Book Review: Nightbitch by Rachel Yoder

“Bitch just had a ring to it, that condemning, inescapable ring, a ring that fucker or asshole could never fully conjure...Bitch was flat and sharp and final.”

The first 50 pages of Nightbitch (Doubleday, 2021) by Rachel Yoder will make you believe that you’re reading a character’s angry descent into madness. A mother who believes she’s turning into a dog? My first thought toed the lines of instability and insanity—an untethered psyche.

But the thing about angry feminism is that it champions the rationality of anger. It turns the emotion into something you can touch, something you can cup in your hands like a pool of water and rage. The tangible rationality of Nightbitch’s experience is utterly disturbing and necessary. Yoder’s work mixes the mundane with the absurd in a way that, I feel, has fundamentally changed me. Now that I’ve read this book I will never be the same.

The mother in this story, who eventually takes on the name Nightbitch, is trapped in a cage of domesticity. Her life every day is the same: Book Babies, trains, and unsuccessful night-nights. She holds a tender, unwavering love for her son, yet she is consistently unfulfilled. Once, her life was full of art: she made striking pieces from roadkill and desire. She worked in a gallery and had the life she’d always wanted. 

Then she met the husband: a largely absent man whom she loved despite herself. The husband isn’t a bad or negligent man. But, he is steeped in a privilege that makes his every action frustrating. There is a scene that demonstrates this: the husband improperly prepares for his child’s bath time—no towels, clothes, or diapers at the ready—and has to call on Nightbitch for help with this simple task. Nightbitch does bath time every night without him when he’s out of town. The husband is only home on weekends. And on weekends, of course, he is far too tired from work to do many domestic or parenting chores. 

It is small things like this that cause Nightbitch’s rage to build and build. She’s bored, uninspired, tired, and lonely. She doesn’t want to be like the other mothers who attend Book Babies. So, as she starts to see sharper teeth, the emergence of a tail, and a heightened sense of smell, she embraces her instincts. Sometimes this acceptance of primal drive looks like rolling around in the dirt with her son. Sometimes, it looks like snapping the necks of small animals in the woods with her teeth.

Is Nightbitch really turning into a dog? This is a question you’ll ask yourself over and over again. Her story becomes violent and carnal. There’s a thirst for blood that is never truly sated. Has she unlocked, perhaps, a primal way of life that could set women free? Or is she unconsciously trying to escape her life through an absurd notion?

By the end of the book, you’ll learn that people are performing in some way every day. Mothers lose things—sometimes they lose everything—even if you can’t always see it on the surface. Perhaps Nightbitch can turn her transformation into a performance: a show that will shock women back into themselves.

My own reading experience was filled with a vibrating rage. And, once the last page fluttered closed, I was wide awake.

If you enjoyed this book, you’ll also enjoy:

I Love You But I’ve Chosen Darkness by Claire Vaye Watkins 

Difficult Women by Roxanne Gay

Red Clocks by Leni Zumas

Enjoy with:

Egri Bikaver Bull’s Blood—this blend of Hungarian grapes will help you quench your own thirst for blood while reading this novel.

While reading, listen to:

“Fetch The Bolt Cutters” by Fiona Apple