Oh to be in the head of such an unreliable narrator! The other reviews scared me off at first, but I found the author's choices to be interesting ones. There's not much in the way of lessons learned or resolutions, which maybe feels a bit unsatisfying, but there is a definite arc and a lot of suspense. Mostly it's all just really sad.

Unfortunately, this one did not work for me and I had to give up halfway through.

I make it a point to continue to read into the lives of people who are treated unfairly in the world, and this was supposed to be a book that shed a light on the injustices done to Indigenous Women. It did not do that. It is disappointing that yet another book centers a white woman when it should focus on the true issue.

Do not recommend.

Thank you to Net Galley and the publisher for a free copy in exchange for an honest review.



This is going into the DNF folder because it just couldn't hold my attention any longer. I got through almost 50% before I decided that the most honest review I could give was that I simply couldn't finish it. I just wasn't invested in the characters.

The book focuses on a First Nations widowed mother and her white neighbor who decides to buck the ingrained racism of her fellow friends and family by moonlighting as Nancy Drew when she goes missing.

I get that this book was trying to highlight the alarming prevalence of vanished indigenous women and the inability (unwillingness) by law enforcement to do anything about it.

What ends up happening is it only furthers the stereotypes that native peoples are for some reason trashy welfare queens, living off the system in slums of their own making.

In the ends, it wasn't compelling enough to keep me engaged.

Two stars.

DNF. Stopped reading because I was tired of reading about indigenous issues framed from a white woman. Not sure if that was intentional to show how white people tend to center themselves but it was too distracting and infuriating.

Thank you NetGalley, Lauren Haddad, and Astra Publishing House for the ARC!
3.5 rounded up!
Not going to lie, I can't wait for this one to cause a stir when it's published. Based on the reviews so far, it seems like a lot of people have a problem with this book. Some things I agree with, others I think need a little more exploration and discussion.
For one, Jenny's character is SUPPOSED to be ignorant. She does all the wrong things that we, using our own knowledge of the issue-brought to our attention on social media, would not do. At the same time, no one is listening to her and she also experiences some of the violence that is wrought around the area. Jenny's actions aren't always right, but they make sense for her character- despite any character growth we may have seen. It's disappointing for sure, especially for her missing neighbor Rachelle, but again- to me it made sense. There seems to be certain gendered expectations that Jenny can't help but continue to adhere to- especially since it's the norm in a place that she's spent her entire life in. She becomes a sympathetic character in her naivety, but that doesn't mean we have to support her thoughts and actions as the reader.
People also have issue of Jenny's story taking precedence over Rachelle, but isn't that also the point? Once again, like the missing white girl who get's all the news coverage at the same time as Rachelle's disappearance, stories of missing indigenous women are pushed to the backburner. The inaction is intentional. For most of the book, Jenny seems to be Rachelle's only hope and that's a bad thing. Jenny's story being at the forefront shows this. Does every book that talks about the Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls movement need to so blatantly discuss the larger systemic issues that we're already aware of at this point? The issue is ALSO people like Jenny and her community! I would have a problem if the publisher marketed this book with Jenny (and the author) being a voice for the indigenous community but I don't think it's doing that. I think there are (and should be more) books out there for that.
I think this book is nuanced in a certain way that may not work for everyone and that's perfectly fine! I will say I think the end wrapped up too quickly, almost as if the author didn't know where she wanted to end things. I think a little more exposition could've really driven the point home, and that's where some may be also taking issue. I think moving forward, this book should be very carefully marketed and recommended. I have to say, I would not recommend it within any context of the MMIWG movement. Maybe as an ARC reviewer I'll have some sway, but I'm not sure about the publishers decision to publish this one so close to the National Awareness Day for Missing or Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls. Again, super curious to see more discussion on this one once it is published- the discourse should be interesting!

Thank you NetGalley and the publishers for sending me a copy of this title. I wasn't able to get into the book and will have to DNF it.

Thank you to Net Galley for the digital ARC!

Content warnings: anti-indigenius racism, sexism, sexual assault, abusive relationship dynamics.

This book has so many different threads coming together. Told from the perspective of a white Canadian housewife who suspects her indigenous neighbor to have been abducted, the author uses this unreliable narrator to put forward a lot of ideas that may make readers uncomfortable, namely spouting racist troupes and being self-involved to the point of parody. Her experiences (and centering of both herself and a missing white girl) illustrate larger themes of the dismissal of the movement to find and acknowledge missing and murdered indigenous women, but it is painful to read.

At times it rings false only because she also brings a lot of nuance to her narration -- noting uncomfortable, abusive dynamics and patterns, making intelligent observations on class and sexism to herself, and having a lot of worldly knowledge for someone who often is so ignorant. The contradictions are a bit jarring--it feels like the best parts of her could just be the author's notes from somewhere else, relevant to the story but not the character.

A few layers that drive this point home with metaphor-- the author is a herbalist and often uses the language of plants and nature in her narrative. The title of the book is Fireweed, a native Canadian red plant depicted as a weed or something to be uprooted, discarded, that grows in her neighbor's yard and appears several times throughout the book. The narrator later admires its beauty and learns it can be made into a healing salve. She reflects on a teaching that what defines a weed is often just perspective, but doesn't quite make the connection to a lasting mindset shift.
Relatedly, the white narrator's name is Jenny -- providing a parallel allusion to creeping jenny, an invasive plant native to Europe.

I think this book can spark a lot of conversations about the racist treatment of indigenous women and how their lives are devalued, but it's a sort of artifact-- a text that makes its point both indirectly and with force. The author knows what she's doing in centering a white person's perspective (a sort of meta commentary on the ubiquity of a white gaze) but it's not exactly a pleasant read.

Based on a lot of the other reviews on goodreads, it sounds like a lot of people did not respond to this format or the main character. I too felt the dissonance, but recognize it's in service of exposing a painful truth. Perhaps it will inspire people to educate themselves on MMIW and then deliberately seek out indigenous perspectives.

Review also posted on Goodreads.

Thanks to NetGalley, Astra House Books, and Lauren Haddad for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.

Fireweed is about Jenny, a stay-at-home wife, whose Indigenous neighbor, Rachelle, goes missing. One of the biggest themes is the difference between public/personal perceptions of missing white women versus missing Indigenous women.

This books feels more like a study of Jenny and the people of Prince George rather than commentary or the impact on missing Indigenous women. Despite it being such a pervasive issue, it often feels like the backdrop to a white woman’s story of self-reflection and discovery. We get a lot of Jenny’s unfiltered internal dialogue and ignorance surrounding Indigenous people, which seems like it is meant to show a path of growth for our character, however this does end up falling short for me.

My biggest criticism is with the ending. Without spoiling it, I was disappointed with the way Jenny’s story wrapped up. She went through a lot of character development, so the ending feels a little bit of a let down.

Overall, the characters are well-written and I appreciate a flawed main character who actively challenges their belief system, I just hoped to see a more meaningful ending for Jenny and Rachelle.

Fireweed tells the story of a woman whose mixed intentions lead her down the road of self discovery.

Thanks to the publisher and Netgalley for this eARC.

Lauren Haddad's "Fireweed" captures the essence of personal and communal struggle with a deft touch.

Set against the backdrop of a small, fire-ravaged town in the Pacific Northwest, "Fireweed" follows the journey of protagonist Amelia, a botanist who returns to her hometown after a devastating wildfire. What begins as a mission to study the regrowth of fireweed—a resilient plant that thrives in disturbed soil—soon becomes a deeper exploration of Amelia's fractured relationship with her past and the community she left behind.

Haddad masterfully intertwines themes of ecological renewal and personal redemption. The fireweed becomes a poignant symbol of rebirth, mirroring Amelia's struggle to rebuild her life from the ashes of her past. The novel delves into complex issues such as loss, forgiveness, and the enduring power of nature.

The character development in "Fireweed" Amelia is a richly drawn protagonist whose vulnerability and strength make her journey compelling and relatable. The supporting characters, from the taciturn park ranger to the elderly town historian, are equally well-crafted, each adding depth and nuance to the narrative.

Haddad's ability to breathe life into her characters is evident in their authentic dialogues and interactions. The town of Cedar Hill feels like a living, breathing entity, with its inhabitants' shared history and collective grief adding layers of texture to the story.

Lauren Haddad's prose is lyrical and evocative, painting vivid pictures of the charred landscape and the fragile beauty of new growth. Her descriptions of the Pacific Northwest are lush and immersive, drawing readers into the heart of the wilderness. The narrative flows seamlessly, with each chapter revealing new facets of Amelia's journey and the town's recovery.

"Fireweed" is a strong debut that showcases Lauren Haddad's talent for storytelling. It is a novel that speaks to the resilience of the human spirit and the healing power of nature.

However, for me despite these strengths, it fell short on delivery for me. I love mystery novels, and it wasn't quite a mystery.

We were promised a book focused on the indigenous community, however, for me the focus was more on the guilt of the protagonist.

A well-written book from a debut author, with a more focused view, her next novel should be stellar.

Lauren Haddad’s *Fireweed* is an introspective novel with beautiful prose and a strong sense of place. The themes of resilience and growth are compelling, and the story captures moments of quiet poignancy.

That said, the pacing is slow, and the plot sometimes feels aimless, making it hard to stay fully engaged. The characters, while well-drawn, lack the development needed to leave a lasting impact.

*Fireweed* has its strengths in atmosphere and emotion but falls short of being truly memorable. A solid read for those who enjoy reflective, character-driven stories, but it doesn’t quite reach its full potential.

I started this and couldn’t get into it ultimately. Unfortunately, it didn’t help that I saw many negative reviews before going into the book which made it harder to stay engaged.

The story centers on a white woman struggling with her past, rather than exploring larger systemic issues affecting Indigenous communities. The book’s audience is unclear—it’s marketed as a thriller, but those readers may be disappointed, and those looking for a meaningful take on social issues might find the portrayal of Indigenous people shallow and stereotypical.

The release timing, just before National Day of Recognition for Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls, feels opportunistic, and the writing is disjointed and hard to follow.

Overall, Fireweed doesn’t tackle the real problems faced by Indigenous communities and instead focuses on white guilt, missing the mark in both storytelling and social commentary.

it was definitely SUPPOSED to be about the problems impacting native american communities. it just never read like it. our protag's problems were always centered and the issues never felt addressed. the writing felt unclear. 2 stars. tysm for the arc.

This is not what I was expecting as I thought that this would follow a more traditional crime/thriller narrative but I did enjoy large parts of it. I think that it’s well written and captures the obsessions that are bred out of loneliness and the reach of everyone having to have a neighbour that they can look down on. There’s even a moment where the protagonist Jenny is so desperately seeking a way to connect with the world that she’s intruded upon while looking for her neighbour that she oversteps and over-identifies and the novel presents this in an intriguing but complex light. I think my ultimate problem with the novel and why it’s not reviewed higher is that in the latter third of the novel, having had the disappearance of a First Nations woman driving the plot, she’s abandoned rather in favour of an existential crisis of Jenny’s and the resolution of that offering itself in resolution as a whole. It felt like a second - and unintentional - disappearance that weakened the impact of this as a whole.

This was such a truly tantalizing story that i can not get out of my head! Overall, this book is a gripping page-turner that will leave you feeling pensive and emotional at times. It reads like a true story, drawing you in with its authenticity.

I enjoyed this book and the way the author wrote. The story was very good and I like that it brought awareness to the subject of native woman and there disappearances as well as lack of interest by the public and authorities. Unfortunately I feel like the ending was rushed and it felt unfinished to me.

I struggled to read this book mostly because I really couldn't find anything redeeming about Jenny. I found her annoying and this book was a character study of her when I much would've rather found out more about Rachelle

(3.5 stars)
"Being broke germinates all sorts of magical thinking." Fireweed is a bit of a dreary book about intergenerational abuse and poverty in a place called Prince George in Western Canada. The city is known for racism and violence against Indigenous people, particularly women, with Highway 16 nicknamed the Highway of Tears for all the Indigenous women who have gone missing or been found murdered along it. The book is written from the perspective of Jenny Hayes, a white women, who has grown up imbued in this racist context: "No one had ever had to educate me. It was a rule so self-evidence, it was innate—felt, as palpable as the dank. You stayed on your side, and they stayed on theirs." Except she's lonely, and becomes fascinated by her Indigenous neighbour, surveilling her, and trying to strike up a friendship.

When her neighbour goes missing, Jenny comes face to face with the town's racism as she galvinises into action only to find nobody really cares about missing Indigenous women. Her motives are primarily selfish I think, a chance to break free from: "Reliable old Jenny, always exactly where you expected her to be, guileless, in her stonewashed jeans and Keds." This makes her a bit too white saviour to be likeable: "Even if they were selling their bodies, no one deserved a fate like that—to end up among the beer cans, the A&W cartons, the thistle, the hemlock, the fireweed all the litter the highway's shoulder housed."

At the same time you can't help but feel sorry for Jenny as a product of the poverty and racism she grew up wthin: "My old bedroom, the walls still sponge-painted that same awful pink. PeptoBismol, calamine. The color of feeling itchy." Her dysfunctional mother continues to exploit her. Her relationship isn't ideal, with her keeping "wife insurance" hidden away. Her husband betrays her when she is raped. She doesn't like sex: "A whole lot of fanfare for the same sensation you could get from tearing down a rutted road." She (or her husband) are infertile: "She'd never had any kids, her body a lemon—like mine."

Looking for her neighbour Rachelle busts Jenny out of the world she is trapped in: "caught in the same loop, each day melded into the next." That's when the book gets a little faster and less dreary: "Mystery wasn't going to solve itself." However it feels a little Nancy Drew: somewhat at the expense of her neighbour rather than with and for her. Only pick it up if you're in the mood for a sombre and depressing read.

This is a singularly engaging and suspenseful variation on an archetypal mystery form: a committed amateur sets out to get to the bottom of the apparent disappearance of a friend…when no one else in her world, even the police, seems to take the missing woman’s disappearance seriously.

The setting of ‘Fireweed’ is brilliantly original. It takes place in far-Western Canada, a wild, wooded landscape that, paradoxically, is marred by mines, factories, and rural sprawl. Jenny Hayes, the novel’s narrator and protagonist, is a smart but sparsely educated mall gift shop employee. She’s young, recently married, and longing to get pregnant.

Jenny has recently attempted to befriend her neighbor, a beautiful Native American widow with two children. There’s a substantial Indian population in the area, most of whom, as their white counterparts see them, are lazy and unworthy of their attention. Jenny and her neighbor are just working through their mutual distrust when the Native woman disappears, and her mixed-race children are taken in by social services.
Finding her friend—or at least discovering the woman’s fate—becomes Jenny’s quest. She makes slow progress in finding her friend, but does discover the depth of prejudice toward Native peoples held by the authorities and even her own friends and family.

Her quest leads her to a searing and tragic discovery about her dystopian world and its assumptions about the ‘Other’ it so disregards and dismisses.