Novels on marital implosions, pregnancy as body horror, and climate grief

It was a great reading month.

My reading life has felt really good lately. I’ve continued my routine of getting into bed early most nights to read for an hour or so, which has helped me finish more books this month than my usual (which is realistically, more like two books on average). I’m a very slow reader, mostly by choice. I love to read carefully, dog-ear pages, take notes in the margins—unless I’m reading something purely for fun, like a romance or a thriller.

I read some great books worth recommending this month, so let’s get into it….

(Books are in no particular order.)

In July, I read two books set on or near the sea: Wild Dark Shore and A Marriage at Sea.

WILD DARK SHORE by Charlotte McConaghy
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This book was so unputdownable, I sprinted back to the pool to retrieve my copy after realizing I’d left it abandoned next to the baby splash pad. A dramatic rescue, but necessary.

Wild Dark Shore is about the Salt family, who live on a remote island off Antarctica that has been used for climate research. Dominic, the patriarch of the family, has become the de facto caretaker of both the island and the world’s largest seed bank, which is safely housed in an underground vault on the island. The sea levels are rising, and the Salts are the only remaining inhabitants of the desolate island — until a woman named Rowan mysteriously washes up ashore and changes everything.

Wild Dark Shore is moody, lyrical, and stuffed with twists, some of which caught me totally off guard (always fun), others that more seasoned thriller readers might spot from a mile away. At its core, it’s also a work of climate fiction: the premise of the book relies on the fact that the Earth is getting warmer, and both animals and humans are in danger.

I can see why this one’s gotten so much buzz and praise (shout out to Olivia Muenter who first put this on my radar). The core message feels appropriate for These Times: that with love, even the worst is survivable. Or that anything terrible is worth surviving because of love.

For me, the beauty of the book was its ability to pit our most human tendencies against one another. Where there’s grief, there’s also joy. Where there’s paranoia, there’s also blinding trust. Where there are ghosts, there’s life-affirming dancing. Where there is fear, there’s wild courage. Where there is death, there is life.

What I loved most were the book’s vignettes of sparkling natural life, familial love, raw regret, and unbounded awe. For instance, in this scene, Rowan observes Dominic pausing to listen to his son Raff play his instrument:

“The eerie sounds continue and we stay to listen. It is a searching call and within the notes I can see the whale, swimming a deep and endless ocean, seeking another of its kind. I think Dominic Salt will stand here for as many minutes, hours, days as his son plays. That bond I can see in the man's eyes, that love, the universe of it: I have chosen not to know that.

I thought I had made peace with that fact—I thought I wanted it that way-and then I came here.”

The novel continues in this way, leaving you with clipped cliffhangers from the narrator’s POV that leave you wondering. “And then I came here”…and then what? McConaghy doesn’t tell you; instead, she keeps the story rolling forward as she switches perspectives, sprinkling more incomplete thoughts throughout. It will draw some readers in as it did for me, and I can see how this writing style might frustrate others who want to be handed the full picture, immediately.

Most touching were the passages describing Dominic’s love for and fierce protection of his children, in conjunction with his grief over losing his wife, who died of cancer many years ago:

“What I miss most is not any of the things I expected. It's having someone to talk to about our children. The hilarious things they say and do, the insights with which they blow my mind and the ways they change frequently and without mercy. I need her to help me process and deliberate and delight in. I want to laugh with her. To be awestruck with her. I want her to look at me in wonder, acknowledging what profound creations we have made together.

What I miss is having someone to look at in moments like these, someone who understands not just the talent or cleverness of our children but the wisdom, the immensity of feeling they hold within. Instead I marvel at them alone.”

How can you not feel all the emotions while reading a passage like that?

With all this said, one thing kept pulling me out of the spell of Wild Dark Shore: the thematic repetition. The prose occasionally veered into “just so we’re all clear, here’s the metaphor” territory, which made the message feel a little too tidy. I’ve realized I prefer a looser grip—books that leave room for ambiguity and multiple interpretations. (Audition by Katie Kitamura comes to mind as a perfect example of this: slippery in the best way.)

Still, I’m glad I read Wild Dark Shore. It’s a beautifully crafted novel that knows how to deliver an emotional gut punch, even if it occasionally underlines its own insights a bit too eagerly.

In summary: Loved, with minor reservations.

A MARRIAGE AT SEA by Sophie Elmhirst
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A rare nonfiction read for me. The premise of this one immediately caught my attention: a couple decides to set sail in the 1970s. Their boat gets hit by a whale (really) and sinks. They climb onto a dinghy and a life raft and survive 117 days at sea. Alone.

The book delivers on sharing the “did they really do that” moments that you might imagine for anyone who has to survive at sea in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. (This book is not for the squeamish; the de-shelling and eating of turtles is shared in detail, for instance.) With that said, the latter half of the book, which details the couple’s life after they are rescued, was a snooze. I almost want to recommend skipping the latter half, as it didn’t provide any additional value, themes, or takeaways in my opinion.

Re: format, I ended up listening to it on audio. The narration was okay, but it worked for me as I preferred that format, as I tend to absorb nonfiction better when it’s in audio form.

And in case you’re like, wow, this sounds interesting but I probably won’t read it—this NYT Book Review podcast ep with the author will give you the gist.

In summary: Liked and would recommend if you need a quick, entertaining, jaw-dropping read

I read two books about intimacy in July: one, a zine about a writer’s experience of pregnancy, and the other, a novel about a woman who finds out her husband is having an affair, while simultaneously grappling with her breast cancer diagnosis.

PRIVACY BY Molly Young
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Another nonfiction read! And this is cheating a little, because this was a zine rather than a book. But I enjoyed it and think it’s worth discussing. It made me laugh out loud many times, which is no small feat!

Privacy is a zine by Molly Young that explores the absurdity and body horror of pregnancy, presented over 40 weeks and 80 pages.

The zine is laid out into chapters corresponding with the week of pregnancy. It felt like, in essence, taking a peek at someone’s diary, which is one of the best kinds of writing to read.

Young is funny and unsentimental about pregnancy in a way that feels both bracing and accurate (“participant-observer,” as she notes). It’s the only way to view pregnancy: an otherworldly phenomenon to be observed and carefully examined. Privacy reads like an anthropological take that only a writer like Young could pursue. For instance, she buys nineteenth-century pamphlets on pregnancy, a charming if oddball act. Molly notes how there’s still no explanation for nausea in pregnancy. A crime!!

The reader is along for the ride as each stage of the pregnancy grows more absurd and physical:

“Everyone recognizes the form of a pregnant woman except the woman herself, who is constantly catching herself in a reflective surface and thinking: What the fuck.”

“After 20 weeks you’re supposed to huddle on your side at night like a Pompeii casualty.”

A breath-catching finale of sorts leaves the reader in suspense, horror, then finally, relief. A pretty good summary of pregnancy itself as a whole, if you ask me.

The focus of Privacy is on Young’s observations of her physical, internal, and social changes, specifically how others react to her being visibly pregnant. The fetus → baby itself is almost a secondary, clinical abstraction in this text (“The child has been emitted,” she writes after giving birth), which adds to the absurdity of it all. You’re telling me there’s been a child in there this whole time?? When you’re pregnant, you almost forget the fact as you’re consumed by all the symptoms, systems, preparation, and so forth that the final act of birth can seem like a dream, or even a joke.

Privacy is asking us to look at pregnancy for what it is: totally weird, totally cool, totally not understood by anyone, not even the person to whom it’s happening.

In summary: Loved. Recommend if you’re into absurdist prose and/or if you’re in the throes of pregnancy and want to feel seen.

MAGGIE; OR, A MAN AND A WOMAN WALK INTO A BAR by Katie Yee
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A woman learns her husband, Sam, is having an affair. Shortly after, she’s diagnosed with breast cancer. She names the tumor after the woman her husband is sleeping with. It’s darkly funny, observational, and surprisingly tender.

The book recounts the dissolution of the narrator and Sam’s marriage and the various appointments, biopsies, and treatments the narrator endures.

From its opening pages, I was most struck by how well the author depicts motherhood, marriage, and what it’s like to live with and take care of kids. (I was surprised to learn later that the author does not have any children of her own.) Her husband is what we might call the “classically fun parent.” He likes to make up zany bedtime stories for their two kids, where characters crossover into other stories, like Strega Nona wandering into the world of Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs. In this way, the narrator feels like the odd one out, the one not telling the jokes and the stories that make her children giggle like they do with Sam; the one harboring a terrible secret of her own, a tumor that could destroy everything.

The novel is less interested in plot than in power, control, and storytelling—who gets to narrate what happens next. I found myself rooting hard for the narrator as she slowly reclaims that authority. Rather than share silly bedtime stories, she shares folktales passed down to her by her Chinese mother, which she now passes down to her kids. It’s her way of imbuing her children with an important piece of her (and their) heritage. And it’s her way of wresting control back in a situation where she felt she had none.

I had a soft spot for the narrator’s best friend, Darlene, throughout the book. She’s the cool DGAF friend, the ride-or-die bestie, a ceramicist who has zero time for games when it comes to relationships. She accompanies the narrator to every appointment, lets her starfish out on the floor of her apartment as she vents about her husband’s affair.

The theme of race added a touch of nuance to the book and what it says about relationships and having kids. The narrator notes that Maggie is a white woman who likely comes from a background similar to Sam’s—a well-off, WASPy family with multiple vacation homes scattered along the coasts, who would likely describe their financial situation as “comfortable” and quickly move on to the next topic.

“Of course it wasn't lost on me that Maggie was white. It added another layer to the betrayal. On the other hand, would it have been better if she were Chinese? Of course not. While choosing another Asian woman would have screamed fetish, the fact that it was a white woman begged the question of regret. Did he feel that in choosing me, he had chosen wrong?”

There is the notion that race will always be a thing that separates even the two closest people within a relationship. There can be understanding and empathy, but the lived experience is a whole different beast. This added a complexity to the divorce that the author was able to explore a bit. I would have liked more!

“For me, there was the question of whether I could bring a baby into the world who looked like me; who I could not protect from casual racism; who I was certain would one day step into a classroom with a kid who would mockingly tug at the corners of their own eyes; who I knew would have people guessing what country they were really from all their life; who would, more likely than not, hurt in the same small ways I had hurt. To this, my white friends would mmm thoughtfully and say, ‘Fair,’ though it was anything but.”

Overall, the writing style reminded me of Katie Kitamura or even Miranda July. Observational, a bit wry, with exploration of themes like control and power in relationships, race, and motherhood. I wouldn’t recommend it if you’re looking for a plot-driven book; it’s a bit more vibes, vignettes, and dashes of humor. It’s about 200 pages and was a quick read.

In summary: Loved and would recommend.

Lastly, I read two very popular blockbuster books in July: one brand new, and one that’s been out since January.

ATMOSPHERE by Taylor Jenkins Reid
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First things first, I’m not a diehard TJR fan. I thought Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo was just okay. (Sorry!!) I couldn’t finish any of her other books… I think it’s the overall writing style for me; I tend to enjoy more literary, emotional works of fiction. Reid almost has an old school, matter of fact style of writing I find hard to connect with. Her dialogue doesn’t sound like things real people say.

With that said!! From the jump, this book had me hooked, and it was propulsive throughout. The book centers on Joan Goodwin, a fictional astronaut in NASA's Space Shuttle program in the early 1980s. The opening scene depicts a harrowing moment when a mission in space has gone wrong, and just one astronaut is remaining standing. (Not really a spoiler, this all happens within the first few pages.)

The book then backtracks to the years prior to the tragic mission. We follow Joan and her fellow astronauts-in-training throughout the program as they learn how to do daring things like withstand zero gravity without getting sick, or parachute out of a helicopter and swim onto a boat. There’s a love story in here, too. Joan meets fellow astronaut trainee Vanessa, who might help Joan break out of her shell just a bit and discover more parts of herself.

What I loved most about Atmosphere was the clever structure that left me wondering what the heck happened on that mission and will the remaining astronaut survive?! If there’s one thing TJR knows how to do, it’s to structure her novels in a way that makes you want to keep turning the pages. I just wish the writing held up to the clever structures.

Ultimately, I felt that Atmosphere was trying to do and be too many things. Is it a space novel? Is it a romance? Is it historical fiction with a feminist lens? Is it actually about family? Based on the marketing, it seems the publisher really wanted this to be a romance story. While I appreciate the important themes of exploring queer identity and love, I also wanted more scenes set in space! Lastly, I’ve mentioned this before, but I felt that the final scene should have been the alternative ending. Not because I’m a terrible person, but because I think it would have communicated the author’s intent around Joan’s and Vanessa’s character development a bit better.

Overall though, I’d still recommend this book to anyone who needs help getting out of a reading rut.

In summary: Liked it enough

ONYX STORM by Rebecca Yarros
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*mild spoilers ahead*

This is the third and most recent installment of Rebecca Yarros’s insanely popular Empyrean series (Fourth Wing is the first in the series). I’m ashamed to say that this book came out in January, I bought it in January, and I’ve only just finished it. It’s been a “before bedtime” book, which means I read for about ten minutes before snoozing. But I finally did it! I finished it!

Overall, I loved this book so much more than the second in the series, Iron Storm, which I felt was repetitive in its storytelling. Onyx Storm felt more like an exciting adventure as we follow Violet Sorrengail and her “quest squad” across the isles in search of a special breed of dragon, the irids, who may have the secret to curing Xaden of his veninism. I enjoyed meeting new characters, getting to know old ones a bit better, and that final battle scene kept me reading ‘til very late. I love teenage Andarna!

Rebecca Yarros knows how to end on a massive cliffhanger, and I’m looking forward to finding out what happens next when the next book comes out.

In summary: Liked it.

Let me know what you’ve been reading in the comments.