A Book A Week

Mass Mothering is the first book I’ve read this year that feels truly original. I haven’t encountered anything quite like it. Sarah Bruni introduces us to A., a woman living in a city that doesn’t feel like her own, in a body that feels even less so. An amateur translator, she has undergone a medical procedure to remove her reproductive organs. The operations left her physically diminished and financially strained. By day, A. works as a nanny to a young boy. By night, she disappears into clubs, dancing as if she can outrun whatever fragments of herself remain. It’s in one of these clubs that she meets a man known only as N., who seems to exist in a similar state of suspension. The two begin to connect, drawn together by their shared sense of displacement.

One evening, among N.’s sparse belongings, A. discovers a slim volume titled Field Notes. The book recounts a distant town where boys have vanished, and the mothers left behind gather in communal mourning. It's raw, collective, and strangely powerful. A. becomes captivated by these women, by their near-mythic resilience and the way they sustain one another through the unbearable. On impulse, she travels to the city where Field Notes was written, determined to find its author and the missing conclusion to his story. Instead, her search leads her to the traces of a murdered poet—a mysterious woman whose legacy will intersect with A.’s life in ways that are both unexpected and transformative.

With Mass Mothering, Sarah Bruni delivers a subtle, introspective novel that grapples with weighty, complex themes. There’s an intentional juxtaposition in her approach that mirrors the way A. processes, or avoids, her own emotions. The communal grief and resilience depicted in Field Notes are experienced at a remove, filtered through text rather than lived reality. It’s not something A. is ready, or perhaps even able, to confront firsthand. She hasn’t granted herself permission to step fully into that depth of feeling.

While the themes Bruni explores are undeniably powerful, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of detachment from the characters and their emotions. That distance seems purposeful; we’re meant to inhabit the same suspended state A. occupies, hovering just outside of catharsis. Still, that very design kept me from fully immersing myself in the story. Mass Mothering ultimately mirrors its protagonist’s emotional displacement with striking precision, but in doing so, it left me feeling slightly removed from its emotional core.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2026, 13)