This debut from Canadian Sara Freeman has been compared to writers like Jenny Offill, and I understand that comparison. This book is the type of novel you can devour in one or two sittings. There are no chapters, simply brief paragraph after paragraph, often only one, perhaps two, on a page. Despite the brevity, the prose is dense. While it can, and inevitably will be read quickly, the material itself is far more sticky. Some elements of her writing had far more in common with writers like Ottessa Moshfegh, who lean into the gritty humanity of their (often unlikable) female characters. Or maybe I’m just saying that because I can count on one hand the authors who have written about a woman escaping her life AND the realities of dealing with menstruation while on the road.
Mara Tremblay has suffered a devastating loss, and so she retreats from her life. She explodes her marriage, leaves everything behind and boards a bus to the seaside. She stays in hostels and motels until her money runs out (and she does her best to make it stretch through the summery tourist season, requiring little for sustenance aside from an occasional beer, cigarette or vending machine dinner). Eventually she finds work at a cafe, and slowly, if briefly, enmeshes her life with some locals. We learn more about the proximal and distant causes of Mara’s bleak emotional state. Some tragedies are recent and shocking, while others indicate larger, possibly defining patterns in her life.
Mara is a woman who prefers for her thoughts to skim the surface, and for her actions to be barely tethered to those thoughts. She is deeply interior, but almost pathological in her refusal to turn a critical eye towards herself. Honestly, I didn’t like her at all. Her choices, one after another, were so selfish, ranging from simply thoughtless to outright cruel. She demonstrates a clear understanding of cause and effect – she is acutely aware of how her behavior impacts others – and consistently makes decisions that cause pain. Worse, she refuses to connect her own agency to these decisions. Beyond choices made in grief – those, I find imminently forgivable, including running away from her life – she refuses to use her obvious intelligence to question herself, her motivations, in any way.
This novel would be an interesting, quick read if you’re a fan of writers like Jenny Offill, Elif Batuman, or Sara Rooney. For me personally, Valerie Perin did a MUCH better job (although with a longer book) exploring grieving mothers, with more empathy and humanity. The writing was gripping, so I would certainly read another book by Freeman if / when she releases another.
