Synopsis
One day, the mother was a mother but then, one night, she was quite suddenly something else…
At home full-time with her two-year-old son, an artist finds she is struggling. She is lonely and exhausted. She had imagined – what was it she had imagined? Her husband, always travelling for his work, calls her from faraway hotel rooms. One more toddler bedtime, and she fears she might lose her mind.
Instead, quite suddenly, she starts gaining things, surprising things that happen one night when her child will not sleep. Sharper canines. Strange new patches of hair. New appetites, new instincts. And from deep within herself, a new voice…
With its clear eyes on contemporary womanhood and sharp take on structures of power, Nightbitch is an outrageously original, joyfully subversive read that will make you want to howl in laughter and recognition. Addictive enough to be devoured in one sitting, this is an unforgettable novel from a blazing new talent.
Review
In the great words of Oscar Wilde, “Life imitates art far more than art imitates life.” Such is true in Rachel Yoder’s novel, Nightbitch. Provocative in title and plot, we follow a woman only known as “the mother,” or eventually Nightbitch, as she becomes increasingly convinced that she is becoming a dog. This seems like a simple story of possible delusion, but Yoder manages to craft a rather effective novel of female rage, power imbalances, and the creation of art and life.
The buzz surrounding Nightbitch seems to continuously grow given the recent news of the movie adaptation starring Amy Adams being greenlit. In fact, that’s exactly what pushed this particular book up my rather long TBR stack. Quite honestly, I’m so happy it did. Before I proceed any further, I’d like to address the genre-shaped elephant in the room. Nightbitch is a novel that covers many ideas, themes, and you guessed it, genres. When you go to your bookstore and look for this book, it’s most likely shelved in fiction (speculative), maybe fantasy, sci-fi, or just possibly horror. Here is where I start my ranting about genre constructs and horror being subjective, all to say that I found aspects of this book to be remarkably horrific. Therefore, I’m reviewing it as a horror novel, feel free to shake your fist and scream at me all day. Now back to our regularly scheduled programming.
The character of Nightbitch in and of herself encapsulates so many feelings and frustrations that have become all too normal for women in this supposed modern, progressive age. She is the mother of a young child who is left alone frequently given the nature of her husband’s travel for work. Of course, he’s the one to remain working. He makes the most money so clearly this is the logical thing to do regardless of ideas of fulfillment and purpose for the mother (that’s sarcasm if you didn’t catch it the first time). From the very start of the novel, before we even arrive at the name “Nightbitch,” we only know her as “the mother.” No name. No identity outside of this tie to her creation. It’s only later we discover that before her classification as “mother,” she was an artist.
Much of this novel is dedicated to examining the role of the artist through the lens of motherhood in which the ultimate defining characteristic is, indeed, to create. However, as made evident by Yoder’s prose, society organizes these roles into two very separate categories. An artist is allowed liberties, freedom to experiment, and room to fail for there are no real mistakes in art, only happy accidents (thanks Bob Ross). Mothers on the other hand must be attentive. They must be put together, organized, on a schedule, and glowing with the dewy joy of motherhood. They cannot ask for too much help or they will look incapable. They cannot be upset that their husbands carry out their individual lives outside of parenthood because motherhood should equate to irrevocable happiness. They should not ask for too much because what more could you need than the love of your child?
This is where Nightbitch takes a hard right turn into horror as “the mother” is left alone with her child trying to make it day to day in the face of sleeplessness and despair. With seemingly no reprieve, the mother takes stock of the life she once held to the reality she is living currently. Many scenes depict silent tears and stark mental anguish with no end in sight. This is when the mother starts to notice her pointed teeth, her hairy neck, and the lump near her tailbone. We see these observations compact the mother’s mental anguish as her husband dismisses any idea of anything being amiss. Isolated beyond belief, “the mother,” now referred to as Nightbitch, is forced onto a path of self-evaluation and discovery in light of the seemingly impossible.
Rachel Yoder writes this story with an unwavering voice that demands to be heard, calling out the inequalities amongst genders, societal roles, and expectations of mothers. It’s an evocative book that takes a long, hard look at what we’ve come to accept as normal in what most would consider a progressive era. This is also an angry book and rightfully so. I’ll be the first to say that this is not for everyone, and that’s okay. Things veer off into weird and unexpected areas exploring rather abstract sentiments, yet I cannot help but love the hell out of its strangeness. Nightbitch is a busy story that is not without its flaws but manages to stick the landing on its most important message, driving home how crucial art is to life. Lean into the weird, it’s worth it.
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