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The Leveret
Win a free print copy of this book!
6 days and 09:08:38
25 copies available
U.S. only
A heartbreakingly gorgeous and lyrically haunting debut novel about grief in the aftermath of baby loss and the power of queer love – perfect for fans of Julia Armfield, Sophie Mackintosh and Daisy Johnson
Moving to the countryside is supposed to fix Clare and Phoebe’s relationship. A fresh start, a change of scenery, a chance to heal after the miscarriage of their baby girl.
Instead, Phoebe feels suffocated. Back in the rural community she ran from at seventeen and unable to face the partner she cannot help, she throws herself into work on the family farm. Clare is a stranger in the village, uninitiated and out of place. She spends her days drifting around the cottage, its walls groaning and shifting as she withdraws into a world inside her head.
One day, wandering through the forest nearby, Clare finds a leveret – her own little Isla. A surrogate to lick and love. A way to feel whole again.
But as Isla grows into an adult hare she becomes wild and unruly – a kicking, biting, scratching creature. With Clare’s grasp on reality growing ever more tenuous, Phoebe begins to question whether Isla is the cure for grief Clare is searching for as she desperately clings on to the woman she loves . . .
With this bruisingly tender love story, debut author Anna Goldreich has conjured a hazy dream of a novel about the fantasies we create as a refuge from grief. The Leveret is a heartbreakingly gorgeous and lyrically haunting hymn to queer love and the power to rebuild from the wreckage of a relationship.
Moving to the countryside is supposed to fix Clare and Phoebe’s relationship. A fresh start, a change of scenery, a chance to heal after the miscarriage of their baby girl.
Instead, Phoebe feels suffocated. Back in the rural community she ran from at seventeen and unable to face the partner she cannot help, she throws herself into work on the family farm. Clare is a stranger in the village, uninitiated and out of place. She spends her days drifting around the cottage, its walls groaning and shifting as she withdraws into a world inside her head.
One day, wandering through the forest nearby, Clare finds a leveret – her own little Isla. A surrogate to lick and love. A way to feel whole again.
But as Isla grows into an adult hare she becomes wild and unruly – a kicking, biting, scratching creature. With Clare’s grasp on reality growing ever more tenuous, Phoebe begins to question whether Isla is the cure for grief Clare is searching for as she desperately clings on to the woman she loves . . .
With this bruisingly tender love story, debut author Anna Goldreich has conjured a hazy dream of a novel about the fantasies we create as a refuge from grief. The Leveret is a heartbreakingly gorgeous and lyrically haunting hymn to queer love and the power to rebuild from the wreckage of a relationship.
205 pages, Kindle Edition
Published June 18, 2026
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 54 reviews
May 2, 2026
I don’t often enjoy stream of consciousness as a narrative device, but it worked really well in this case. The switch to Phoebe’s POV in between Clare’s chapters was refreshing and keeps the story from dragging.
We follow Clare and Phoebe who are trying to deal with the loss of their unborn baby. In her depression Clare latches onto a baby hare (leveret) she finds in a hedgerow. She starts treating it as a sort of surrogate for what she lost. As she spirals more and more into depression we see the despair of her wife Phoebe and the people close to her at their inability to understand or help her.
I am not a mother, nor do I want children of my own, but I was deeply moved by this exploration of maternal grief.
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️.5
We follow Clare and Phoebe who are trying to deal with the loss of their unborn baby. In her depression Clare latches onto a baby hare (leveret) she finds in a hedgerow. She starts treating it as a sort of surrogate for what she lost. As she spirals more and more into depression we see the despair of her wife Phoebe and the people close to her at their inability to understand or help her.
I am not a mother, nor do I want children of my own, but I was deeply moved by this exploration of maternal grief.
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️.5
July 22, 2026
Told in gritty, tender prose, The Leveret describes the aftermath of the death of a premature baby. Phoebe and Clare went through many trials in order for Clare to get pregnant, and the loss of the baby feels like a complete demolition of their hopes. They decide to move to Phoebe's family farm in order to build a new stability, but the move doesn't go as they planned. Clare is isolated, lost in grief, and discovers a baby leveret under a hedge, which she takes home in order to care for her as her own. She adores the leveret and cannot conceive of living without it, but Phoebe can see that Clare is gradually losing her grip on her sanity. Anna Goldreich is not afraid to got to deep and difficult emotional spaces, and to sit with her characters as they struggle to make sense of the world. It's a spiky book that doesn't offer any easy answers, and is suffused with a respect for nature and wild animals. A really moving and assured debut: I recommend it.
October 9, 2026
A surreal, all-consuming story about grief and utter heartbreak. Bleak, beautiful, and downright strange. I absolutely loved every second of it.
Thank you to the publisher for the eARC via Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.
Thank you to the publisher for the eARC via Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.
July 17, 2026
This was a beautifully written book. The different perspectives was cool to read and switch between. Clare and Phoebe are both relatable in their own ways and the dynamic between them was fascinating as they each unravel about different things. There was a lot of symbolism as well, atleast in my interpretation. I received a review copy for free, and I am leaving this review voluntarily.
July 19, 2026
"I hear nothing so maybe I'm part of nothing. I close my eyes, press my knees into my chir and sit in the sound of being alone. Maybe if I try really hard, if I focus, I could become a stone, or a bone, or a piece of chalk suspended in the earth."
Tw: Selfharm, Miscarriage and death
This was a hard read, it was so beautifully written.
I went into this book blind not realising it was focused around queer parenthood and miscarriage, two subjects I dont usually read (or actively avoid).
"She pretends that we left it behind, in the old flat. But we didnt. We bought it here with us."
I genuinely nearly sobbed reading this, the dynamic between the two main characters, Phoebe slowly losing Clare and Clare's decent into isolation and metal declination.
Phoebe's short chapters were heartbreaking, how she was continually going back and forth on her relationship, watching Clare unravelling before her eyes as she cares for leveret as though she is her own child.
Tw: Selfharm, Miscarriage and death
This was a hard read, it was so beautifully written.
I went into this book blind not realising it was focused around queer parenthood and miscarriage, two subjects I dont usually read (or actively avoid).
"She pretends that we left it behind, in the old flat. But we didnt. We bought it here with us."
I genuinely nearly sobbed reading this, the dynamic between the two main characters, Phoebe slowly losing Clare and Clare's decent into isolation and metal declination.
Phoebe's short chapters were heartbreaking, how she was continually going back and forth on her relationship, watching Clare unravelling before her eyes as she cares for leveret as though she is her own child.
August 27, 2026
A really beautiful read, I can't believe it's a debut. A deep exploration of grief, longing for and mourning the loss of something that never existed, but also the loss of someone who exists and is slowly dissolving. Moving, sad, beautiful.
September 4, 2026
A great look at grief, particularly in lesbians. I enjoyed the alternating style of writing depending on whose POV I was reading. I do think that this could have been cut a little shorter, and it's already quite a short read.
Review of advance copy received from NetGalley
Honest Review Provided in Exchange for ARC from NetGalley
This utterly devastating novel by Anna Goldreich is, very possibly, my top book of the year. That isn't to say that it was enjoyable, or fun, or easy to read; it is a monument to grief and loss, to helplessness, to the ability of love to endure through grief. It asks questions to which there are no easy answers - how can we move beyond something irreparable? When parents lose a child, where does all of that love go? She doesn't offer easy answers, because there are none. But we do ultimately arrive at something resembling an answer, something even resembling hope, although the journey there is brutal.
Clare and Phoebe have lost their first and only child to stillbirth. Both are dealing with the unique grief that accompanies late pregnancy loss, and Clare is dealing with the physical trauma to her own body on top of it all. Clare's grief is so all-encompassing that she can barely connect with Phoebe, who desperately wants to reach her partner but is helpless to do so. Watching these two women, who love each other so deeply, become increasingly isolated from one another is almost unbearable.
Spoilers below
When Clare discovers a newborn hare (a leveret), abandoned, in a scene that deliberately evokes childbirth, Clare adopts the hare, names it Isla, and brings it home to care for it. As Isla grows and becomes more wild, a creature of claw and muscle, she becomes physically dangerous to Clare - and what I found particularly devastating was the way that Isla's growth mirrors, in reverse, the loss of Clare and Phoebe's baby. Their daughter died before she ever had the chance to grow; Isla, on the other hand, is alive and growing exactly as she should, but that growth makes her increasingly dangerous to Clare. The baby wounds Clare through her absence, through the life she never got to live. Isla wounds Clare through her presence, through the very fact that she is living and growing.
And Clare cannot let go of either of them. She cannot accept that the baby is gone, and she cannot recognize that letting Isla go is the very thing that loving her requires.
Ultimately, it is Phoebe who must do what Clare cannot. Phoebe, who has been there all along, grieving her own loss while helplessly watching Clare disappear into hers. She lets Isla go, and in doing so, finally gives Clare the chance to see what remains: their baby is gone, Isla is gone, but Phoebe is still here. And the book ends on a hopeful note - with Clare really, for the first time, seeing that truth laid bare, poised toward acceptance.
I can't say enough good things about this devastating, heartbreaking, haunting, gorgeous book. An easy five stars. Will rip your heart out and then gently, quietly return it to your chest. Simply unbelievable.
This utterly devastating novel by Anna Goldreich is, very possibly, my top book of the year. That isn't to say that it was enjoyable, or fun, or easy to read; it is a monument to grief and loss, to helplessness, to the ability of love to endure through grief. It asks questions to which there are no easy answers - how can we move beyond something irreparable? When parents lose a child, where does all of that love go? She doesn't offer easy answers, because there are none. But we do ultimately arrive at something resembling an answer, something even resembling hope, although the journey there is brutal.
Clare and Phoebe have lost their first and only child to stillbirth. Both are dealing with the unique grief that accompanies late pregnancy loss, and Clare is dealing with the physical trauma to her own body on top of it all. Clare's grief is so all-encompassing that she can barely connect with Phoebe, who desperately wants to reach her partner but is helpless to do so. Watching these two women, who love each other so deeply, become increasingly isolated from one another is almost unbearable.
Spoilers below
When Clare discovers a newborn hare (a leveret), abandoned, in a scene that deliberately evokes childbirth, Clare adopts the hare, names it Isla, and brings it home to care for it. As Isla grows and becomes more wild, a creature of claw and muscle, she becomes physically dangerous to Clare - and what I found particularly devastating was the way that Isla's growth mirrors, in reverse, the loss of Clare and Phoebe's baby. Their daughter died before she ever had the chance to grow; Isla, on the other hand, is alive and growing exactly as she should, but that growth makes her increasingly dangerous to Clare. The baby wounds Clare through her absence, through the life she never got to live. Isla wounds Clare through her presence, through the very fact that she is living and growing.
And Clare cannot let go of either of them. She cannot accept that the baby is gone, and she cannot recognize that letting Isla go is the very thing that loving her requires.
Ultimately, it is Phoebe who must do what Clare cannot. Phoebe, who has been there all along, grieving her own loss while helplessly watching Clare disappear into hers. She lets Isla go, and in doing so, finally gives Clare the chance to see what remains: their baby is gone, Isla is gone, but Phoebe is still here. And the book ends on a hopeful note - with Clare really, for the first time, seeing that truth laid bare, poised toward acceptance.
I can't say enough good things about this devastating, heartbreaking, haunting, gorgeous book. An easy five stars. Will rip your heart out and then gently, quietly return it to your chest. Simply unbelievable.
October 16, 2026
Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for providing me with an ARC in exchange for an honest review.
An astoundingly beautiful, achingly devastating debut novel.
After the loss of their baby girl, Clare and Phoebe move to the countryside in hopes of finding their way back to one another. While Phoebe copes by keeping busy with the family farm, Clare retreats from life further, estranged to herself and the world she once knew. When Clare discovers a baby hare in the woods, she pours all of the love and longing she carries into caring for the creature as though it is her own. But just as the hare grows more wild, the distance between Clare and Phoebe expands, and they must navigate the deep sea of grief before it threatens to swallow them whole.
The Leveret is told through a thoughtfully executed dual POV, giving Clare and Phoebe distinct voices and inner worlds. Both characters feel deeply human and rendered with such tenderness and intimacy that it’s impossible not to empathize with their experience, differing as they sometimes may be. Clare and Phoebe’s relationship (and especially in regards to their queerness) felt authentically drawn in its complexity and emotional depth.
But what makes this novel especially unique and powerful is the stream of consciousness writing style. The prose flows like poetry without veering into overwrought. It’s natural, unguarded, vulnerable, and captures the strange disorientating nature of grief in a way that ordinarily feels difficult to describe. This is not a novel of dramatic revelations or tidy emotional resolutions, but rather an introspective exploration of the many ways grief can shape our relationships with ourselves and the people we love. I found it particularly incredible how Goldreich has managed to capture an experience that is so deeply personal to these characters and so universally resonant to the reader as well.
Especially for fans of Julia Armfield or readers who are drawn to hauntingly intimate explorations of grief and loss, this one is sure to stun and stay with you well beyond the page.
An astoundingly beautiful, achingly devastating debut novel.
After the loss of their baby girl, Clare and Phoebe move to the countryside in hopes of finding their way back to one another. While Phoebe copes by keeping busy with the family farm, Clare retreats from life further, estranged to herself and the world she once knew. When Clare discovers a baby hare in the woods, she pours all of the love and longing she carries into caring for the creature as though it is her own. But just as the hare grows more wild, the distance between Clare and Phoebe expands, and they must navigate the deep sea of grief before it threatens to swallow them whole.
The Leveret is told through a thoughtfully executed dual POV, giving Clare and Phoebe distinct voices and inner worlds. Both characters feel deeply human and rendered with such tenderness and intimacy that it’s impossible not to empathize with their experience, differing as they sometimes may be. Clare and Phoebe’s relationship (and especially in regards to their queerness) felt authentically drawn in its complexity and emotional depth.
But what makes this novel especially unique and powerful is the stream of consciousness writing style. The prose flows like poetry without veering into overwrought. It’s natural, unguarded, vulnerable, and captures the strange disorientating nature of grief in a way that ordinarily feels difficult to describe. This is not a novel of dramatic revelations or tidy emotional resolutions, but rather an introspective exploration of the many ways grief can shape our relationships with ourselves and the people we love. I found it particularly incredible how Goldreich has managed to capture an experience that is so deeply personal to these characters and so universally resonant to the reader as well.
Especially for fans of Julia Armfield or readers who are drawn to hauntingly intimate explorations of grief and loss, this one is sure to stun and stay with you well beyond the page.
July 10, 2026
This book broke my heart a little and stitched it back together again.
I didn't expect to have such a visceral response to this book; obviously we cover the topics of grief and loss here, but more than anything The Leveret explores the depth of love, and the complexity and difficulty of loving someone and the baggage that they carry.
In a relatively short novel, I was surprised by how deeply we get to dissect each of our characters: despite the very short second-person chapters we get from Phoebe (that very much pulled at my heartstrings), I found it incredibly touching to hear snippets of her experience as a lesbian, a butch at that, and then in contrary Clare's chapters somewhat in response that invoke a sense of dissociation and distress. The queerness in this book felt really personal and my heart dropped in my chest reading some of these passages. I felt very deeply for both these characters, having learnt so much about their relationship and their journey to this point in their lives - both were so incredibly real and raw, and not perfect at all but just authentic. The slightly haunting but charming setting for this book was also so well suiting (and very British).
Grief is obviously a huge topic in this book though, and although I was initially drawn to it because of the premise of a woman transferring her grief of losing a child to a baby hare, I found the continued heaviness of the grief - the way it lived and breathed through every action in both their lives and beyond - to be almost spiritual, it was extremely visceral and haunting and in every word they spoke. I'm not usually that torn by topics like this but the loss in this book very clearly echoes throughout its bones.
This book made me surprisingly emotional, not just at the grief of it but at the recognition of queerness and hurt and love and being a girl and not being a girl and the complications of life. Overall The Leveret was such a melancholy yet beautiful read, and I cannot wait to see what Anna Goldreich writes next.
I didn't expect to have such a visceral response to this book; obviously we cover the topics of grief and loss here, but more than anything The Leveret explores the depth of love, and the complexity and difficulty of loving someone and the baggage that they carry.
In a relatively short novel, I was surprised by how deeply we get to dissect each of our characters: despite the very short second-person chapters we get from Phoebe (that very much pulled at my heartstrings), I found it incredibly touching to hear snippets of her experience as a lesbian, a butch at that, and then in contrary Clare's chapters somewhat in response that invoke a sense of dissociation and distress. The queerness in this book felt really personal and my heart dropped in my chest reading some of these passages. I felt very deeply for both these characters, having learnt so much about their relationship and their journey to this point in their lives - both were so incredibly real and raw, and not perfect at all but just authentic. The slightly haunting but charming setting for this book was also so well suiting (and very British).
Grief is obviously a huge topic in this book though, and although I was initially drawn to it because of the premise of a woman transferring her grief of losing a child to a baby hare, I found the continued heaviness of the grief - the way it lived and breathed through every action in both their lives and beyond - to be almost spiritual, it was extremely visceral and haunting and in every word they spoke. I'm not usually that torn by topics like this but the loss in this book very clearly echoes throughout its bones.
This book made me surprisingly emotional, not just at the grief of it but at the recognition of queerness and hurt and love and being a girl and not being a girl and the complications of life. Overall The Leveret was such a melancholy yet beautiful read, and I cannot wait to see what Anna Goldreich writes next.
June 29, 2026
Thank you NetGalley for a early access copy in exchange for a review. All opinions are my own.
Firstly I understand why this book isn’t for everyone, the writing may not suit everyone with the constant stream of thoughts and consciousness, it was a bit intense at times and I get that people may feel like it is disjointed but I loved it, I can’t think of any other way you could have written this better or different.
How this book deals with such a devastating topic and how the pain transfers to a leveret is delicate but equally devastating in a different way. It takes something unbelievably heavy and transforms it into something strangely alive. It shows that grief doesn’t disappear it shifts into a different kind of grief a fragile kind that I thought was very moving.
I was also really struck by how drastically different the experience feels from Phoebe’s point of view. While Clare’s perspective is this all consuming and feverish like, Phoebe’s offers a grounding contrast, more measured, perhaps more outwardly focused, yet still carrying its own quiet weight of shared sorrow and love.
This shift in viewpoint adds a lot of emotional depth and shows the ripple effects of loss across their relationship in a way that felt authentic and layered.
Overall, I really enjoyed this. It’s a short book that somehow manages to feel expansive, and I thought it was a powerful, haunting debut. The prose may not be for every taste, but if you can surrender to its rhythm, it delivers something truly special.
Firstly I understand why this book isn’t for everyone, the writing may not suit everyone with the constant stream of thoughts and consciousness, it was a bit intense at times and I get that people may feel like it is disjointed but I loved it, I can’t think of any other way you could have written this better or different.
How this book deals with such a devastating topic and how the pain transfers to a leveret is delicate but equally devastating in a different way. It takes something unbelievably heavy and transforms it into something strangely alive. It shows that grief doesn’t disappear it shifts into a different kind of grief a fragile kind that I thought was very moving.
I was also really struck by how drastically different the experience feels from Phoebe’s point of view. While Clare’s perspective is this all consuming and feverish like, Phoebe’s offers a grounding contrast, more measured, perhaps more outwardly focused, yet still carrying its own quiet weight of shared sorrow and love.
This shift in viewpoint adds a lot of emotional depth and shows the ripple effects of loss across their relationship in a way that felt authentic and layered.
Overall, I really enjoyed this. It’s a short book that somehow manages to feel expansive, and I thought it was a powerful, haunting debut. The prose may not be for every taste, but if you can surrender to its rhythm, it delivers something truly special.
August 16, 2026
Oh wow 4 stars????
This was such a force to read. Great way how each chapter for Clare & Phoebe was written to reflect the way they are dealing with their grief and just the way Clare just sadly began to sink even more into a grief spiral and the way she tried to cope with everything by using Isla.
This was such a force to read. Great way how each chapter for Clare & Phoebe was written to reflect the way they are dealing with their grief and just the way Clare just sadly began to sink even more into a grief spiral and the way she tried to cope with everything by using Isla.
August 29, 2026
3.5 rounded up ⭐️
This took me a while to get through bc it was kind of a bummer BUT I liked a lot about it 🤩👍
This took me a while to get through bc it was kind of a bummer BUT I liked a lot about it 🤩👍
October 3, 2026
Beautifully written and devastating,, I’ll be thinking about this one for a while
Thank you NetGalley and Bloomsbury Publishing for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
Thank you NetGalley and Bloomsbury Publishing for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
August 23, 2026
really beautiful
September 15, 2026
The Leveret is a literary and heavily introspective novel that focuses on a lesbian couple, Clare and Phoebe, who move to the countryside after the loss of their baby. Clare, who had been the one carrying the child, finds a baby hare (a leveret) near their home, and begins to raise it as a stand-in. The novel is like a queer and less gothic version of Starve Acre.
My favourite part of the novel was learning about Clare and Phoebe’s relationship. Through flashback, we see the development of their romance up to the point of wanting to have a child together. I enjoyed learning about them as they learned about each other, and seeing Clare’s experience of self-discovery and coming out as a late bloomer. I did, however, think that Phoebe’s gender identity was a fascinating detail that was left mostly unexplored.
I thought the representation of grief was deft, and certainly the most interesting part of the story. IVF adds another layer to the difficulties of losing a pregnancy, because not only is it emotionally devastating, it means that a long time preparing and money spent come to nothing, something that feels very unfair when heterosexual couples can conceive at no cost. The lack of understanding that the straight world has for IVF means that sapphic couples might find themselves excluded from the support available for those experiencing a loss.
Because the depiction of loss was so realistic, I almost thought the inclusion of the hare was unnecessary because the semi-surreality of it distracted from how emotionally intelligent the rest was. It only made me more frustrated with the characters, at Clare for pushing away those around her and at Phoebe and their families for enabling it for so long (especially allowing her to name it Isla and giving her baby things for it—that should have been an immediate no). I’m not suggesting these reactions were unrealistic for people dealing with something as difficult as grief, but it meant I struggled to focus on that experience because I was busy being annoyed with them all.
I also struggled to understand the conclusion: as soon as Isla is gone, Clare and Phoebe come back together. They remember that what they have is each other, and that the bond should not be broken apart by trauma, but the events of the rest of the novel didn’t seem conducive to this. Phoebe thinks multiple times of leaving Clare and starting over, while Clare wonders if their relationship will ever go back to how it was. She projects her feelings of insecurity onto Phoebe, imagines that Phoebe thinks her body isn’t enough because of the miscarriage, something that never seems to be resolved. Maybe Clare will go to therapy and recover after the novel ends, but the sudden conclusion didn’t give me the resolution I was looking for.
Overall, I thought this was a very interesting concept in which some things worked and some didn’t. It was beautifully written, although also frustrating. It made me emotional in a variety of ways. While this wasn’t my favourite thing ever, it was impressive for a debut, and I will certainly read whatever Goldreich writes next.
Thank you to NetGalley and Penguin for providing me with an ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review.
My favourite part of the novel was learning about Clare and Phoebe’s relationship. Through flashback, we see the development of their romance up to the point of wanting to have a child together. I enjoyed learning about them as they learned about each other, and seeing Clare’s experience of self-discovery and coming out as a late bloomer. I did, however, think that Phoebe’s gender identity was a fascinating detail that was left mostly unexplored.
I thought the representation of grief was deft, and certainly the most interesting part of the story. IVF adds another layer to the difficulties of losing a pregnancy, because not only is it emotionally devastating, it means that a long time preparing and money spent come to nothing, something that feels very unfair when heterosexual couples can conceive at no cost. The lack of understanding that the straight world has for IVF means that sapphic couples might find themselves excluded from the support available for those experiencing a loss.
Because the depiction of loss was so realistic, I almost thought the inclusion of the hare was unnecessary because the semi-surreality of it distracted from how emotionally intelligent the rest was. It only made me more frustrated with the characters, at Clare for pushing away those around her and at Phoebe and their families for enabling it for so long (especially allowing her to name it Isla and giving her baby things for it—that should have been an immediate no). I’m not suggesting these reactions were unrealistic for people dealing with something as difficult as grief, but it meant I struggled to focus on that experience because I was busy being annoyed with them all.
I also struggled to understand the conclusion: as soon as Isla is gone, Clare and Phoebe come back together. They remember that what they have is each other, and that the bond should not be broken apart by trauma, but the events of the rest of the novel didn’t seem conducive to this. Phoebe thinks multiple times of leaving Clare and starting over, while Clare wonders if their relationship will ever go back to how it was. She projects her feelings of insecurity onto Phoebe, imagines that Phoebe thinks her body isn’t enough because of the miscarriage, something that never seems to be resolved. Maybe Clare will go to therapy and recover after the novel ends, but the sudden conclusion didn’t give me the resolution I was looking for.
Overall, I thought this was a very interesting concept in which some things worked and some didn’t. It was beautifully written, although also frustrating. It made me emotional in a variety of ways. While this wasn’t my favourite thing ever, it was impressive for a debut, and I will certainly read whatever Goldreich writes next.
Thank you to NetGalley and Penguin for providing me with an ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review.
Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
4.5 rounded up because I can't justify not giving this one 5 stars.
People often like to point out how much progress society has made in terms of acceptance of the LGBT community. "Everyone is gay now!" "Why do they have to force these characters everywhere?" And it's true, that we've got gay characters on prime time television, and romance novels galore, but there's still a lot of catching up to do. I've been reading queer literature for fifteen years now, and once you tire of the "meet cutes" and the devastating coming of age stories, the flood of books slows to a trickle.
Anna Goldreich's The Leveret tells the story of two women coming to terms with losing their baby girl to a miscarriage, with alternating points of view between Claire, whose grief has become an all-consuming state of being, and Phoebe, who feels like she has lost not just a child, but also her partner and her relationship. When Claire finds a baby leveret and begins treating her like the daughter she's lost, her grip on reality slips further away.
It's a heartbreaking story. Claire's grief is so convincingly written that I often felt I had to put the book down to process, and yet I could not stop reading, and consumed the entire book over a single weekend. When Phoebe narrates, it is glaringly obvious that Claire is slowly going insane, and yet when Claire speaks it feels impossible to see things any other way. Goldreich makes Claire's pain a physical thing; "she was so angry, and I might have been angry too, but there was nowhere to put it". In fact, on every page, Goldreich's choice of words is exquisite. "And in a panic I lied, told her we were on our way, but she knew I had lied because she called me on the landline."
The Leveret captures an experience that has been told a thousand times before, but rarely, if ever, about a same-sex couple. It's just a drop in the ocean of stories waiting to be told about people who have really just begun to have their stories told, but little drops of water make the mighty ocean.
Thanks to NetGalley for the ARC!
People often like to point out how much progress society has made in terms of acceptance of the LGBT community. "Everyone is gay now!" "Why do they have to force these characters everywhere?" And it's true, that we've got gay characters on prime time television, and romance novels galore, but there's still a lot of catching up to do. I've been reading queer literature for fifteen years now, and once you tire of the "meet cutes" and the devastating coming of age stories, the flood of books slows to a trickle.
Anna Goldreich's The Leveret tells the story of two women coming to terms with losing their baby girl to a miscarriage, with alternating points of view between Claire, whose grief has become an all-consuming state of being, and Phoebe, who feels like she has lost not just a child, but also her partner and her relationship. When Claire finds a baby leveret and begins treating her like the daughter she's lost, her grip on reality slips further away.
It's a heartbreaking story. Claire's grief is so convincingly written that I often felt I had to put the book down to process, and yet I could not stop reading, and consumed the entire book over a single weekend. When Phoebe narrates, it is glaringly obvious that Claire is slowly going insane, and yet when Claire speaks it feels impossible to see things any other way. Goldreich makes Claire's pain a physical thing; "she was so angry, and I might have been angry too, but there was nowhere to put it". In fact, on every page, Goldreich's choice of words is exquisite. "And in a panic I lied, told her we were on our way, but she knew I had lied because she called me on the landline."
The Leveret captures an experience that has been told a thousand times before, but rarely, if ever, about a same-sex couple. It's just a drop in the ocean of stories waiting to be told about people who have really just begun to have their stories told, but little drops of water make the mighty ocean.
Thanks to NetGalley for the ARC!
Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
I understand the intention: to show grief at its most consuming, its most irrational. But I was never quite able to suspend my disbelief enough to go with it. Instead of feeling immersed, I felt pushed out, watching it become more extreme rather than more affecting.
We follow Clare and Phoebe, a couple trying for a baby and losing it, over and over again. After a final loss — even after carrying to full term — their shared grief fractures in two: Phoebe, trying to piece herself back together in quiet, deliberate ways, and Clare, who seems to unravel entirely under the weight of it.
I found myself clinging to Phoebe’s chapters for dear life, if only for a sense of clarity. In theory, the dual perspective offers two ways of understanding loss — one grounded, one all-consuming — but in practice, Clare’s chapters became increasingly difficult to sit with.
When Clare discovers a dead badger and begins to map it onto her loss, it’s unsettling but still (somewhat) controlled. Not long after, she finds the leveret, and begins to treat it as a surrogate for the child she never had — quite literally breastfeeding it. From there, her voice fragments, each line slipping further into something disjointed and, at times, borderline nonsensical.
I can see the comparison to Julia Armfield, and I’d tentatively recommend it to readers who enjoy that kind of surreal, body-focused writing — but with a fair warning. This leans heavily into excess, and for me, it tipped too far into madness to be fully convincing.
We follow Clare and Phoebe, a couple trying for a baby and losing it, over and over again. After a final loss — even after carrying to full term — their shared grief fractures in two: Phoebe, trying to piece herself back together in quiet, deliberate ways, and Clare, who seems to unravel entirely under the weight of it.
I found myself clinging to Phoebe’s chapters for dear life, if only for a sense of clarity. In theory, the dual perspective offers two ways of understanding loss — one grounded, one all-consuming — but in practice, Clare’s chapters became increasingly difficult to sit with.
When Clare discovers a dead badger and begins to map it onto her loss, it’s unsettling but still (somewhat) controlled. Not long after, she finds the leveret, and begins to treat it as a surrogate for the child she never had — quite literally breastfeeding it. From there, her voice fragments, each line slipping further into something disjointed and, at times, borderline nonsensical.
I can see the comparison to Julia Armfield, and I’d tentatively recommend it to readers who enjoy that kind of surreal, body-focused writing — but with a fair warning. This leans heavily into excess, and for me, it tipped too far into madness to be fully convincing.
Review of advance copy received from NetGalley
A dark, disturbing exposition of grief and its effects on a relationship. The novel is narrated by Phoebe and Clare following the loss of their daughter very late in pregnancy. They move to Phoebe's grandmother's cottage near the family farm to escape the memories but it is clear that Clare, who carried their daughter, needs far more than a change of scenery to feel whole again.
Phoebe's chapters are more structured and her coping strategy seems to be more focused on distraction, to the point where she fails to fully appreciate the depths of Clare's despair. Clare's chapters, on the other hand, slowly descend into madness as she adopts a young leveret which she proceeds to treat as a surrogate for the child she has lost. It is heartbreaking to read how the couple drift farther out of reach of each other due to their inability to drag themselves out of their own grief in order to reach out to each other.
I personally felt myself more aligned with Clare, though I can also see that her all-consuming grief left little space for Phoebe's pain which inevitably widens the chasm that has opened up between them. It was a huge relief when the novel ended with the women reconnecting, Phoebe having finally seen that Clare's despair has reached a depth that she is completely unable to fight her way out of.
This is heavy reading. Thankfully, it isn't too long of a novel as I don't think I could have handled much more.
Thanks to NetGalley and Penguin General UK for the ARC. All opinions are my own.
Phoebe's chapters are more structured and her coping strategy seems to be more focused on distraction, to the point where she fails to fully appreciate the depths of Clare's despair. Clare's chapters, on the other hand, slowly descend into madness as she adopts a young leveret which she proceeds to treat as a surrogate for the child she has lost. It is heartbreaking to read how the couple drift farther out of reach of each other due to their inability to drag themselves out of their own grief in order to reach out to each other.
I personally felt myself more aligned with Clare, though I can also see that her all-consuming grief left little space for Phoebe's pain which inevitably widens the chasm that has opened up between them. It was a huge relief when the novel ended with the women reconnecting, Phoebe having finally seen that Clare's despair has reached a depth that she is completely unable to fight her way out of.
This is heavy reading. Thankfully, it isn't too long of a novel as I don't think I could have handled much more.
Thanks to NetGalley and Penguin General UK for the ARC. All opinions are my own.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
June 29, 2026
Thank you to Penguin Books for sending me an advance copy of this book.
Read my full review here.
‘She’s a beautiful thing,/a mystical creature/strange/folkloric/terrifying,’ Phoebe, one of the protagonists of The Leveret, thinks. ‘She’ is the titular leveret, or young hare, who wanders into the life of Phoebe and her partner Clare when they move to the countryside.
But this is no Beatrix Potter fable. Clare is traumatised from a recent miscarriage, and fixates on adopting the hare, which she names Isla, as a means of coping. Goldreich narrates this story of grief and obsession in two distinctive styles—conventional prose for Clare, fragmented free-verse for Phoebe—that evocatively delve into its tragic heart. ‘If I swallowed this earth, took it down in big gulps, would it fill up the hollow of my belly?’ Clare wonders as she walks through the woods. ‘Maybe, inside the swallowed earth, there would be a seed, so out of my mouth I would grow a tree, and I’d be full of something alive.’
Read more here...
‘She’s a beautiful thing,/a mystical creature/strange/folkloric/terrifying,’ Phoebe, one of the protagonists of The Leveret, thinks. ‘She’ is the titular leveret, or young hare, who wanders into the life of Phoebe and her partner Clare when they move to the countryside.
But this is no Beatrix Potter fable. Clare is traumatised from a recent miscarriage, and fixates on adopting the hare, which she names Isla, as a means of coping. Goldreich narrates this story of grief and obsession in two distinctive styles—conventional prose for Clare, fragmented free-verse for Phoebe—that evocatively delve into its tragic heart. ‘If I swallowed this earth, took it down in big gulps, would it fill up the hollow of my belly?’ Clare wonders as she walks through the woods. ‘Maybe, inside the swallowed earth, there would be a seed, so out of my mouth I would grow a tree, and I’d be full of something alive.’
Read more here...
October 17, 2026
Review of advanced copy received from NetGalley
The Leveret is a haunting and deeply unsettling exploration of grief, motherhood, and the complexities of human attachment. Anna Goldreich creates an atmosphere of quiet unease that permeates the novel, making even the most ordinary moments feel slightly ominous.
One of the novel’s greatest strengths is its intertwining of nature and the body, using the natural world to explore grief, maternal instinct, and the boundaries between the human and animal experience. The alternating narratives of Clare and Phoebe offer contrasting perspectives on loss, highlighting how differently two people can experience the same tragedy.
Goldreich’s prose is lyrical, evocative, and at times almost visceral. Her writing is both delicate and deeply uncomfortable, beautifully capturing the emotional and psychological unraveling of her characters. The novel’s fragmented, poetic qualities further contribute to its dreamlike and disorienting atmosphere.
Short but emotionally dense, The Leveret is a beautifully written and quietly disturbing novel that lingers long after the final page.
The Leveret is a haunting and deeply unsettling exploration of grief, motherhood, and the complexities of human attachment. Anna Goldreich creates an atmosphere of quiet unease that permeates the novel, making even the most ordinary moments feel slightly ominous.
One of the novel’s greatest strengths is its intertwining of nature and the body, using the natural world to explore grief, maternal instinct, and the boundaries between the human and animal experience. The alternating narratives of Clare and Phoebe offer contrasting perspectives on loss, highlighting how differently two people can experience the same tragedy.
Goldreich’s prose is lyrical, evocative, and at times almost visceral. Her writing is both delicate and deeply uncomfortable, beautifully capturing the emotional and psychological unraveling of her characters. The novel’s fragmented, poetic qualities further contribute to its dreamlike and disorienting atmosphere.
Short but emotionally dense, The Leveret is a beautifully written and quietly disturbing novel that lingers long after the final page.
Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
3.5 stars rounded up.
A grieving couple move to the countryside to heal, but begin to spiral and drift further apart after the discovery of a leveret.
This was tremendously raw and very poetic in its delivery. Clare’s POV in particular was almost overwhelming with her pain and delusion. It was almost a relief to return to Phoebe, who was also just trying to survive.
The idea of the leveret was unique and at times uncomfortable to sit with. Clare’s mental state was laid fully bare, her grief given a physical form. Even so, I struggled with her. Something about her just didn’t resonate with me. Where I expected to feel sympathy and understanding, I felt mostly nothing, or at times a growing mild annoyance. I can understand why, but her behaviour felt too strange and excessive at times.
Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for the ARC in exchange for an honest review
A grieving couple move to the countryside to heal, but begin to spiral and drift further apart after the discovery of a leveret.
This was tremendously raw and very poetic in its delivery. Clare’s POV in particular was almost overwhelming with her pain and delusion. It was almost a relief to return to Phoebe, who was also just trying to survive.
The idea of the leveret was unique and at times uncomfortable to sit with. Clare’s mental state was laid fully bare, her grief given a physical form. Even so, I struggled with her. Something about her just didn’t resonate with me. Where I expected to feel sympathy and understanding, I felt mostly nothing, or at times a growing mild annoyance. I can understand why, but her behaviour felt too strange and excessive at times.
Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for the ARC in exchange for an honest review
June 22, 2026
UK Paperback sent by publisher. US edition out February 2, 2027.
Goldreich's debut novel pulled me between stream of consciousness and prose, detailing the grief that Phoebe and Claire share after the loss of their pregnancy, and their divergence when Claire takes in a baby hare and names her Isla.
Claire's rupture in infancy echoes Edelman's figure of the child, while Phoebe's prose leans into the struggle of the death drive and queer parenting. Isla takes on Claire's phantasm and shatters Phoebe's "natural", all the while hidden away in the woods.
I read this entire book in one sitting, which gave it an almost meditative quality. The push and pull of the form reeled me back in and tore me apart.
4.5/5 stars.
Thank you Anna & Ruby for the ARC/UK edition!
Goldreich's debut novel pulled me between stream of consciousness and prose, detailing the grief that Phoebe and Claire share after the loss of their pregnancy, and their divergence when Claire takes in a baby hare and names her Isla.
Claire's rupture in infancy echoes Edelman's figure of the child, while Phoebe's prose leans into the struggle of the death drive and queer parenting. Isla takes on Claire's phantasm and shatters Phoebe's "natural", all the while hidden away in the woods.
I read this entire book in one sitting, which gave it an almost meditative quality. The push and pull of the form reeled me back in and tore me apart.
4.5/5 stars.
Thank you Anna & Ruby for the ARC/UK edition!
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
The Leveret follows Phoebe and Clare as they move to the countryside after the loss of their baby. Stylistically I like how this book is written, however saying this it did take me a while to get into the flow of it. Cutting between both characters perspectives, you get an interesting insight to how each of them are dealing with their grief and readjusting to life as they know it. Tensions change when Clare finds Isla, a leveret, on a walk one day and decides to bring it up as her own. I think it was a fascinating exploration of grief and enjoyed the character development throughout. Thanks to NetGalley and the publishers for access to this book.
Review of advance copy received from Edelweiss+
Clare and Phoebe are buckling under the weight of a profound loss when they move to Phoebe's childhood village and take up residence in her grandmother's cottage. For Clare, the isolating shock of a miscarriage stalks her into their new life. Becoming increasingly feral and unkempt, she adopts a leveret, pouring all the devotion welling up inside for her dead child into the care of this wild hare. Anna Goldreich exquisitely captures the emotional cataclysm of life-altering grief while telling a story about anguish, transformation, and ardent queer love. The Leveret is full of heart and heartbreak. A stunning debut.
Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
I reaaaally loved this! The Leveret follows a lesbian couple, Clare and Phoebe, who relocate to the countryside after suffering the loss of their baby girl.
It has such eerie and immersive prose. We get both Clare and Phoebe's POVs, and it was so interesting to flip between their individual perspectives on how they’re both processing grief, adjusting to their new environment while rebuilding their relationship and the introduction of Isla, a leveret Clare finds on a walk and wants to care for.
A stunning debut. Thank you to the publisher & NetGalley for an early review copy!
It has such eerie and immersive prose. We get both Clare and Phoebe's POVs, and it was so interesting to flip between their individual perspectives on how they’re both processing grief, adjusting to their new environment while rebuilding their relationship and the introduction of Isla, a leveret Clare finds on a walk and wants to care for.
A stunning debut. Thank you to the publisher & NetGalley for an early review copy!
Review of advance copy received from Publisher
So sad and haunting. This is about baby loss and being consumed by grief. Clare finds a leveret and transfers all her aching love to it, but of course it is no substitution for a real baby.
Her grief also manifests itself in loss of personal care and anorexia. Phoebe, her wife, feels the loss of the baby deeply too, but doesn’t know how to help Clare through her all-consuming grief.
Told from two points of view, I liked the alternating chapters between Clare and Phoebe. It was almost sparse, but lyrical prose.
Her grief also manifests itself in loss of personal care and anorexia. Phoebe, her wife, feels the loss of the baby deeply too, but doesn’t know how to help Clare through her all-consuming grief.
Told from two points of view, I liked the alternating chapters between Clare and Phoebe. It was almost sparse, but lyrical prose.
Review of advance copy received from Publisher
4,5
This is so sad, it almost had me in tears... It's heartbreaking to read how Phoebe and Clare are grieving -each in her own way- and the difficulty of communication and connection when something awful has happenend. The writing is beautiful and I like how Goldreich gave each character a specific voice/sound that is completely her own. I highly recommend this debut!
Thank you Hamish Hamilton for the advanced reading copy.
This is so sad, it almost had me in tears... It's heartbreaking to read how Phoebe and Clare are grieving -each in her own way- and the difficulty of communication and connection when something awful has happenend. The writing is beautiful and I like how Goldreich gave each character a specific voice/sound that is completely her own. I highly recommend this debut!
Thank you Hamish Hamilton for the advanced reading copy.
Review of advance copy
The story was beautiful, tender, heartbreaking and very human. The prose, although beautiful, took me out of the story at times. A little too distracting. I found myself thinking, at least for the first half of the book, that it would work better as a collection of poetry and that would be better suited for this author. The writing was reminiscent of tumblr web-weaving tender literary style. The characters were well developed though and felt so deeply real to me. More of a 3.5 rating than a 3.
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