I've read other books by Claudia Day and enjoyed them but this one was a little too dark and literary for me to get into it unfortunately. Just not the book for me but I'm sure lots of others will enjoy it. Many thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for an early digital copy in exchange for my honest review!

This was beautifully constructed - the writing was simple and elegant. A tender, quietly meditative, observant book

This novel carried me right away on an emotional roller coaster for the first 40percent, then I began to have trouble with the structure and overlapping exposition. This may be solved by publication, but not sure how without major edits. By 60 percent through the novel, I was beginning to be less invested and by 70 percent, I thought the narration was lost in terms of focus and reiteration. I do love Dey’s language and expressive use of emotional imagery, yet there is a bit of problem here. I still would pick this up for an interesting and engrossing read, but not as a polished novel. That said, sometimes I don’t care whether something is polished or not. In this case, as a reader I am interested, even after these flaws, and I desire to finish it .

Dey is an enjoyable writer, perhaps drawing from her own life in description, yet Daughter doesn’t read as a memoir, or life-as-novel book, as it is vibrant with a life of its own, and Mona doesn’t feel like a stand-in for Claudia Dey, much as she may have mined her life for material.

And then, by the fourth section, the repetition of themes and slight shifts of the same event gets too much, and it ceases to amuse. Dey will follow up a striking exchange or event with a hashed over previous event that folds over itself. I see the novel as being created in great folds, and this isn’t a pleasant effect for this reader.

So, I’m going to leave this as 3.5 stars, with a way to go to 4. Mantthanks to NetGalley and Penguin Random House for an ARC in exchange for an honest review.

Beautiful and heartfelt. The complicated family relationships depicted felt so real and complex it has me reflecting on my own family issues. The toxic father daughter relationship broke my heart as I saw my own in these pages. The prose were beautifully intertwined. 10/10 would recommend.

“𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵. 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘥.”

“𝘐 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘗𝘢𝘶𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘴.”

Wow. I’m about to get a little raw and vulnerable.

This books was a window into the darkest part of my past and it felt incredibly heartbreaking yet therapeutic to read.

My father had many infidelities, but the most notable was with a woman named Lee, that blew up my whole childhood, he even wrote a book about it. So to begin Daughter and in the first 30 pages for Mona’s father (a writer) to have an affair with a woman named Lee and the complicated dynamic and manipulations that follow really cut me deep, this story was instantly in my psyche.

The story continues to expand and still the parallels floored me, a half sibling and a full sibling, a stepmother, a scorn and hurt mother, a need for connection, family divides, high stakes emotions, a supportive and observant spouse, check check check…

The disillusion of the family is so tangible to me I felt completely transported to the very room Mona was occupying in this story, the conversations, the letters, the visceral reactions and non reactions, the evading and lack of validation or taking responsibilities, I felt completely seen,
immersed and healed by Deys writing.

No writer has ever quite put into words the feelings and allure of being someone’s confidant. The need for paternal love and the effects this has on our lives well through adulthood. The coming out of the rubble and healing. This story was alive to me and I felt the words like a salve.

All personal connections aside this story had the kind of hopefulness you seek, with small treasures of life lived sprinkled throughout and redemption served with precise subtly. Adored. Loved. Unforgettable.

Daughter is about Mona, the daughter of a disappointing father. As a daughter of a disappointing father myself, this was a hard, but good read.

Mona's relationship with her father is a heartbreakingly accurate portrayal of what it's like to have a selfish/narcissistic parent. How the damage they can do goes well beyond childhood, and how difficult it can be for the child to move on from it and have healthy relationships, boundaries and self-image as an adult.

The writing is incredible and feels very modern. It's straightforward and can feel like a stream of consciousness at times which makes it feel raw and honest. All the characters were believable and felt real, which I appreciated because unrealistic characters who do things that are illogical just to move the plot forward really annoy me.

My preference is to read stories that aren't quite so gloomy. BUT if you're in the mood for a sad-girl story or want to read something that can help you process having (or being married to) a shitty dad, then this is your book.

Thank you to NetGalley for an advance copy of Daughter in exchange for my honest review.

It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the book's subject matters & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters which contain reflections on fertility, pregnancy, a stillbirth, miscarriage, disordered eating, marital infidelity, Depression, parental abuse of a child, & others.

The age of innocence is broken by the soothing claw of a human finger. One day, the daydreams & dewy grass of childhood are shed from our vision to behold the demonic figurines of apocalyptic mammals. The sidewalks are no longer a laneway for races & chalk cities, our brain must fight to withhold us from the depleting sensation of no longer having joy to engage with; no more giggles into the night, no more silly putty or swing sets; we are grown now. For the main character of this story, life has held very little mystery & the intrigues of childhood were plagued by omniscient adults deviantly intent on allowing the young to drown.

In the mirrored fashion of the vampire, Dey writes a family into existence. The tree of their life seethes with a poison that renders their bark to tatter & break; the leaves to rot from dehydration; & the wind to deviate from its course. What has made me sit in reflection after finishing this book is my uncertainty about how to translate what I have read into a review. While at once a phenomenally enthralling read, this story remains disappointing, uncomfortable, & nasty. I would hesitate to recommend this book to anyone for the emotions left within the reader at completion. Yet, it is also because of this power of sentimental evocation that I twiddle my thumbs & wish to pass on the paper that has trapped me.

Therefore, I will start with a reminder of the content warning. In this book, there is no certain conclusion—no resolution to the bad times. Readers are faced with characters who are both victims of trite & overbearing absences during childhood while also perpetrating vile & degrading behaviour toward children in their environments. This story makes no comedic relief in the darling way cycles rebound on themselves, nor does it evade capture by secretly hiding the reader from the villain inside. If you are in any capacity, near or familiar, with the experiences of this story, the reading of a fictional account that reflects the very daring reality of pain, might altogether feel too much like the quotidian you seek to evade.

I hesitate to begin with the introduction of a main character because I do not believe that this story was written with the intent to be carried by a single narrative. In fact, Dey allows each of the characters, minus a select few, to abuse the narrative in their own liberal ways. Mona is the first character we meet on their journey through the psyche & she endeavours to allow the reader to become an escapee stuck within the underground sewers of the house that houses the mastermind of this tale. All of this is to say, Mona is a very gloomy character. Her narrative is sulky & forlorn; she rarely smiles & that is a strange claim to make because she may very well have smiled. Yet, I am left feeling that her narrative deliberately excluded muscle movements that would encourage the reader to feel that Mona was anything other than a victim.

Stories such as this one are complicated to review. On the one hand, the reader is faced with the make-believe. As Mona returns to sit in her father’s company for the hundredth time, we long to find solace in her decision—she must know something we do not. However, as time progresses, it becomes difficult to sympathize with Mona. She allows herself to intentionally return to situations where she was harmed. Her claim to masochism is her need to have her father in her life. Here we find ourselves at the other side of the coin—why remain in a place which harms you? By the third dinner date, the fourth twirl up the drive of her father’s home, & the fifth phone call; Mona loses her shine as the victim worthy of sympathy.

Is it wrong to admit to worrying less & less about a person who has fallen prey to the cycles of a narcissist? In the early hours of Mona’s introduction, we see her as a version of herself. We have very little information that would contradict this image we have created. It is simple to look at Mona’s environment & clock her as being the naive, innocent, victim of a bad childhood; of difficult circumstances; of pain. This conclusion is not entirely honest if not, rather misinformed. I do not believe that the author wanted the reader to feel pity or displeasure for her characters. I do not believe that one is meant to choose a single person to root for. Rather, this story feels rather too similar to the third wheel strung to a wooden cart; one has been invited to dinner in a home with no food to offer.

As the reader learns that Mona is probably not the person they believe her to be, the story decides to introduce other people. Maybe this time around we might find Paul, the disciple of the family unit, more endearing & charming. Perhaps, on second thought, Cherry, the first infidelity & sharp-teethed abuser, will prove to be the tenderhearted lover all along. One is given no time to breathe while reading this book. Back & forth the pages sway. Is Eva a sociopath or is she her mother’s daughter? Is Wes a white knight or is he the faceless man in a ghost village? Where among all of these people is the rational mind of the leader? Who along the way will save the reader from themselves?

Here we come to the more difficult part of the story to appreciate. However, arguably the most intimate. The children in this story are everywhere. No single character in this book was born into adulthood without first passing through the troll’s home under the bridge. In the darkness of the cold stone cavern, some may come out shattered from their hopes, while others snigger at the prospect that they are anything other than what they choose to be.

The correspondence between the entire family was morbid. Reading about Eva’s holier-than-thou perception of self, & Juliet’s attempt at a good-natured bid for neutrality, made me feel depleted & tired. I couldn’t understand why Mona would allow Juliet to be the only one defending their side of the story—their reality. I felt horribly for Juliet as she constantly advocated for Mona while Mona allowed Juliet to be the villain of their version of events. It made me feel a great lack of sympathy towards Mona. To read through her inner monologue as she vied for the warmth her father would never give her by sacrificing her sister to the darkness of absence.

Eva was not someone I had any particular feelings towards. Many people exist in the world as Eva does; void of natural understanding & shied away from the mental capacity to view the world via a tertiary stance. One could not expect more from Eva than what she was capable of—i.e. an overzealous ego & a depraved daftness with regard to her self-awareness. Neither of her parents—Paul & Cherry—ever gave her the opportunity to be anything other than a pawn. I found it rather dull to read about Cherry’s use of her own daughter as a plaything to win the affection of a man who didn’t have anything in his heart to give.

Was the reader meant to feel sadness for Paul because he has no friends in his adulthood? Were we supposed to feel sorrow for the lost prospect of all the manuscripts unpublished & shamed by Cherry? The magic in this story is its ability to understate how deeply one wants there to be a winner. Perhaps, the ultimate joy would be if there were no losers. Cherry is an adult who acts badly. One might even say she is a bad person. She advocates for her daughter’s disordered eating. She pawns her daughter to the sharks in the hopes of safe crossing; she abuses her stepdaughters & treats everyone around her that isn’t Paul, like garbage.

When one takes a reclined revolt at the scenes, one is left bent-neck & keeling in consequence of Paul’s absence. Every mother is the villain in the life of her daughter. The mothers are cruel in their lax demeanours, skimming the surface of apathy. Yet, they turn back to their children—their daughters—for what they feel is owed to them. Maybe, in the youth of every woman, there came a time when parental responsibilities became a necessary thing. It is both uncomfortable & degrading to realize that the adoption of adulterated behaviour is not normal but, a result of absence. The vapid space in family photographs & the paranormal wanderings of the children of absent parents will forever result in nicks in wood; the leading cause of splinters along fingers & wrists.

The family in this story is despondent to their own ardour; their participation in the deadly game results in the next born faces riddling with age as their tears weary their brand-new skin. I do not believe that Mona is prepared to act any differently than her own mother. Perhaps I cannot blame her for wanting to skip out on life after she had to give birth to a stillborn child. However, her codependency in her relationship with her father leads me to believe that her cycle of abandonment will continue to thrive. Even when Mona seems to make room for Wes, there isn’t actually space for his needs when her focus is all but dissociated from their relationship.

Working tirelessly in the background of family drama are the houses. One day, the island will drown the inhabitants when it succumbs to the changing ocean tides. On this same day, or maybe on another, the rotting wood of Mona & Wes’ shared apartment will crush their lives & soil the sheets where they lay endlessly. The park paths & night ponds, the curving neighbourhood streets & sullied storage units act as simple markers for a world that is hardly inhabited by the characters of this story. Cherry’s cold stone house brightens only when the curtains are drawn. Paul’s mattress is warm only when the heat of a new conquest pools his heart. The houses are meant to act as reminders of life are desolate.

The reflections of the self that evoke these landmarks act as ravaged loins to the dull-eyed stare of the characters. There is a bedroom here & the kitchen is over there but, the home is inside & no one is ever admitted. What is the reader to make of this? We return to the start whereupon we have been invited to play card games, & sip water from a rusty tap while flies nibble on the day-old fruit laid out special for no one in particular. Perhaps, in the end, the troubles remain whether we are homeless or not. The temptation to reveal a pulsating wound is null; why would we be invited into an empty house at all?

Yet, Mona wanders back to the patio space of a restaurant that is more her father’s special place than the childhood home where she grew up. Eva scampers the mountainside to be nourished by the essence of the world itself. Juliet has vanished into faceless family members she chooses, all but abandoning the original crew. Cherry is no more herself than her own mother was. Natasha remains stuck in the groves alongside her tender heart. Then what? When the reader closes the book & leaves the family to ramrod each other once more, there is no peace to be had. There is no settled fate, everyone dies & babies are born, & more people pass away.

The unfortunate & sickening cycle of pain, intentional violence, glassy despondency, & stilted, fabricated hopes, all fall into the crevices of the buildings that house the characters. In all honesty, I am left wondering what the point of this story was at all. Not in the sense of grasping for equations but rather, why paint clear the vision that haunts the waking nightmares of many? To become stuck within the pages of a story that shares the insights of a family quite fabricated is an exceptional feat. Do not mistake my inquiring mind for revulsion. On the contrary, I would read this story again.

Perhaps this review has said a bit more about me than is necessary. Perhaps you will meet Paul & be reminded of the argument winner who was never very invested in the dialogue to begin with or, you may find Natasha to be the representation of a person you once hoped to love. When a writer has the talent to be trusted by the reader, they have all of the power in the world. Who wants to read a story about horrible pain, morbid childhood memories, & sacrificial self-loathing? As it turns out, me.

Ultimately, what Dey has done is written via the gall of pure talent. To feel so confident in the words one knows how to use is a rather cunning trick. A simple title; the walking fingertips of the eager veteran reader who knows how this story goes until they look up & realize they cannot stop now or they might be left with the feeling of suffocation forever. I applaud Dey for opening the cupboards in the vintage chalet to the common reader; encouraging one to dip one’s toes into the lake while fresh watermelon was being sliced. Only for the swimmer to realize too late that something was waiting for them at the bottom of the lake.

Thank you to NetGalley, Penguin Random House Canada, & Claudia Dey for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!