What is a family? As a child, answering that question felt like the easiest thing in the world. I was still blissfully oblivious, then, to the complexities of family life. The varying configurations, the awkward dynamics. The shapeshifting brought on by birth, death and divorce. Over the years I’ve come to understand that every family vibrates within its own unique energy; one that thrums with tender spots and triggers invisible to the non-familial eye. I’ve seen not only my own, but also countless other families warp and buckle; implode then expand, so that today the question feels like a far more difficult one to answer.Â
The idea of familial belonging, of chosen connections over blood ties, and of the missteps we take in protecting those we profess to care about are all themes I wanted to explore in my debut novel, Wild Ground. The ways in which outside forces can further tangle family ties was something I felt particularly drawn to. Systemic oppressions like poverty and racism have the ability to change the entire makeup of a family, impacting those affected for countless generations. In Wild Ground, the characters’ strain against these forces. My protagonist, Neef, and the relationship she has with her mother, Chrissy, is fraught with both love and contempt, as is her best friend Danny’s with his father, Denz, and grandmother, Mary. But those characters too, have suffered. Many of the mistakes they make are borne from the mistakes made before them; the societal fractures that exist through no fault of their own.Â
Of course, blood is not always thicker than water, and sometimes we find a sense of belonging in the unlikeliest of places. As an adult, Neef is taken in by café owners Fionnoula and Ali, and it is thanks to their kindness and acceptance that her understanding of family begins to evolve. Perhaps because I too am still trying to figure out the meaning of family, I find myself not only exploring the theme in my own writing but also seeking it out in the books that I read. So, if like me you’re constantly baffled by the flux, ebb and flow of family, here are 8 truly beautiful books that have helped make some sense of that word, while also reassuring me that we’re all as complicated and maddening as each other…
Elmet by Fiona Mozely
I fell in love with Mozely’s darkly lyrical prose within the first few pages of this novel, but it’s the exploration of an unsettling family dynamic that really captivated me. Teenagers Daniel and Cathy live in a makeshift cottage in the woods with their prize-fighting father, Daddy. Detached from the outside world and self-contained in their innocence, they rely on the land, hunting and foraging for food. Despite Daddy’s brute strength, his love for his children is tender; his determination to protect them at all costs, clear. But when outside forces threaten to destroy their insular existence, terrible violence ensues. The writing is gothic; imbued with a lurking sense of catastrophe and an undercurrent of unknowns. Why has Daddy chosen to isolate his family in this way? What has happened to Daniel and Cathy’s mother? How far will a person go to protect what they value most? Elmet dissects themes of social standing, poverty and family life in a way that left me both unnerved and entranced.
Fireworks Every Night by Beth Raymer
Set in 1990s Florida, and with a sense of place so vivid that at times it felt as though I’d visited the Sunshine State myself, Fireworks Every Night resonated with me in so many ways. The story centers around the ties that bind protagonist CC to her dysfunctional family and her inability to walk away from them despite the havoc they wreak. Dealing with everything from alcoholism and homelessness to mental health struggles and abuse, this is a hard-hitting exploration of the damage we inflict on those we love most, and the long-lasting ramifications of our choices. CC’s relationship with her troubled sister, Lorraine, is particularly heartbreaking, moving me to tears more than once. The writing is raw, relatable and real, with Raymer somehow managing to elicit sympathy for even the most despicable of behaviors.
On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong
Written as a letter from Little Dog, a young Vietnamese American man, to his illiterate mother, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous is a stark examination of the realities of immigrant life and the struggle to assimilate into American culture. Although the story is largely focused on Little Dog’s secret love affair with a white boy from his school, it is underpinned by his relationship with his mother and grandmother. The family grapples with the repercussions of opioid addiction, as well as with intergenerational trauma stemming from the Vietnam War. But even through the toughest of times, we see them draw strength from one another. On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous is a poignant exploration of the complexities of identity both within our own families and outside of them.
All My Mothers by Joanna Glen
You may by now have noticed that I tend to be drawn to books with heavy, depressing themes. So, although All My Mothers isn’t without its moments of truly guttural sadness, reading it felt like looking down a kaleidoscope of color and light. We meet Eva Martinez-Green, whose emotionally absent mother and physically absent father inspire a quest to discover the truth about Eva’s familial roots. Eva’s journey is infused with both joy and heartbreak as she travels from the wealthy suburbs of West London to the medieval city of Cordoba in south-central Spain, discovering maternal love in the most unexpected of places through friends, housekeepers, teachers and even a nun. Brimming with gorgeous and complex characters who move through the most vividly imagined worlds, All My Mothers unpacks the true meaning of family in the most joyous of ways.
The Mare by Mary Gaitskill
When Velvet, a young Dominican girl leaves her abusive mother for the summer to go and stay with Ginger and Paul, a wealthy white foster couple in upstate New York, their family lives begin to unravel. Despite Velvet’s mother’s protestations, Ginger, a recovering alcoholic, introduces Velvet to horse riding. So begins Velvet’s relationship with Fugly Girl, an abused, almost feral horse with whom Velvet immediately feels a kinship. The book delves into themes of racism, class and white guilt, but what I find most intriguing about The Mare is the exploration of our fundamental needs as people. Both Ginger and Velvet, and arguably Velvet’s mother Silvia, are starved of genuine human connection, and to me this feels like a story about love going in all the wrong directions. It opens up a whole host of questions around the roles and responsibilities of family in a way that is both timely and timeless.
Shuggie Bain by Douglas StuartÂ
I’m an absolute sucker for a character-driven narrative, and for me, Shuggie Bain is up there with the very best. Set in 1980s Glasgow against a grim backdrop of Thatcher-era decimation, Shuggie is the youngest of three siblings, struggling to come to terms with his sexuality under the-less-than-watchful eye of his alcoholic mother, Agnes. Gradually abandoned by the rest of their family, Shuggie lives in a constant state of anxiety, helplessly watching on as Agnes’s addiction tears apart their lives. But despite her neglect and abuse, Shuggie refuses to give up on his mother. The novel is a harrowing exploration of the intersections between politics, poverty and trauma, but what haunts me most is Douglas’s painful portrayal of a child’s imperishable love for a parent. A few years have passed since I first met Shuggie and Agnes, and yet I still find my heart drifting to them often.Â
No Small Thing by Orlaine McDonald
Set on a South London estate, Orlaine McDonald’s debut novel follows a year in the life of three generations of women; Livia, Mickey, and Summer as they reckon with their shared history of love, loss and betrayal. Crafted in a richly poetic prose interwoven with both joy and pain, No Small Thing plays out against the soundtrack of the character’s lives, taking you to the very soul of what it means to be Black and working-class in Britain today. The story is thought provoking and taut with emotion, but it’s the authenticity of the writing that gives it its beating heart. A compelling insight into the complexities of family life where so much is learned from both what is said and what isn’t, No Small Thing is a book that drew me in and still hasn’t let me go.Â
My Sister the Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite
I’m a big sister myself, so although (to my knowledge) none of my siblings are serial killers, this book’s exploration of sororal love and its boundless limits holds a peculiarly special place in my heart. Set in Lagos, Nigeria, My Sister the Serial Killer tells the darkly humorous tale of nurse Korede and her sister, Ayoola, whose habit of killing off her boyfriends is becoming increasingly risky. Exploring the lengths Korede (whose profession lends itself to cleaning up blood and dealing with bodies) will go to protect her little sister, the writing is pacey, comedic and whip smart; propelling you through what should feel like an outlandish narrative, while leaving you pondering how far you would go in defense of your own family. Despite the unusual premise, it’s a book that left me yearning to speak to my siblings, reminding me of all the times we’ve gone out on a limb for one other.
