Yesteryear
“A perfectly fermented version of America”
Disclaimer
Let me start by saying I have zero qualifications to critique a book. I read a fair few books and talk about them online, but I’m not a professional book critic. I don’t know jack about writing a book or the fancy tools professionals use to analyze a book. I know what I like and can usually articulate that in a succinct way. But something about this book sparked a fire in me (and many others) that led me down a rabbit hole that ultimately resulted in pen to paper. Now that we have the disclaimer out of the way, let’s proceed.
As I mentioned, I read a fair few books, and I usually rate books based on how they make me FEEL (again, not a professional). Usually, the stronger the positive feelings, the higher the rating. With Yesteryear, I walked away with more negative vibes than positive; yet, I’m left compulsively thinking about the book. Was it brilliant? Was it lazy? Was it innovative? Was it recycled from previous works? Was it all those things? Most of all, did I like it?
Let’s be real, Yesteryear is on track to be the Book of the Year. It’s one of the most talked about books I’ve encountered since starting Bookstagram six years ago, and I think it has the potential to win all the popularity contests and awards. But does it deserve the attention and praise being showered across ALL the platforms?
In the author’s own words, Yesteryear is “a perfectly fermented version of America,” (4) effectively capturing the ills of our society in a short 400 pages.
My Immediate Reaction
OK, so I finished the book in roughly 36 hours. I listened to 75% of the book as an audiobook and finished the last 25% in physical format. It’s now been more than a week since I turned the last pages, and I am still totally obsessed.
It’s the first book in a very long time that I have COMPULSIVELY thought about since finishing. I’ve been obsessively consuming content about this book in an effort to 1) validate my own experience and 2) help me articulate exactly how I’m feeling. I’ve read articles, read & watched reviews, listened to podcasts, and engaged other readers in discourse all in an effort to formulate the following sentence:
I am obsessed with this book.
I vacillate frequently between “Is this the next Great American Novel?” and “What the fuck did I just read?”
And after talking to so many other people about this book, I think that’s the consensus of most readers. Yes, there are a lot of rave reviews out there. There are also a fair few negative reviews. A lot of people hated this book. But I think the majority of people land somewhere in the middle.
IF Burke purposefully set out to achieve this polarizing effect, then this book was brilliant. Mission accomplished. But that assumes Burke wrote this book with divisive (or derisive) intention. Personally, I’m leaning toward “she knew what she was doing.” And if so, I think it was kind of brilliant.
What Is Yesteryear Actually
Before we get into some of my thoughts, let’s talk about the book itself.
Yesteryear was published in April 2026, so if you find this thesis months or years from now, the whole point is to help you understand if you should drink the Kool-Aid. Honest answer: that depends.
Yesteryear is contemporary literary fiction with some speculative qualities. In my opinion, it’s another victim of mismarketing, which this time is unfortunate for the reader rather than the book. Some pick up the book expecting to get a dual timeline historical fiction (no, just no) or a fast-paced thriller (also no) or a light, funny read akin to watching The Simple Life with Nicole and Paris. All those readers will be sorely disappointed.
As Jananie of This Story Ain't Over (2) so eloquently said, it’s “a chillingly, uncomfortable satire.”
Described by The Guardian (3) as “high-concept,” in my (humble) opinion it’s schadenfreude, a train wreck of a story we can’t and don’t want to look away from despite a visceral reaction. We go in expecting to be able to hold the plot at a distance but ultimately end up recognizing uncomfortable truths about our current culture…and maybe ourselves.
And in my opinion that’s the assignment.
We aren’t supposed to get close. We aren’t supposed to connect. We aren’t supposed to empathize or relate to the characters or the story.
The Premise
As noted in the synopsis, Natalie is a Tradwife influencer living a seemingly perfect life until “she wakes up in a life that isn’t hers.” The house looks like her house but is shabby and without charm. The children look similar to her children but aren’t. She’s married to a man that looks vaguely like her husband, but his dead, dark eyes tell her otherwise.
In a desperate search for answers, she stumbles onto etching on the doorframe marking the height of various household members. The year: 1855.
What happened? How did she get here?
In the words of The Talking Heads, “This is not my beautiful house. This is not my beautiful wife.” (5)
Now she’s forced to truly live the life that, as my new friend Harry at Harry’s Book Café (1) so eloquently noted, she’s been “cosplaying for profit.”
The entire book is built around the key question: how did this happen? And ultimately, that is the question that will keep you flipping pages if you choose to read this book.
Natalie as a Character
Let’s take a minute to dissect Natalie. The entire book is told from her point of view, so by the end of the book we’ve spent A LOT of time in her head. And, well, Natalie’s thinking is a little…how we say clinical terms, pathological. Unhinged at best.
What we very soon learn after meeting Natalie is that she’s a sociopath. And what happens when you spend six to eight hours with a sociopath? Chances are you’ll recognize that you’re in the presence of a maladapted person and will likely experience a strong desire to run far, far away from said person.
Burke WANTS you to feel uncomfortable with this character. Those moments when your skin is literally crawling and you’re making cringe faces, you’re experiencing what it might be like to be in the presence of a sociopath.
Because you spend so much time in the mind of this truly vile character, your worldview is extremely narrow. She’s narcissistic, at times histrionic. She views herself as morally and intellectually superior. She is without compassion. She’s unable to emote and unable to empathize like a “normal” human being. Again, Natalie is a sociopath. THIS is what most readers are picking up on but just are struggling to articulate.
And unlike most books where the MC attempts to understand, learn or grow, our FMC makes no attempts to do any of the above. Like a true sociopath, Natalie sees NO reason to change. The complete lack of character growth in this story is challenging for many readers. There is no warm fuzzy feeling of satisfaction at the end of this story, so know that going in.
Many have criticized Burke’s lack of character development as lazy, but I think she perfectly illustrated the pathological perspective from which our FMC approaches life. Since we spend all of our time from Natalie’s narcissistic world view, our view of the other people in her life (i.e. our side characters) is heavily influenced by her lack of human decency, emotional connection, empathy, or feeling. We are being asked to see through the eyes of one of the most pathological characters ever. She has the emotional depth of a thimble, with no real capacity to connect with her fellow characters. Therefore, we feel the same lack of connection, which MANY interpret as a failure on the part of the author. There was no reason for Burke to flesh out those characters; she was writing Natalie’s story, and we’re along for the weird, wild ride. It’s not her character development that’s lacking, it’s her storytelling (more on that in a bit).
A Bit on Style
This is Burke’s debut novel, and at times it did feel very much like a debut. It’s almost as if she threw the proverbial spaghetti at the wall to see what stuck. Her plot feels chaotic, not always well supported. Her writing style is tense, sometimes erratic. But it’s also witty, with razor sharp satire (albeit more attuned to liberal senses of humor). It’s twisted and dark throughout and purposefully designed to create conflicting feelings in readers.
Burke describes the book as a very “voicey” book (4). You spend the entire book in Natalie’s head, directly exposed to her pathological thought processes. It’s written the way this character talks and thinks, even down to her tics. You feel as though you’re being swept up in Natalie’s downward spiral every single time the author repeats a word or phrase (“bark, bark, bark”), as though there’s a glitch somewhere in the wiring.
This is one of the things I appreciated the most. The book is narrated to you by this character, not by the author. Natalie’s inner dialogue places you right in the moment. All of the action is happening within the character as opposed to around the character, again making for a richer experience for the reader. There’s a lot of telling rather than showing, but showing would require Natalie to critically think about her choices and actions, something totally foreign to her.
I’ve seen a lot of mixed reviews specific to pacing. Some people found it very propulsive, encouraging compulsive consumption of the book. Other people found it slow and tedious, with too much cyclical storytelling and jarring time shifts. At times, it feels almost dizzying.
I’m of the belief that Burke set out to achieve that level of chaos. Yes, there’s a lot of tedious, mind-numbing moments followed closely by sharp shifts in time or action. I think those are intended to highlight the juxtaposition of online vs offline life and modern vs olden times, as well as to illustrate Natalie’s worsening mental health. Reflecting on this use of structure, as well as the character’s observations about her dual life, is where I believe Burke’s true message lies.
Caro as Natalie
We already know that Burke is super smart. She’s a cohost of a podcast, Diabolical Lies, where she regularly talks politics and culture with a great degree of insight and consideration (again, albeit liberal leaning). She speaks like your super smart friend, you know the one that kind of makes you feel not so smart but you keep talking to her anyway because maybe a little of her smarts will rub off. That’s the vibe I get from Caro Claire Burke.
In the Yesteryear episode of Diabolical Lies(4), Burke explains that she, like Natalie, was sort of floundering around for a while, not sure how to get where she wanted to be. And, like Natalie, it was not for lack of vision or lack of trying.
By the time she sold Yesteryear, she’d already written two novels, both of which were rejected. She was freelancing, writing copy that her co-host lovingly described as beneath her (skills, intellect, etc). At some point, she created a TikTok account, where she began sharing her observations about various cultural phenomena (including TradWife culture). Suddenly, she has tens of thousands of followers seemingly overnight. A month or so later, she’s pitching this novel and the rest is history.
I find it incredibly fascinating that Burke’s career very much mirrored Natalie's viral growth. I also find it entirely too coincidental to believe that Burke was not directly influenced by her meteoritic rise when conceptualizing this book. In fact, I venture to say THAT is the point of this book, not tradwives as one is led to believe after reading the synopsis. In the book, Natalie struggles to find a voice and an audience online, even attending a “how to go viral” course (which was totally a waste of HER time), only to stumble into a vortex of virality after an ultraconservative influencer showcased her profile for its portrayal of good Christian values, the ideal wife, dutiful mother, etc.
Suddenly, she’s got power. And she wields that power to create a fairytale universe in which to live (or maybe hide). While I’m not saying Burke is Natalie, I am very curious if she intentionally wrote her own story but from a much more warped, twisted perspective. I think some may argue that for a debut author to be riding such a high wave of success MIGHT feel like a fairytale. She’s the next pub house darling, with multiple publishing houses vying for the rights to the book. That she gives credit to actress Anne Hathaway in the author’s notes (reportedly she bought the film rights before the book was finished) could lend one to believe the very things about this book that are sparking ire and fascination in equal measure were a purposeful money grab. I’ll leave that there for now.
In the meantime, let’s hope Burke’s fairytale has a better ending.
Online Culture & Influencer Commentary
I’ll be honest: the commentary on social media culture, influencer culture, and online culture in general were the most compelling for me. In fact, I think they were THE POINT of the book. Yesteryear is a vehicle for Burke’s statement on social media culture rather than a book about tradwives. She, like many others, may be fascinated by tradwives, but I don’t think that is what drove her to write this book. Hear me out.
Natalie could’ve been ANY type of influencer. Trade tradwife trapped in a traditional nightmare for a beauty influencer who wakes up grossly disfigured and scarred. Or maybe a fitness influencer whose body is eating all her muscles. A chef who burns everything. You get the point…
Tradwifery had very little to do with this book in my opinion; it was simply a vehicle to deliver the underlying parable of the dangers of influencer culture. Burke shares few insights about why tradwives are the way they are, what motivates them to live this traditional, seemingly pious lifestyle. There are hints. There’s some conversation around it. But readers walk away having learned little about tradwife culture in the end.
Burke allows you to directly observe said influencer, giving you a glimpse into what influencers MAY be like. And by now, we’ve all seen enough tell-all influencer documentaries to know that once the cameras aren’t rolling, the real show begins. Burke expertly illustrates that exact experience in Yesteryear. Jekyll, meet Hyde.
Whether or not that’s how Burke views all influencers, that’s for her to say. Personally, I thought it was extremely introspective, and as someone who creates content online, there were several uncomfortably relatable moments.
Her introspective analysis of influencer culture is frightening, glimpsing behind the proverbial curtain to get to the ugly truth. It’s all about power. Likes are power. Fame is power. Recognition is power. And when we give ghouls power, they tend to get more ghoulish. Burke is challenging you to explore your relationship with online culture, to realize the currency of your likes while asking you to use them for something more meaningful than supporting someone’s falsehood or fairytale.
There is a portion of the book where she talks about the tedium of Natalie’s offline life. It’s messy. It’s disordered. It’s disorganized. It’s chaotic. It’s boring. In this, Burke captures the jarring nature of online vs offline life, and how frustratingly normal offline (ie real) life can be. In doing so, she highlights the motivation of consumers and the snake oil of influence that propels influencer culture, the slippery slope of fantasy.
Politics and Womanhood
I won’t get too deep here, but I will add a few thoughts. Not so subtle hints at radical feminism, anti-feminist sentiment, conservatism, fundamental Christian beliefs, and even racist beliefs are instantly recognizable, yet are they really the point? A universe of truths about the widening gap of political beliefs lives in this novel, yet the author doesn’t bang you over the head with a viewpoint. In Burke’s own words, “it’s a book, not a policy platform.” (4)
Regardless of their personal politics, most readers will read this and find off putting aspects despite being highly entertained. The satirical stance will likely be offensive for more conservative readers. Burke’s FMC is designed to be a reflection of a particular type of woman, and while satirical, it can also feel accosting, bordering on bullying to some readers.
Frankly, I think it’s best suited for readers who enjoy darker, more introspective novels. Just like Severance, it’s a novel of our time…about our time. It’s not designed to be palatable to a wide audience.
One thing Yesteryear does well is to depict the extraordinary weight of womanhood and the constant pressure for perfection, applicable to all women, faith or politics aside. It’s holding up a mirror to the perfectionist tendencies that we assume for the benefit of others. It’s a parable of how romanticizing the “perfect” lives of influencers can lead one down a dangerous path in pursuit of a lifestyle that exists only in a fantasy.
There’s also commentary on agency that I’m not smart enough to articulate. The dinner scene in particular was an intense and heartbreaking exploration of Natalie’s complete lack of agency, perfectly capturing the caged feeling women experience in response to loss of control.
And all the while, we’re slowly descending into madness alongside Natalie, fueled by anger and emotional exhaustion and driven by the duality of “online” life and the constant need to perform. Hit your mark, once again, smile for the camera, rinse and repeat.
Interpretation
Ok, so let’s go with the “it’s brilliant” theory. What does that say about me as a reader? I actually asked myself this question over and over, particularly after an interaction with someone who hypothesized that any woman who feels this book is profound or deep is outing themselves. This same person went on to call the book, and I’m paraphrasing, mediocre at best.
That exchange really took me aback. In one sense, I completely see where she’s coming from; I think there are very valid arguments about the writing, structure, and pacing that would lead one to question WHY it’s so wildly popular. Still, I found myself fascinated with the book, so much so that I began to wonder “am I a mediocre reader?”
We could dialogue about this type of discourse, but we’ll save that for another episode. Needless to say, I see where she’s coming from, but I also feel like there’s enough complexity in this book that it, perhaps, lends itself to a complex response. In summary, I don’t think it’s fair to lump any one group of readers together to cast judgment on their reading and deduction skills.
What Burke does TO readers was absolutely fascinating. It’s one of the most meta aspects of this book, and if purposeful, then Yesteryear is probably one of the smartest things I’ve read in a while. Most readers will be repulsed by Natalie, as they should. And while some will find sympathy for her (she’s a victim of systems designed to oppress and brainwash, blah blah blah), I doubt many will find empathy for her. And it’s THIS that I found the most interesting. We’re reading about a sociopath who lacks empathy while we fail to find any for her. It’s the same mirror that Victoria Christopher Murray held to our faces in Harlem Rhapsody, though Burke turns it up to 11.
There are many loose threads in Yesteryear. A lot is left to the audience to interpret, something I’ve seen widely criticized. This left me wondering, does a book have to beat us over the head with expressed meaning or intent to be “good literature”? Or is critical thought too much to ask in the modern age?
Likewise, are we allowed to have a meaningful connection with or find enjoyment in books that may not be “good literature?” Or are we somehow flawed readers for our fascination?
Reading fiction is subjective. Interpretation of a book is a deeply personal experience.
Who are we to say that someone’s deep meaningful experience with a book is any more or less valuable than our own? Likewise, who are we to judge others for assigning meaning in something we feel falls short of the mark.
There’s no doubt about one thing: this book is highly polarizing. And, sure, there are some highly triggering themes and discourse, but what does it actually say? And, more importantly, what does it say about me if I enjoyed it? The discourse around this book IS the point in my opinion. It’s a book written to enrage and/or entertain. I don’t think it was written to be life changing literature, though the author’s life certainly did change. And for some, that’s the core issue at hand. Did she see a chance to profit on sensationalism or is she a true artist? Frankly, I think it’s a bit of both.
Final Thoughts
I’m not as smart as I may (or may not) sound, and I don’t often do as much reflection (or writing, frankly) as I did for this book. But it feels like a moment.
Is this the next Great American Novel? Maybe.
I think there are some things that would qualify it as such. It takes the pulse of the times in the way many celebrated works of literature have in the past.
Yesteryear is an allegory about online life, anger, perfectionism, conformity, performance, agency, and the seductive danger of idealized identities. The story is filled with foreshadowed warnings about the future state of unchecked influence. It’s a cautionary tale about being attracted to the romantic fairytale, an “ideal” state of being that forgets to find beauty in our flawed existence. It tells of the risk of holding too tightly to control at the risk of skewing your own reality, detaching from the time/space continuum of your “real” life.
Especially as women.
Natalie mirrors for us the dark side of the “having it all” mentality; her righteous anger and self-loathing feels all too familiar. She represents us should our morals and principles fail to guide us gently to shore.
Every time I read or hear other reviews, I'm struck by one thing: I had a very different experience with this book than I normally have with fiction. I was simultaneously terrified and fascinated, deeply engrossed in the pathology of the character (what can I say…I’m a mental health professional). I thought it was brilliant, yet flawed. It’s one I struggle to recommend without a cautionary warning: read at your own risk. For me, it was a deeply unsettling meta-analysis of authenticity, control, influence, agency, and mental health that I found absolutely fascinating!
It's not relatable.
She’s not relatable.
And if she is, God help us.
A Personal Note
I have NOT written anything like this in years, so I hope it makes some sense. 🤣 I will be summarizing this into a Youtube and Instagram post, but I needed to share more of an in-depth analysis of my reaction to this book somewhere.
If you've read this book, please let me know your thoughts either here in Bindery or message me on social media!
thanks for reading ❤️
xoxo
C
References:
Harry's Book Cafe review
This Story Ain't Over analysis
Guardian review
The Caro Episode of Diabolical Lies
Talking Heads "This Must Be The Place"
