Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for the eARC!

In Helen Phillips's Hum, we are thrust into a disquieting future where intelligent and benevolent robots, known as hums, record every moment of life, trailing citizens to sell products they might need at any given time. May, an unemployed mother of two, is navigating this world, relying on her husband Jem's gig work to barely make ends meet. Hauntingly, May once helped train the AI network that evolved into the hums, so proficient at her job that she rendered herself obsolete.

Phillips crafts a world that is both stressful and propulsive, forcing readers to confront the potential dangers of rapid technological advancement. May's struggle against the hums' relentless commodification critiques how such advancements push us deeper into debt and consumption. The emotional and physical toll of constant surveillance is evident as May undergoes a procedure to make her face illegible to cameras, a drastic step taken to secure financial compensation. This decision not only highlights the lengths to which individuals might go to regain some semblance of privacy but also the invasive nature of surveillance technology.

A significant portion of the novel's suspense stems from the eerie and often malfunctioning devices like the bunnies, AI-equipped smartwatches worn by May's children, Sy and Lu. These moments inject a chilling sense of unpredictability into the story, emphasizing the fragility of reliance on technology. In her increasing technophobia, May plans a family trip to the city's Botanical Garden, a rare natural refuge, demanding they leave their devices behind. This decision leads to a tense sequence where May and Jem are separated from their children, only to find their actions misrepresented in the media, casting May as a neglectful mother. The ensuing investigation by the Bureau of Family Aid and the invasive visits from a hum underscore the omnipresent power of state surveillance.

Phillips's "Black Mirror"-esque narrative is compelling, keeping me hooked from start to finish. However, the book’s ending left me feeling unfulfilled. While I appreciated Phillips's elegantly sparse prose and expert world-building, I found it challenging to relate to her portrayal of motherhood and May's obsessive panic over her children's well-being. A friend recently pointed out to me how frequently motherhood books talk about the bodies of the children in a very obsessive, fetishistic manner (thank you, Andrea!). I noticed this appeared a few times in Hum and found it a turnoff, such as the scenes where May observes her son’s penis while he urinates. These instances detracted from my overall experience.

Despite the rich world-building and timely commentary on surveillance capitalism, I struggled to connect with the characters and their plights. This detachment ultimately impacted my enjoyment of the novel. While I appreciated Hum’s thought-provoking premise and Phillips's writing style, I wanted a more impactful resolution and more relatable characters.