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The Old Fire
The building looks tired, the ivy-covered roof sagging above the brick-work, like a weary giant gasping for breath. There’s a car parked under the hazelnut tree. Bracken forces its way between the cracks in the front steps. Through the window, I can see a light inside.
In the wake of her father’s death, Agathe leaves New York and returns to her childhood home in the French countryside, after fifteen years away. Agathe and her sister Véra have not seen each other in all that time apart. Now, they must empty their home before it is knocked down. Véra stopped speaking when she was six, and as the pair clean and sift through a lifetime’s worth of belongings, old memories and resentments surface.
Tender, melancholic, and evocative, The Old Fire is Elisa Shua Dusapin’s most personal and moving novel yet. An exploration of time and memory, of family and belonging, of the unsaid and the unanswered, it is also a graceful and profound exploration of how loss and grief can live alongside life and abundance.
In the wake of her father’s death, Agathe leaves New York and returns to her childhood home in the French countryside, after fifteen years away. Agathe and her sister Véra have not seen each other in all that time apart. Now, they must empty their home before it is knocked down. Véra stopped speaking when she was six, and as the pair clean and sift through a lifetime’s worth of belongings, old memories and resentments surface.
Tender, melancholic, and evocative, The Old Fire is Elisa Shua Dusapin’s most personal and moving novel yet. An exploration of time and memory, of family and belonging, of the unsaid and the unanswered, it is also a graceful and profound exploration of how loss and grief can live alongside life and abundance.
176 pages, Hardcover
First published August 22, 2023
58 people are currently reading
5177 people want to read
About the author
Elisa Shua Dusapin
7 books602 followersElisa Shua Dusapin was born in France in 1992 and raised in Paris, Seoul and Switzerland. Winter in Sokcho (Hiver à Sokcho) is her first novel. Published in 2016 to wide acclaim, it was awarded the Prix Robert Walser and the Prix Régine Desforges and has been translated into six languages.
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January 6, 2026Each of Dusapin’s novels thus far translated into English (excellently done by Aneesa Abbas Higgins) have been set in different countries: South Korea, Japan, Russia. Now we turn to France, Dusapin’s birthplace and childhood home.
We follow Agathe, a 30 year old screenwriter returning to her own childhood home to help her younger sister, Vera, prepare it for demolition. The home is not up to code, and the sisters, after the death of their father and with an absent mother, can’t afford to meet the standard of living. So it is to be taken apart, with stones from the old place being repurposed in a nearby pigeonnier (dovecote) that, over a century ago, was damaged in a fire.
Not long after their mother walked out on the family, Vera stopped speaking. Whether it was caused by a sudden brain issue or out of Vera’s choice, Agatha–along with her father and doctors–does not know. They can only communicate through text and the written word, which on top of their nearly fifteen year estrangement leaves them with an unstable relationship.
The act of clearing out the home resurfaces memories for Agatha, as she also deals with a personal crisis following her from her now home in NYC and the boyfriend, Irvin, she’s left behind there for the nine days it will take the sisters to complete the task.
Dusapin beautifully renders the quiet intensity of family dynamics, the pain of revisiting the past, and the bittersweet nature of closing out a significant chapter of one’s life. She asks what we owe one another, especially those we share the closest of bonds with: family. As with many of her novels, Dusapin considers communication, and how what we say and how we say it plays a critical role in the functioning of a particular dynamic. Vera is silent; Agathe, though verbal, leaves much unsaid. She doesn’t, much of the time, even to know herself particularly well, or is simply learning to comprehend so much she’s put aside for the last decade and a half. The subtlety in the book is in what’s not said.
Readers who enjoy quiet, contemplative and character-driven stories will find much to love in Dusapin’s writing. A provocative yet subdued narrative that evokes the French countryside, a mythic landscape, and a tragically beautiful tale of sisterhood.
We follow Agathe, a 30 year old screenwriter returning to her own childhood home to help her younger sister, Vera, prepare it for demolition. The home is not up to code, and the sisters, after the death of their father and with an absent mother, can’t afford to meet the standard of living. So it is to be taken apart, with stones from the old place being repurposed in a nearby pigeonnier (dovecote) that, over a century ago, was damaged in a fire.
Not long after their mother walked out on the family, Vera stopped speaking. Whether it was caused by a sudden brain issue or out of Vera’s choice, Agatha–along with her father and doctors–does not know. They can only communicate through text and the written word, which on top of their nearly fifteen year estrangement leaves them with an unstable relationship.
The act of clearing out the home resurfaces memories for Agatha, as she also deals with a personal crisis following her from her now home in NYC and the boyfriend, Irvin, she’s left behind there for the nine days it will take the sisters to complete the task.
Dusapin beautifully renders the quiet intensity of family dynamics, the pain of revisiting the past, and the bittersweet nature of closing out a significant chapter of one’s life. She asks what we owe one another, especially those we share the closest of bonds with: family. As with many of her novels, Dusapin considers communication, and how what we say and how we say it plays a critical role in the functioning of a particular dynamic. Vera is silent; Agathe, though verbal, leaves much unsaid. She doesn’t, much of the time, even to know herself particularly well, or is simply learning to comprehend so much she’s put aside for the last decade and a half. The subtlety in the book is in what’s not said.
Readers who enjoy quiet, contemplative and character-driven stories will find much to love in Dusapin’s writing. A provocative yet subdued narrative that evokes the French countryside, a mythic landscape, and a tragically beautiful tale of sisterhood.
January 28, 2026
The Old Fire by Elisa Shua Dusapin
Intimate. Plotless. Bloodless
I want to read books that make me jump for joy.
I also want books that submerge me in the dread of everyday life - the relationships we delay repairing, the estrangements we postpone confronting, and what happens in the moment when we finally collide. I want to be held under for a day or two in those waters -breathless, suffocating, reaching for air- and then, on the third day, released, gasping for what I didn’t realize I needed.
I want books that choke me and leave me comfortably uneasy. Slow deaths that give me earned life back with patience deposited.
That was my experience reading The Old Fire. I had no idea what I was walking into.
The novel reads like dark, biographical poetry. It begins simply: two estranged sisters return to their childhood home in the French countryside after their father’s death to clear out the house. That’s it. And yet, everything is already there - an undertow in disguise.
The book stays with the elder sister, Agathe, orbiting the younger sister, Véra, who is bound by aphasia. This is Agathe’s recollection - it’s intimate, inward, diary-like, almost pleading to be trusted. Her thoughts pulse through the pages, setting the rhythm of the novel. From the start, there’s an unmistakable sense that something died long before the father did, before the story began.
We begin in muddied emotion. The book is nearly plotless. We don’t know what is happening - only that something is wrong. If this were a film, it would possess that quiet, creeping horror: nothing overtly frightening, yet a constant sense of dread in the air. And then, toward the end, suddenly the light breaks through. When it does, it’s breathtaking and beautiful.
I loved The Old Fire for its tenderness, compactness and interiority. It does something few books have done for me - what exactly does the war of reconciliation look like internally? What do the push and pulls feel like emotionally? How do we come across to others in that moment? It feels deeply personal, almost confessional - biographical poetry in prose form. When Dusapin finally lets the light in towards the later parts, it reminded me of the quiet, luminous poetic grace of Han Kang’s The White Book.
“I tell her that mountains are formed here - where we are standing. They take eons to come into existence and grow so big, it takes unimaginable strength for them to rise up and reach for the sky. The oldest mountains are the ones that have broken through the earth’s surface to tower above the people who live at their feet.”
There’s also something in the book’s present-tense awareness - the narrator’s acute attentiveness to each moment - that recalls Katie Kitamura’s Audition:
“People’s names are displayed as they speak. Letitia’s the most frequent. I’ve always liked the name Letitia - it’s soft and sharp at the same time. I hate my name Agathe. It makes me think of an old lady with pointe glasses. Bitter. It sounds dry. “
And the despondent emotional atmosphere -the rawness and emotional undercurrents brought to mind Elena Ferrante’s The Days of Abandonment:
“You are my sister. You’re not my friend.”
The Old Fire is Dusapin’s alchemy in action: she takes the mundane act of clearing out a dead parent’s château and spins it into a dense, aching chest of emotional gold.
“My father would have us believe that nothing was reflected in the blackness of the pond, not even the stars. I know, of course, that he was making it up. All bodies of water cast reflections of the universe when light shines on them.”
My heart longs for more books this tender, raw, and personal.
Maybe Agathe lives next door.
Intimate. Plotless. Bloodless
I want to read books that make me jump for joy.
I also want books that submerge me in the dread of everyday life - the relationships we delay repairing, the estrangements we postpone confronting, and what happens in the moment when we finally collide. I want to be held under for a day or two in those waters -breathless, suffocating, reaching for air- and then, on the third day, released, gasping for what I didn’t realize I needed.
I want books that choke me and leave me comfortably uneasy. Slow deaths that give me earned life back with patience deposited.
That was my experience reading The Old Fire. I had no idea what I was walking into.
The novel reads like dark, biographical poetry. It begins simply: two estranged sisters return to their childhood home in the French countryside after their father’s death to clear out the house. That’s it. And yet, everything is already there - an undertow in disguise.
The book stays with the elder sister, Agathe, orbiting the younger sister, Véra, who is bound by aphasia. This is Agathe’s recollection - it’s intimate, inward, diary-like, almost pleading to be trusted. Her thoughts pulse through the pages, setting the rhythm of the novel. From the start, there’s an unmistakable sense that something died long before the father did, before the story began.
We begin in muddied emotion. The book is nearly plotless. We don’t know what is happening - only that something is wrong. If this were a film, it would possess that quiet, creeping horror: nothing overtly frightening, yet a constant sense of dread in the air. And then, toward the end, suddenly the light breaks through. When it does, it’s breathtaking and beautiful.
I loved The Old Fire for its tenderness, compactness and interiority. It does something few books have done for me - what exactly does the war of reconciliation look like internally? What do the push and pulls feel like emotionally? How do we come across to others in that moment? It feels deeply personal, almost confessional - biographical poetry in prose form. When Dusapin finally lets the light in towards the later parts, it reminded me of the quiet, luminous poetic grace of Han Kang’s The White Book.
“I tell her that mountains are formed here - where we are standing. They take eons to come into existence and grow so big, it takes unimaginable strength for them to rise up and reach for the sky. The oldest mountains are the ones that have broken through the earth’s surface to tower above the people who live at their feet.”
There’s also something in the book’s present-tense awareness - the narrator’s acute attentiveness to each moment - that recalls Katie Kitamura’s Audition:
“People’s names are displayed as they speak. Letitia’s the most frequent. I’ve always liked the name Letitia - it’s soft and sharp at the same time. I hate my name Agathe. It makes me think of an old lady with pointe glasses. Bitter. It sounds dry. “
And the despondent emotional atmosphere -the rawness and emotional undercurrents brought to mind Elena Ferrante’s The Days of Abandonment:
“You are my sister. You’re not my friend.”
The Old Fire is Dusapin’s alchemy in action: she takes the mundane act of clearing out a dead parent’s château and spins it into a dense, aching chest of emotional gold.
“My father would have us believe that nothing was reflected in the blackness of the pond, not even the stars. I know, of course, that he was making it up. All bodies of water cast reflections of the universe when light shines on them.”
My heart longs for more books this tender, raw, and personal.
Maybe Agathe lives next door.
Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
Elisa Shua Dusapin is the author of The Old Fire. My thanks go to NetGalley and Simon and Schuster for the invitation to read and review. This book is for sale now.
The promotional materials describe this brief work of literary fiction as the author’s “most personal and moving novel yet.” If that is truly the case, I don’t think I want to read her earlier work. It’s not a terrible novel necessarily, but given the hype, I am a little surprised. Someone else praised it as “subtle,” and I can vouch for its subtlety; but for me, it is a story in which I keep waiting for something to happen, and in the end, I’m still waiting.
In broad contours, it is a story in which our protagonist, Agathe, must return to the tiny hamlet in France in which she was raised following the death of her father. Her sister Vera is still there, but they haven’t seen one another in a long time. Her mother is alive, but the parents split up when she and Vera were children, and they don’t see her. She and Vera must deal with the estate, hence the title.
As Agathe returns to the house where she was raised, there are all sorts of issues hovering in the background. She is pregnant, deciding what to do about it; her sister Vera, who is mute due to some physical but unexplained cause, resents her for moving to New York when they were both still fairly young; Agathe has a partner back in New York that wants a commitment, but she holds him at arm’s length. She used to have a crush on a neighbor in their French village; does she still?
As the book ends, none of these things is addressed much. Agathe and Vera sort through their father’s effects and make decisions, not always agreeing; there’s a great deal of inner monologue; and when Agathe leaves to return to New York, nothing much has changed or been decided about anything. And I am left with questions and more questions. What’s with Vera’s mutism? Why don’t they and their mother talk? Agathe comes to France, and not even a phone call…? What does Agathe even think of the man back in New York that’s waiting for her?
I’m inclined to recommend this book to insomniacs as a sure cure, but it’s probably not that simple. I note that it was a huge hit in France, and has been translated into dozens of languages, yet most English-speaking readers seem as underwhelmed as I am, and so I have a hunch that my lack of enthusiasm may be cultural. But I can only report my own impressions, and my impressions say that this book is a snooze fest.
The promotional materials describe this brief work of literary fiction as the author’s “most personal and moving novel yet.” If that is truly the case, I don’t think I want to read her earlier work. It’s not a terrible novel necessarily, but given the hype, I am a little surprised. Someone else praised it as “subtle,” and I can vouch for its subtlety; but for me, it is a story in which I keep waiting for something to happen, and in the end, I’m still waiting.
In broad contours, it is a story in which our protagonist, Agathe, must return to the tiny hamlet in France in which she was raised following the death of her father. Her sister Vera is still there, but they haven’t seen one another in a long time. Her mother is alive, but the parents split up when she and Vera were children, and they don’t see her. She and Vera must deal with the estate, hence the title.
As Agathe returns to the house where she was raised, there are all sorts of issues hovering in the background. She is pregnant, deciding what to do about it; her sister Vera, who is mute due to some physical but unexplained cause, resents her for moving to New York when they were both still fairly young; Agathe has a partner back in New York that wants a commitment, but she holds him at arm’s length. She used to have a crush on a neighbor in their French village; does she still?
As the book ends, none of these things is addressed much. Agathe and Vera sort through their father’s effects and make decisions, not always agreeing; there’s a great deal of inner monologue; and when Agathe leaves to return to New York, nothing much has changed or been decided about anything. And I am left with questions and more questions. What’s with Vera’s mutism? Why don’t they and their mother talk? Agathe comes to France, and not even a phone call…? What does Agathe even think of the man back in New York that’s waiting for her?
I’m inclined to recommend this book to insomniacs as a sure cure, but it’s probably not that simple. I note that it was a huge hit in France, and has been translated into dozens of languages, yet most English-speaking readers seem as underwhelmed as I am, and so I have a hunch that my lack of enthusiasm may be cultural. But I can only report my own impressions, and my impressions say that this book is a snooze fest.
October 11, 2023
J’aimais l’ambiance très étrange, le climat de tension entre les deux sœurs.
Il y a de nombreux mystères, plusieurs zones floues. J’étais donc très intriguée, j’avais hâte d’arriver à la fin pour combler tous les trous!
Mais ça l’air que c’était pas le but, on reste dans le flou total. Heureusement que c’était très court, j’aurais été plus que frustrée si ça avait été une brique et de finir ainsi.
Il y a de nombreux mystères, plusieurs zones floues. J’étais donc très intriguée, j’avais hâte d’arriver à la fin pour combler tous les trous!
Mais ça l’air que c’était pas le but, on reste dans le flou total. Heureusement que c’était très court, j’aurais été plus que frustrée si ça avait été une brique et de finir ainsi.
January 25, 2026
In Dusapin's short novels there is always a young woman travelling alone and then having to integrate in an existing group of people in some far-flung destination.
It creates a strong sense of alienation and 'lost in translation' atmosphere, especially when the novels are set in Asia. It brings mystery too, because there are only indirect references to the past and we don't know if we can trust the people or what their secrets are.
This latest 'The Old Fire' is set in the Dordogne in France. The travelling woman has lived in the US for many years and returns to her childhood home because her father has died. She and her sister, with whom she had lost contact, empty their father's house together.
Why has there been no contact between the sisters? Why does her sister not talk? What does the title Old Fire refer to?
Dusapin is certainly not going to give the answers, but there are sparse hints for the reader to ponder.
It's intriguing and well-written, there are interesting references to the work of George Perec that makes me want to finally read him. But I also felt like Dusapin is writing very similar novels...
It creates a strong sense of alienation and 'lost in translation' atmosphere, especially when the novels are set in Asia. It brings mystery too, because there are only indirect references to the past and we don't know if we can trust the people or what their secrets are.
This latest 'The Old Fire' is set in the Dordogne in France. The travelling woman has lived in the US for many years and returns to her childhood home because her father has died. She and her sister, with whom she had lost contact, empty their father's house together.
Why has there been no contact between the sisters? Why does her sister not talk? What does the title Old Fire refer to?
Dusapin is certainly not going to give the answers, but there are sparse hints for the reader to ponder.
It's intriguing and well-written, there are interesting references to the work of George Perec that makes me want to finally read him. But I also felt like Dusapin is writing very similar novels...
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December 1, 2025c'est-à-dire que je n'ai rien à dire (mais alors vraiment rien)
November 22, 2025
“…it was always to protect you. I wasn’t strong enough to stay. That’s why I’m incapable of talking to you. I’m going to leave again, and I need to know that you don’t hate me. You have no idea how much I love you.”
honestly i don’t have much to say about this other than that i liked it! “the old fire” follows a woman named agathe returning from the united states to her hometown in france to clear out her childhood home after the passing of her father. there, she reunites with her sister, véra, who has been nonverbal since their youth. together, the two of them revisit old memories and resurface the past. there’s love, hate, loss, and the exploration of navigating those emotions.
this was extremely plotless, like the epitome of no plot, just vibes—and i loved it. there was a really distinct atmosphere throughout the book, cold and contemplative and soft. despite being told from agathe’s point of view, it’s clear that each sister is distinct and deeply complex, and i loved seeing that fleshed out through their interactions and their tumultuous relationship. the prose is very sparse and subtle, and the reader isn’t given a ton, but i found it quietly haunting.
“the old fire” ultimately grapples with a lot of multi-layered questions. what do we do when we love someone but don’t really know them? how much of ourselves can be expressed through language, and how do we confront a lack of it? and can we ever truly leave anything behind?
thank you to simon and schuster for sending me an ARC in exchange for an honest review!
honestly i don’t have much to say about this other than that i liked it! “the old fire” follows a woman named agathe returning from the united states to her hometown in france to clear out her childhood home after the passing of her father. there, she reunites with her sister, véra, who has been nonverbal since their youth. together, the two of them revisit old memories and resurface the past. there’s love, hate, loss, and the exploration of navigating those emotions.
this was extremely plotless, like the epitome of no plot, just vibes—and i loved it. there was a really distinct atmosphere throughout the book, cold and contemplative and soft. despite being told from agathe’s point of view, it’s clear that each sister is distinct and deeply complex, and i loved seeing that fleshed out through their interactions and their tumultuous relationship. the prose is very sparse and subtle, and the reader isn’t given a ton, but i found it quietly haunting.
“the old fire” ultimately grapples with a lot of multi-layered questions. what do we do when we love someone but don’t really know them? how much of ourselves can be expressed through language, and how do we confront a lack of it? and can we ever truly leave anything behind?
thank you to simon and schuster for sending me an ARC in exchange for an honest review!
Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
Agathe returns home to assist her sister Vera in cleaning out their childhood home after their father's death. The book is short and read quickly, I finished it in a few hours. The start is a little slow, but as it builds, the author imbues the story with a slight element of intrigue and mystery, hinting that there is more here than meets the eye. Feelings are conflicted between the sisters, as they have been estranged for years. Will they discover a way to communicate again, setting their differences aside, in a last attempt at reconciliation? Time will tell.
The setting and feel here had me reminiscing about a number of books with similar vibes - We Have Always Lived in the Castle, I Capture the Castle, The Safekeep and Blue Sisters. if you enjoyed any of these books you will most likely appreciate The Old Fire.
While I enjoyed it overall, and there were many notable passages that I highlighted, I felt there was a connection that was lacking. There was a touch of a clinical coldness to some of the writing and details at points that turned me off. Agathe is also a bit of an unreliable/unlikeable narrator in that I feel I can't trust some of the things she thinks/feels about her sister. While this was initially a tad repulsive, I am sure it is what the author intended. In the synopsis at the start of the ebook ARC, this was compared to Katie Kitamura or Elena Ferrante, and while I have not yet read Ferrante, I have read Audition by Kitamura and I can see a hint of that here in the narrator.
Overall I would recommend it if you are looking for something short and quick that does have some notable passages and if you have interest in sibling alienation/estrangement stories.
Thank you to Net Galley and the publisher for an ARC in exchange for my honest review!
The setting and feel here had me reminiscing about a number of books with similar vibes - We Have Always Lived in the Castle, I Capture the Castle, The Safekeep and Blue Sisters. if you enjoyed any of these books you will most likely appreciate The Old Fire.
While I enjoyed it overall, and there were many notable passages that I highlighted, I felt there was a connection that was lacking. There was a touch of a clinical coldness to some of the writing and details at points that turned me off. Agathe is also a bit of an unreliable/unlikeable narrator in that I feel I can't trust some of the things she thinks/feels about her sister. While this was initially a tad repulsive, I am sure it is what the author intended. In the synopsis at the start of the ebook ARC, this was compared to Katie Kitamura or Elena Ferrante, and while I have not yet read Ferrante, I have read Audition by Kitamura and I can see a hint of that here in the narrator.
Overall I would recommend it if you are looking for something short and quick that does have some notable passages and if you have interest in sibling alienation/estrangement stories.
Thank you to Net Galley and the publisher for an ARC in exchange for my honest review!
February 9, 2026
A few years after the death of their parents two sisters are reunited to empty the family home. Agathe is a screenwriter from New York. She was just 15 when she left France to move to the USA permanently. Véra is her younger sister. She has not spoken since she was a young child, and communicates by writing messages on her phone.
This isn’t a plot driven novel, rather one that gradually reveals the character of the two sisters and their backgrounds. Dusapin is wonderful at creating atmosphere. This is an elegant and intricate novel, but far from being as strong as Dusapin’s other translated work.
This isn’t a plot driven novel, rather one that gradually reveals the character of the two sisters and their backgrounds. Dusapin is wonderful at creating atmosphere. This is an elegant and intricate novel, but far from being as strong as Dusapin’s other translated work.
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January 13, 2026Thanks to Summit Books for the gifted copy
The Old Fire is classic Dusapin as the most significant events occur in the white space of the page. It is a novel of profound withholding, where the plot doesn't move through action, but through the steady, radiating tension of what is left unsaid.
We follow Agathe, a film scriptwriter, as she returns to her childhood home in France to help her sister, Vera, empty it. The house has been sitting in a state of arrested decay for five years since their father’s death. The irony of Agathe’s job isn’t lost on me. Her career is dedicated to dialogue, yet she returns to a home where words have no currency, where she finds herself functionally illiterate in the language of her own family. She left at fifteen, leaving behind a twelve-year-old sister who was already mute, who only communicates through handwritten notes or text messages. Returning fifteen years later, Agathe is a stranger to the very history she belongs to. She is an expatriate not just geographically, but emotionally.
Dusapin’s prose (beautifully translated by Higgins) is vivid, atmospheric, and delicate. Frustratingly, the unease in each scene has a peculiar habit of evaporating or dissolving rather than resolving. Conflicts over their mother’s abandonment, the years of silence, or the reasons behind Agathe’s own desertion of Vera never reach a boiling point. Instead, the tension simply turns to vapor, leaving the reader with the same unanswered questions from the beginning of the book. Annoyingly true to life, we never find out the reason for Vera’s mutism, Agathe’s sudden departure, or what happens with her secret tragedy.
Dusapin’s restraint is either going to move you or irritate you. It is a book that can feel empty and cold like the stone house the sisters are emptying. It can also be quietly tragic and moving in how it asks if we can ever go home again. For Agathe, the answer is a quiet, devastating no. This doesn’t quite reach the melancholy I felt when reading Winter in Sokcho, but it’s a return to form after the underwhelming Vladivostok Circus.
Something I wish I could go deeper into is the connection to Perec's work. As Agathe helps Vera empty the house, she continues to work on a script based on Georges Perec’s W, or the Memory of Childhood, a book I haven’t read. After some googling I see that Perec used a fictional story to circle the "void" of his own lost childhood and his mother's disappearance in the Holocaust. Similarly, Agathe and Vera are circling a void: a mother who left them to start a new family elsewhere, and a father whose death has left them with a house to dismantle but no shared language to process it. Now I feel like I need to read Perec to see the deeper meanings, is Dusapin saying something about controlling reality into something manageable, but the tensions between the sisters resist this? I feel like I’m missing a key piece of the puzzle.
The Old Fire is classic Dusapin as the most significant events occur in the white space of the page. It is a novel of profound withholding, where the plot doesn't move through action, but through the steady, radiating tension of what is left unsaid.
We follow Agathe, a film scriptwriter, as she returns to her childhood home in France to help her sister, Vera, empty it. The house has been sitting in a state of arrested decay for five years since their father’s death. The irony of Agathe’s job isn’t lost on me. Her career is dedicated to dialogue, yet she returns to a home where words have no currency, where she finds herself functionally illiterate in the language of her own family. She left at fifteen, leaving behind a twelve-year-old sister who was already mute, who only communicates through handwritten notes or text messages. Returning fifteen years later, Agathe is a stranger to the very history she belongs to. She is an expatriate not just geographically, but emotionally.
Dusapin’s prose (beautifully translated by Higgins) is vivid, atmospheric, and delicate. Frustratingly, the unease in each scene has a peculiar habit of evaporating or dissolving rather than resolving. Conflicts over their mother’s abandonment, the years of silence, or the reasons behind Agathe’s own desertion of Vera never reach a boiling point. Instead, the tension simply turns to vapor, leaving the reader with the same unanswered questions from the beginning of the book. Annoyingly true to life, we never find out the reason for Vera’s mutism, Agathe’s sudden departure, or what happens with her secret tragedy.
Dusapin’s restraint is either going to move you or irritate you. It is a book that can feel empty and cold like the stone house the sisters are emptying. It can also be quietly tragic and moving in how it asks if we can ever go home again. For Agathe, the answer is a quiet, devastating no. This doesn’t quite reach the melancholy I felt when reading Winter in Sokcho, but it’s a return to form after the underwhelming Vladivostok Circus.
Something I wish I could go deeper into is the connection to Perec's work. As Agathe helps Vera empty the house, she continues to work on a script based on Georges Perec’s W, or the Memory of Childhood, a book I haven’t read. After some googling I see that Perec used a fictional story to circle the "void" of his own lost childhood and his mother's disappearance in the Holocaust. Similarly, Agathe and Vera are circling a void: a mother who left them to start a new family elsewhere, and a father whose death has left them with a house to dismantle but no shared language to process it. Now I feel like I need to read Perec to see the deeper meanings, is Dusapin saying something about controlling reality into something manageable, but the tensions between the sisters resist this? I feel like I’m missing a key piece of the puzzle.
January 21, 2024
Elisa Shua Dusapin crée une atmosphère, suggérée par petites touches, au cœur de l'intimité de ces deux sœurs. Avant même que l'on ne s'en rende compte, nous voilà au centre, des pensées, des questionnements, des doutes, des moments où l'on change d'avis, où l'on se trompe, consciemment ou non. Neuf jours pour balayer deux vies, voilà le défi.
January 12, 2026
While overall this book left a lot to be desired, I do think it had a couple quite compelling and tender moments. At its core, this story centers around two estranged sisters who have reunited after fifteen years and are working together to empty out their decrepit childhood home ahead of demolition. There are many aspects of their familial relationships that the reader is never made privy to, and it’s these same secrets that seem to have caused their family to fall into disrepair, just like their house. There were so many hints about past events and other secrets that I assumed we would get at least a couple belated resolutions for, but no dice. There were parts of the story where I thought I suspected a haunted house, almost psychological vibe, and others hinted at more of a somber romantic tone, but neither of these hunches proved fruitful. I found the writing to be eerie yet eloquent but the story left me dissatisfied.
December 19, 2025
The Old Fire by Elisa Shua Dusapin was a steely realistic fiction that felt emotional and gritty. The family was wrought with struggles and certain limitations that had me thinking for days. How do we feel about our sisters? What family drama shaped our relationships?
It’s a short read with a feeling of powerfully uncomfortable truths. The author did a great job expressing the deep emotions that follow us when we leave our family. I gave this a high 4⭐️.
Thanks, S&S/Summit Books via NetGalley.
It’s a short read with a feeling of powerfully uncomfortable truths. The author did a great job expressing the deep emotions that follow us when we leave our family. I gave this a high 4⭐️.
Thanks, S&S/Summit Books via NetGalley.
January 25, 2026
Dusapin’s ability (trans. Higgins) to conjure Véra’s bodily communication with Agathe on the page while underscoring the alienated sisters’ personal troubles—that which is in itself not incommunicable—is memorable. Confined yet spacious, The Old Fire comes together as a novella. The Perec references make me wonder what other literary angles I’ve missed.
I rate The Old Fire 3.5 stars.
My thanks to S&S/Summit Books and NetGalley for an ARC.
I rate The Old Fire 3.5 stars.
My thanks to S&S/Summit Books and NetGalley for an ARC.
January 24, 2026
4.5 stars
What a gorgeous gem of a book. I will be reading more by this author, for sure.
What a gorgeous gem of a book. I will be reading more by this author, for sure.
September 8, 2023
Parmi les passages obligés que la vie nous contraint d’expérimenter, la mort d’un ou de ses parents n’est jamais anodine. Agathe et Véra, ces deux sœurs éloignées par les aléas du temps, se retrouvent pour trier, vider et tirer un trait définitif sur ce qui fut la maison familiale.
Ce duo de prime abord incompatible, ce pas à pas attendrissant initié par chacune pour retrouver une trace de ce lien fraternel d’autrefois ; c’est avec beaucoup de subtilité et d’intelligence émotionnelle que l’auteure décrit ces petites scènes du quotidien. Un quotidien de quelques jours seulement, qui pourrait solidifier les liens désunis des deux femmes ou au contraire, leur faire comprendre qu’il ne faut parfois pas forcer le destin.
Mais ce simple tri dans les affaires enfantines, n’est que le réceptacle du tri que Véra peut-être, et Agathe très exactement, doivent effectuer dans leur vie, dans leurs relations aux gens et à l’existence.
Certains souvenirs affleurent et tout n’apparaît pas aujourd’hui comme les sensations d’alors. Faut-il accepter les regrets ou tout assumer en se convainquant qu’il fallait qu’il en soit ainsi ?
Quand chacune croit avoir souffert plus que l’autre, lorsque chacune croit avoir raison et savoir ce qu’elles pensent l’une de l’autre, les malentendus, les quiproquos, les non-dits, les actes manqués, tout finit par faire sens.
Au-delà de la palette d’émotions parfois contradictoires ressenties tout au long du livre, on se sent lié à Agathe car on a l’impression qu’elle se confie comme elle écrirait à son journal intime. Ses sentiments, ses épreuves, ses diverses discordances, ses défauts, ses multiples maladresses… elle nous donne envie de rentrer au sein du livre pour lui prodiguer tous les conseils dont elle a besoin et toute l’attention qu’elle n’a pas su donner, la lui apporter.
Le seul gros bémol de ce livre intimiste réside très précisément dans quelques mots qui m’ont profondément choquée. L’auteure décrit le compagnon d’une des protagonistes, et précise qu’il la pénètre sexuellement alors qu’elle dort. Elle se réveille donc parce qu’elle a été pénétrée à son insu pendant qu’elle dormait. Je ne comprends pas comment on peut banaliser ce genre de comportement sans rien préciser, sans faire passer le message que ceci est un viol, et non pas une attitude acceptable et normale. Je suis abasourdie… Je vais avoir du mal à oublier cette partie pourtant si succincte du livre.
J’espère que l’auteure répondra à mon message, lui demandant une explication…
Je ne renonce pas pour autant à découvrir ses ouvrages précédents. Son talent est certain.
Ce duo de prime abord incompatible, ce pas à pas attendrissant initié par chacune pour retrouver une trace de ce lien fraternel d’autrefois ; c’est avec beaucoup de subtilité et d’intelligence émotionnelle que l’auteure décrit ces petites scènes du quotidien. Un quotidien de quelques jours seulement, qui pourrait solidifier les liens désunis des deux femmes ou au contraire, leur faire comprendre qu’il ne faut parfois pas forcer le destin.
Mais ce simple tri dans les affaires enfantines, n’est que le réceptacle du tri que Véra peut-être, et Agathe très exactement, doivent effectuer dans leur vie, dans leurs relations aux gens et à l’existence.
Certains souvenirs affleurent et tout n’apparaît pas aujourd’hui comme les sensations d’alors. Faut-il accepter les regrets ou tout assumer en se convainquant qu’il fallait qu’il en soit ainsi ?
Quand chacune croit avoir souffert plus que l’autre, lorsque chacune croit avoir raison et savoir ce qu’elles pensent l’une de l’autre, les malentendus, les quiproquos, les non-dits, les actes manqués, tout finit par faire sens.
Au-delà de la palette d’émotions parfois contradictoires ressenties tout au long du livre, on se sent lié à Agathe car on a l’impression qu’elle se confie comme elle écrirait à son journal intime. Ses sentiments, ses épreuves, ses diverses discordances, ses défauts, ses multiples maladresses… elle nous donne envie de rentrer au sein du livre pour lui prodiguer tous les conseils dont elle a besoin et toute l’attention qu’elle n’a pas su donner, la lui apporter.
Le seul gros bémol de ce livre intimiste réside très précisément dans quelques mots qui m’ont profondément choquée. L’auteure décrit le compagnon d’une des protagonistes, et précise qu’il la pénètre sexuellement alors qu’elle dort. Elle se réveille donc parce qu’elle a été pénétrée à son insu pendant qu’elle dormait. Je ne comprends pas comment on peut banaliser ce genre de comportement sans rien préciser, sans faire passer le message que ceci est un viol, et non pas une attitude acceptable et normale. Je suis abasourdie… Je vais avoir du mal à oublier cette partie pourtant si succincte du livre.
J’espère que l’auteure répondra à mon message, lui demandant une explication…
Je ne renonce pas pour autant à découvrir ses ouvrages précédents. Son talent est certain.
November 17, 2025
Agathe leaves New York and travels to France. she left this country and her family at the age of 15. Her travels take her home, as her Father has passed away and her sister, Vera, needs help emptying the house. You see the house is very old, with many old belonging in it to be gotten rid of. Agathe and Vera have not even seen each other in all those years. But what troubles Agathe is her sister stopped speaking at the age of 6 years old.
She goes back to her childhood home to a sister she really does not know, as she is an adult now. They must learn to work together. There are so many childhood memories as they go through the belongings in the home. What is sad is that the home is to be knocked down. What a great loss. I was given an opportunity by the publishers to read this novel, as I have read many books for Summit Books. It gives one a chance to be in France. You can do so much traveling in reading books. Thank you Summit Books for giving me the chance to travel to France, a place I never had been to
She goes back to her childhood home to a sister she really does not know, as she is an adult now. They must learn to work together. There are so many childhood memories as they go through the belongings in the home. What is sad is that the home is to be knocked down. What a great loss. I was given an opportunity by the publishers to read this novel, as I have read many books for Summit Books. It gives one a chance to be in France. You can do so much traveling in reading books. Thank you Summit Books for giving me the chance to travel to France, a place I never had been to
September 9, 2025
Thanks to Netgalley and Summit Books for the ebook. At fifteen, Agatha had a chance to leave her quiet, countryside French home to study in the US and she never returned home. Now at thirty, she’s going home to clean out her childhood home after her father’s death. She and her sister, Vera, who stayed behind in France and mysteriously stopped speaking at the age of six, have an awkward dance as they try to understand each other while packing and reliving so many memories from their past. A simple, but still complicated, short novel.
May 24, 2025
la description du cadre et l’ambiance sont réussies, mais j’ai trouvé ce roman fade et peu attachant, à force de vouloir une écriture contemporaine, sans continuité narrative, avec des personnages mystérieux dont on ne sait presque rien, une écriture crue pour dire sans filtre les sensations du quotidiens, bah on parle d’odeur de fromage et de fourmis et on s’ennuie… la question de l’aphasie aurait pu être très touchante et intéressante mais traitée de manière trop superficielle à mes yeux
October 12, 2025
This one was soft and heavy at the same time. The writing had a quiet kind of beauty that made me feel like I was walking through the old house with the sisters. It’s more about mood than plot, so it moves slowly, but that worked for me. Some parts felt a little distant, yet the emotion hit when it needed to. A tender story about family, memory, and the things we never say.
February 6, 2026
3.75 ⭐️’s
Dusapin is a writer who trusts both her material and her reader.
She places enormous emotional realities on the page with very little elaboration.
We are told their childhood was hard.
The parents fought.
Both parents are now gone.
And then the narrative keeps moving.
No attempt to turn suffering into something easily digestible.
It reflects something psychologically true: pain does not always become story.
Sometimes it becomes structure.
The personality forms around it.
Choices bend around it.
Intimacy grows complicated around it.
The past isn’t behind her.
It’s organizing the life she’s inside.
What emerges is a narrator who never fully settles into herself.
Competent, observant, emotionally aware, yet slightly unmoored, as if part of her is always standing just outside her own life.
This is something translated literature often understands with particular depth.
That suffering does not need to be explained to be felt.
It is allowed to remain quiet, formative, and unresolved.
The past is not revisited because, in a very real sense, it is still occurring as orientation.
When you notice a character who cannot get comfortable in her own skin, you are perceiving tension at the level of being. Not plot tension…being tension. (This is called ontological tension)
The novel is less interested in what happens than in what it feels like to exist inside a self that has never fully become home. (Dusapins other novels focus on this ‘home’ theme as well)
Dusapin allows the conscious voice to remain composed while the unconscious speaks through dreams and flashbacks.
Memory arrives in images rather than explanations, the way it often does in life…unbidden, atmospheric, uninterested in neat psychological closure.
Nothing is formally revealed. You simply start to see the shape of a person formed by what she has carried and continues to carry.
There is a philosophical maturity in this approach that feels characteristic of some of the finest translated fiction.
A willingness to let experience remain complex, to resist shaping pain into redemption.
The past quietly structures the present, like an invisible architecture.
Some novels are driven by event.
Others by revelation.
This one is driven by formation.
This is a book that will take a minute to metabolize, often after you close it, when you realize how fully you have been inhabiting the interior life of another person.
Dusapin is a writer who trusts both her material and her reader.
She places enormous emotional realities on the page with very little elaboration.
We are told their childhood was hard.
The parents fought.
Both parents are now gone.
And then the narrative keeps moving.
No attempt to turn suffering into something easily digestible.
It reflects something psychologically true: pain does not always become story.
Sometimes it becomes structure.
The personality forms around it.
Choices bend around it.
Intimacy grows complicated around it.
The past isn’t behind her.
It’s organizing the life she’s inside.
What emerges is a narrator who never fully settles into herself.
Competent, observant, emotionally aware, yet slightly unmoored, as if part of her is always standing just outside her own life.
This is something translated literature often understands with particular depth.
That suffering does not need to be explained to be felt.
It is allowed to remain quiet, formative, and unresolved.
The past is not revisited because, in a very real sense, it is still occurring as orientation.
When you notice a character who cannot get comfortable in her own skin, you are perceiving tension at the level of being. Not plot tension…being tension. (This is called ontological tension)
The novel is less interested in what happens than in what it feels like to exist inside a self that has never fully become home. (Dusapins other novels focus on this ‘home’ theme as well)
Dusapin allows the conscious voice to remain composed while the unconscious speaks through dreams and flashbacks.
Memory arrives in images rather than explanations, the way it often does in life…unbidden, atmospheric, uninterested in neat psychological closure.
Nothing is formally revealed. You simply start to see the shape of a person formed by what she has carried and continues to carry.
There is a philosophical maturity in this approach that feels characteristic of some of the finest translated fiction.
A willingness to let experience remain complex, to resist shaping pain into redemption.
The past quietly structures the present, like an invisible architecture.
Some novels are driven by event.
Others by revelation.
This one is driven by formation.
This is a book that will take a minute to metabolize, often after you close it, when you realize how fully you have been inhabiting the interior life of another person.
January 6, 2026
Hmm, I liked this. Immediately, I liked the writing and the tension between sisters Agathe and Vera. I was more drawn to Vera—her silence, her proclivity for violence / destruction, which gives the story much of its unease.
Loss saturates this book. There is the death of their father, the abandonment of their mother, Vera’s loss of speech, Agathe’s miscarriage, the sisters’ lost closeness, and the final farewell to their childhood home.
There is little plot, but the emotional stakes compelled me to keep reading. The sisters’ relationship and even the relationships that orbit them seem to be in a state of near-collapse.
One bit I highlighted was the story of pigeons locked in love and catching fire. To me it represented something essential about the relationships in Old Fire: closeness that combusts rather than consoles.
I was anticipating that Vera’s tendency towards violence would come to some kind of release that would propel the sisters somewhere past whatever their current state was. The ending was nicely written, but I hoped for more of a catharsis.
Loss saturates this book. There is the death of their father, the abandonment of their mother, Vera’s loss of speech, Agathe’s miscarriage, the sisters’ lost closeness, and the final farewell to their childhood home.
There is little plot, but the emotional stakes compelled me to keep reading. The sisters’ relationship and even the relationships that orbit them seem to be in a state of near-collapse.
One bit I highlighted was the story of pigeons locked in love and catching fire. To me it represented something essential about the relationships in Old Fire: closeness that combusts rather than consoles.
I was anticipating that Vera’s tendency towards violence would come to some kind of release that would propel the sisters somewhere past whatever their current state was. The ending was nicely written, but I hoped for more of a catharsis.
January 24, 2026
I found this captivating. Agathe returns to her family home in rural France after fleeing to the US as a teen to clean it out the house with her sister Vera, who refuses to speak, after their father dies. It’s a story about the (crumbling) foundation of family that is embodied in an interesting home that’s part of an aging village on the cusp of an ancient cave system. The writing is extremely elemental. It is always raining and the landscape and ruins are scared by fire. The action focuses on the tension and mysterious chill between the sisters which is literally unspoken. I enjoyed the way Dusapin describes the tension between the sisters as they veer between resolution and avoidance. In many ways, the novel speaks to how hard it is to escape a sense of isolation or change what’s absent.
January 26, 2026
Ah! If you want a really good novella about the dynamics of estranged sisters, PLEASE pick this up. I felt like this book was weirdly relatable (maybe because there is an environmental archaeologist like me (I swear I quoted Octave word for word haha).
But this is very much a reflective story- of family dynamics, motherhood, abandonment, relationships, and healing. I really enjoyed the subtle descriptions of the disorded house, the woods, the boar, the French cheese, etc. This is a quiet read and a perfect book to cozy up to on a wintery night. I read it in one sitting!
A special thank you to NetGalley and Simon Books for this ARC!
Published Jan 13th!
Content: some open door, a miscarriage, etc.
But this is very much a reflective story- of family dynamics, motherhood, abandonment, relationships, and healing. I really enjoyed the subtle descriptions of the disorded house, the woods, the boar, the French cheese, etc. This is a quiet read and a perfect book to cozy up to on a wintery night. I read it in one sitting!
A special thank you to NetGalley and Simon Books for this ARC!
Published Jan 13th!
Content: some open door, a miscarriage, etc.
February 11, 2026
A book that carries more weight than the short length would suggest. There is a melancholy throughout while we try to establish whether the sisters are drifting apart or coming together. There is no doubt that Agathe’s complicated life in the US bears a weight on her. I came away feeling I’d read something quietly haunting.
October 7, 2025
Agathe hat sich eine Karriere als Drehbuchautorin in New York aufgebaut. Dann, nach 15 Jahren nur spärlichen Kontakts, meldet sich ihre Schwester Véra: Ihr Vater ist gestorben, sie müssen ihr Elternhaus im Périgord ausräumen. In den wenigen Tagen, die sie gemeinsam verbringen, loten die beiden Frauen aus, was von ihrer einst engen Verbindung noch übrig ist.
Ihre gemeinsame Sprache war nie einfach: Véra spricht nicht. Nicht mehr – als Kind hatte sie eines Tages plötzlich damit aufgehört, weshalb, hat man nie herausgefunden. Als ältere Schwester hatte Agathe das Sprechen für Véra übernommen, sie beschützt und verteidigt. Doch nun, nach Jahren der Abwesenheit, findet sie sich einer erwachsenen Frau gegenüber, die ein selbstständiges Leben führt und sehr wohl für sich einstehen kann.
Nun müssen die beiden Schwestern eine neue Sprache miteinander finden. Und an der Oberfläche funktioniert das gut: Agathe spricht, Véra tippt auf dem Smartphone. Das, was diesen Roman interessant macht, liegt aber viel tiefer verborgen. Schicht für Schicht werden nicht nur alte Kleidungsstücke und verstaubte Spielsachen freigelegt, sondern auch verdrängte Erinnerungen und Gefühle, die in der Familie unausgesprochen blieben.
Elisa Shua Dusapin beschreibt Alltagsszenen in schlichter, aber nuancierter Sprache und mit viel Fingerspitzengefühl. Oft reichen Andeutungen, um erahnen zu lassen, weshalb die Schwestern – einst unzertrennlich – einander fremd geworden sind. Unter der Oberfläche schwelen Anspannung, unterdrückte Wut, Trauer und Verständnislosigkeit, aber auch ein bleibender Funke der Zuneigung. Nur die emotionale Nähe von früher zurückzubringen, scheint unmöglich.
TW: Sexuelle Gewalt
So schön sich der Text liest, liess mich eine Szene dennoch fassungslos zurück: Eines Nachts wacht die Erzählerin auf, weil sie von ihrem Partner im Schlaf penetriert wird. Sie empfindet den Moment als romantisch – bitte, was? Eine derartige Banalisierung eines Übergriffs auf die körperliche Selbstbestimmung ist in einem solchen Roman mehr als fehlplatziert.
Review für Phosphor Kultur.
Ihre gemeinsame Sprache war nie einfach: Véra spricht nicht. Nicht mehr – als Kind hatte sie eines Tages plötzlich damit aufgehört, weshalb, hat man nie herausgefunden. Als ältere Schwester hatte Agathe das Sprechen für Véra übernommen, sie beschützt und verteidigt. Doch nun, nach Jahren der Abwesenheit, findet sie sich einer erwachsenen Frau gegenüber, die ein selbstständiges Leben führt und sehr wohl für sich einstehen kann.
Nun müssen die beiden Schwestern eine neue Sprache miteinander finden. Und an der Oberfläche funktioniert das gut: Agathe spricht, Véra tippt auf dem Smartphone. Das, was diesen Roman interessant macht, liegt aber viel tiefer verborgen. Schicht für Schicht werden nicht nur alte Kleidungsstücke und verstaubte Spielsachen freigelegt, sondern auch verdrängte Erinnerungen und Gefühle, die in der Familie unausgesprochen blieben.
Elisa Shua Dusapin beschreibt Alltagsszenen in schlichter, aber nuancierter Sprache und mit viel Fingerspitzengefühl. Oft reichen Andeutungen, um erahnen zu lassen, weshalb die Schwestern – einst unzertrennlich – einander fremd geworden sind. Unter der Oberfläche schwelen Anspannung, unterdrückte Wut, Trauer und Verständnislosigkeit, aber auch ein bleibender Funke der Zuneigung. Nur die emotionale Nähe von früher zurückzubringen, scheint unmöglich.
TW: Sexuelle Gewalt
So schön sich der Text liest, liess mich eine Szene dennoch fassungslos zurück: Eines Nachts wacht die Erzählerin auf, weil sie von ihrem Partner im Schlaf penetriert wird. Sie empfindet den Moment als romantisch – bitte, was? Eine derartige Banalisierung eines Übergriffs auf die körperliche Selbstbestimmung ist in einem solchen Roman mehr als fehlplatziert.
Review für Phosphor Kultur.
December 22, 2025
Thank you Summit Books for my free ARC of The Old Fire by Elisa Shua Dusapin — available Jan 13!
» READ IF YOU «
🔥 like slow, quiet novels that linger
🐦 enjoy stories rooted in nostalgia and memory
🤍 prefer emotional shifts over big plot twists
» SYNOPSIS «
A woman travels home to rural France to help her sister clear out their childhood home. It’s been years, though, and it will be a bit rocky as the two work, reflect, and slowly find their footing again in this charred landscape.
» REVIEW «
This is a soft, beautifully written book that burns slow and steady, but bright nonetheless. I really love how emotional Dusapin’s stories are, they’re my favorite flavor of “not much happens.” The tension between the sisters and all their resentments feels ultra-real to me, and I enjoy how honest the plot is—there’s no magical resolution of the decades of hurt.
This one is for you if you’re looking for an introspective story with a complicated sibling dynamic!
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐
» READ IF YOU «
🔥 like slow, quiet novels that linger
🐦 enjoy stories rooted in nostalgia and memory
🤍 prefer emotional shifts over big plot twists
» SYNOPSIS «
A woman travels home to rural France to help her sister clear out their childhood home. It’s been years, though, and it will be a bit rocky as the two work, reflect, and slowly find their footing again in this charred landscape.
» REVIEW «
This is a soft, beautifully written book that burns slow and steady, but bright nonetheless. I really love how emotional Dusapin’s stories are, they’re my favorite flavor of “not much happens.” The tension between the sisters and all their resentments feels ultra-real to me, and I enjoy how honest the plot is—there’s no magical resolution of the decades of hurt.
This one is for you if you’re looking for an introspective story with a complicated sibling dynamic!
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐
April 24, 2024
C'est lent, c'est court, c'est très mélancolique. J'aimerais tout de même lire son premier roman qui a reçu un prix
December 25, 2024
un héritage lourd à porter, une maison de famille qu’on doit quitter, une réflexion a propos du poids de notre enfance et son influence sur notre vie adulte, le Périgord : tout ce que j’aime
February 3, 2026
Picked this up because it was the Daunt Books novel of the month for January. A bit underwhelming, left the book the same as I started it. But quaint nonetheless.
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