman so sanctimoniously godly you want to cheer each time a bit of human anger slips through.
Soon, though, the cracks start to appear behind the façade of the perfect man, perfect marriage, perfect family, perfectly photo-ready home with all mod-cons hidden behind time-warp doors. I won’t spell them out for you; discovering them as they peep through is the necessary spice to keep you spooning up the bland Eden our narrator is very consciously selling (Spanish-made linen-finish stock pot $244 – not a direct quote).
But when Natalie wakes up actually in those Good Old Days she’s been cheerfully - or desperately - re-creating for the camera, she’s far less equipped to cope than she should be. Because, it turns out, making soap in your kitchen aided by your adorable daughters is a whole different ball game when there’s no producer to get things set up, no nannies to tend the children, when your body’s wrecked by repeat pregnancies with no health care, and your husband is not only just as incompetent but a whole lot less tolerant of wifely suggestions.
From there we cycle by turns through this disastrous new present and the pre-influencer years that turned Natalie into a woman ready to sell her entire personality for a few more clicks on her Instagram reels. A scholarship gets her into one of the US’s premier colleges, and that’s where we see Natalie as an intelligent, envious outsider rather than the center of her impeccably stylized world. The first time we see the life she constructed her own bridge away from. And then we watch as she deliberately paves a path forward that attempts to live up to the impossible standards of her patriarchal religious family and in-laws, not to mention her online followers.
Her wit and snark gets full play in the college scenes, (An artificially intelligent Eden: a warm, incubated landscape designed to keep the worst kids in America safe and warm and well-fed until they matured past the urge to peck each other’s eyes out.”) standing in sharp contrast to her ‘Good Old Days’ chapters where every misstep compounds the last disaster and the consequences of raising her voice to a man are far more painful than the mocking laughter of her college roommates was.
Whatever you thought of her before, you can’t help pitying College Natalie almost as much as her Good Old Days disintegrating psyche. She’s so sure her narrow religious upbringing is all she’ll ever need, and she’s walking calmly toward what any reasonably aware woman can tell is unmitigated, soul-crushing disaster, brushing away all her forebodings with slogans and faith. And there are moments later when Natalie’s inner voice becomes her personal Greek chorus, repeating, rephrasing, foreshadowing as her beliefs-based choices take her ever closer to an inescapable doom. You really, really want her to wake up and see there are other paths.
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