Wreck

Catherine Newman’s latest novel was a relief to read. (At last) I am seen, cries the privileged woman. Ohh, but to not be the only 55-year-old woman flummoxed and delighted by life. Rocky, the narrator of this excellent book, is (also) a 55-year-old mother/partner/friend/worker with all this fear and love inside that is tearing her up, making her feel anxious. It is even giving her a rash, a physically disgusting, all-over body rash that means she is now engaging with the medical system. An acquaintance of her adult children dies in a terrible train/car accident. She deep dives on all the reasons this could happen and ponders grief and loss. Her kids are making their way away from her. And although she is grateful for her lot, she knows it could end. Because life does.

If this all sounds melodramatic or too small-home dreary – please, it is not. Newman is funny in a Nora Ephron manner. She quips these perfect one-liners in a similar mode to Jenny Offill. And she is astute in her considerations in a Sigrid Nunez way. Her inner dialogue is ferocious, funny, and utterly tremendous. You do not need to be a middle-aged woman to enjoy reading this novel, nor do you have to have read her other two novels with the same characters. You can simply pick this one up and devour it immediately. No background information needed on this close‑knit family.

I promise you, though, that there is something special about this quiet, friendly novel: it makes you look around a little. It makes you realise that everyone’s life is full, busy and in constant motion. And that many, many 55-year-old women have an inner dialogue that would blow your mind.