I read this for my queer book club, and for about the first third of the book, I kept thinking, why? Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we keep voting for sad books like this one and In the Dream House and Pageboy? And we've got a book about a women's prison coming up next? Why can't we read a fucking rom-com or something, good Lord??

But this ended up being one of my favorite books of the year so far.

It follows a woman struggling to raise her daughter on her own when her wife dies shortly after giving birth, which is heartrending enough already. But this is also a dystopian novel, so she's doing all of this while also living in a profoundly unjust surveillance state that brands those who have "harmed" others (and if you're thinking that the definition of harm can be wildly arbitrary and unfair in its application, bingo) with additional shadows and steals their rights for the rest of their lives.

It's an emotionally heavy book that deals with the protagonist's overwhelming grief and fear and shame, but the narrative voice kept me reading. The style won't be for everyone--it's told in second person, impressionistic vignettes, addressed to her deceased wife--but I found it so effective.

I don't even want to say much more, because I don't want to spoil this for anyone. I went into it knowing only the basic setup, and I found it rewarding to see what the book bloomed into as I read. So I'll just say that it's a great book, almost unbearably relevant, one that I'm going to hold close to my heart for a long time. I can't wait to talk about it in book club.

Recommended for fans of insightful sociopolitical commentary in fiction, queer families, and novels that make you say "how in the world is this a debut??"