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Very Cold People
The much-anticipated debut novel from the author of 300 Arguments: a shattering account of growing up and out of the suffocating constraints of small-town America.
For Ruthie, the frozen, snow-padded town of Waitsfield, Massachusetts, is all she has ever known. But this is no picturesque New England. Once "home of the bean and the cod, where Lowells speak only to Cabots, and Cabots speak only to God," by the tail-end of the twentieth century it is an unforgiving place, awash with secrets.
Very Cold People tells Ruthie's story, through her eyes: from the shame handed down through her immigrant forebears and indomitable mother, to the violences endured by her high school friends, each suffering a fate worse than the last. For Ruthie, Waitsfield is a place to be survived--and a girl like her would be lucky to get out alive.
Part social commentary and part Gothic horror, Very Cold People is an ungilded portrait of girlhood at the crossroads of history and social class. In her eagerly anticipated debut novel, Sarah Manguso has produced a masterwork on how very cold places make for very cold people, and a pitiless look at an all-American whiteness.
For Ruthie, the frozen, snow-padded town of Waitsfield, Massachusetts, is all she has ever known. But this is no picturesque New England. Once "home of the bean and the cod, where Lowells speak only to Cabots, and Cabots speak only to God," by the tail-end of the twentieth century it is an unforgiving place, awash with secrets.
Very Cold People tells Ruthie's story, through her eyes: from the shame handed down through her immigrant forebears and indomitable mother, to the violences endured by her high school friends, each suffering a fate worse than the last. For Ruthie, Waitsfield is a place to be survived--and a girl like her would be lucky to get out alive.
Part social commentary and part Gothic horror, Very Cold People is an ungilded portrait of girlhood at the crossroads of history and social class. In her eagerly anticipated debut novel, Sarah Manguso has produced a masterwork on how very cold places make for very cold people, and a pitiless look at an all-American whiteness.
208 pages, Kindle Edition
First published February 8, 2022
607 people are currently reading
24528 people want to read
About the author
Sarah Manguso
26 books984 followersSarah Manguso is the author of nine books, most recently the novel LIARS.
Her previous novel, VERY COLD PEOPLE, was longlisted for the Wingate Literary Prize, the PEN/Jean Stein Book Award, and the Mark Twain American Voice in Literature Award.
Her other books include a story collection, two poetry collections, and four acclaimed works of nonfiction: 300 ARGUMENTS, ONGOINGNESS, THE GUARDIANS, and THE TWO KINDS OF DECAY.
Her work has been recognized by an American Academy of Arts and Letters Literature Award, a Guggenheim Fellowship, and the Rome Prize. Her writing has been translated into thirteen languages.
She grew up in Massachusetts and now lives in Los Angeles.
Her previous novel, VERY COLD PEOPLE, was longlisted for the Wingate Literary Prize, the PEN/Jean Stein Book Award, and the Mark Twain American Voice in Literature Award.
Her other books include a story collection, two poetry collections, and four acclaimed works of nonfiction: 300 ARGUMENTS, ONGOINGNESS, THE GUARDIANS, and THE TWO KINDS OF DECAY.
Her work has been recognized by an American Academy of Arts and Letters Literature Award, a Guggenheim Fellowship, and the Rome Prize. Her writing has been translated into thirteen languages.
She grew up in Massachusetts and now lives in Los Angeles.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 1,031 reviews
March 8, 2022
We had a very cold and snowy January and February in upstate New York, and I’m pretty tired of it. In fact, after worshiping the sun and temperatures in the 70s the other day, I was disgusted to see a layer of snow on the ground yet again this morning. I’ll admit it looks pretty when it first falls, but before long the plows come through and there are ugly, gray piles of it everywhere. One morning I was running late and was annoyed to have to deal with that damn layer of frost on the car windshield. I soon discovered this wasn’t your usual car frost, however. It was a beautiful, feathery pattern. I hated to scrape it off! So I carefully rubbed away a little circle of it so I could see just barely well enough to make it to work safely. That’s exactly what I thought about when I first started reading Very Cold People. I imagined a delicate layer of that hoar frost covering the jacket of this book. It was cold and sparse, but still something wonderful and poetic.
“I remember the metallic smell of it in the air before it fell. The pale blue of it on a clear morning. The soft fuh of it falling. The powder of the coldest days, too cold to melt, squeaking at the boot. White wet snow squeaking against my teeth, melting clear in the heat of my mouth.”
Before you nod your head and think you have this novel figured out, however, I should warn you that it’s not all pretty writing, even if it is sometimes vividly descriptive. Manguso’s prose is not weighed down with sentimentality; in fact, it’s quite dark. There are phrases like this: “The auditorium was like the inside of a slaughtered animal, all oxblood paint and maroon velveteen.” And this: “The background of my life was white and angry, with violent weather.” This is a young woman’s coming of age story during the 1980s in a small town called Waitsfield, on the outskirts of Boston. Like many suburban towns, there are the wealthy and the not wealthy, and those lines are clearly drawn. Ruthie is one of the latter. Her parents are frugal. She drinks powdered milk and the books on the bookcase are snatched from the swap shop. They’re never cracked open. Even when they get a bit of money, they don’t know how to handle it, living much the same as they did before. There is a negative aura surrounding this family and the people of Waitsfield. It simmers just below the surface and creeps up on the reader gradually, just as it does to Ruthie.
“All of these Waitsfield girls together, with their burdens. Imagine twenty of them in a room, all day, thinking about each other. Thinking about what was still going to happen to them. They could see a future, a little. They so nobly faced it, patiently waiting.”
Dysfunction often begets further dysfunction, just as trauma begets trauma, even if it looks a bit different. One generation of hurt feeds into the next. It’s a vicious cycle, unless you can get out. I know firsthand how past hurts can affect parenting. What a mother (or father) teaches a child is tainted by those old wounds that festered and never healed properly. But how does one get out and break that cycle? In Waitsfield, the alternatives are not always palatable.
“… those mothers took up the story they had been told, the big lie that had almost done them in, dusted it off and told it to their sons and daughters as if their lives depended on it.”
Despite the fact I like an emotional connection to a piece of work, I really admired that Sarah Manguso does not cue the orchestra to begin a somber tune. No need to pull up a chair to the ensuing pity party. There is not an ounce of melodrama to this story. It’s told so matter-of-factly that you will wonder if Manguso herself is covered with that layer of hoar frost. Until you reach that last paragraph and recognize the thaw, the warmth just below the surface. I wasn’t completely blown away by this piece of literary fiction, but I was impressed. It’s very episodic in nature, with a paragraph sometimes consisting of just a sentence or two. I would have liked the narrative to flow a little more smoothly, but that wasn’t what the author set out to do. It contributes to the overall chill of this book and was therefore quite effective. I won’t hesitate a second to pick up more of her work!
“When I remember the yard of the new house, I remember it in shade, in late afternoon, early autumn. I remember the whole town that way.”
“I remember the metallic smell of it in the air before it fell. The pale blue of it on a clear morning. The soft fuh of it falling. The powder of the coldest days, too cold to melt, squeaking at the boot. White wet snow squeaking against my teeth, melting clear in the heat of my mouth.”
Before you nod your head and think you have this novel figured out, however, I should warn you that it’s not all pretty writing, even if it is sometimes vividly descriptive. Manguso’s prose is not weighed down with sentimentality; in fact, it’s quite dark. There are phrases like this: “The auditorium was like the inside of a slaughtered animal, all oxblood paint and maroon velveteen.” And this: “The background of my life was white and angry, with violent weather.” This is a young woman’s coming of age story during the 1980s in a small town called Waitsfield, on the outskirts of Boston. Like many suburban towns, there are the wealthy and the not wealthy, and those lines are clearly drawn. Ruthie is one of the latter. Her parents are frugal. She drinks powdered milk and the books on the bookcase are snatched from the swap shop. They’re never cracked open. Even when they get a bit of money, they don’t know how to handle it, living much the same as they did before. There is a negative aura surrounding this family and the people of Waitsfield. It simmers just below the surface and creeps up on the reader gradually, just as it does to Ruthie.
“All of these Waitsfield girls together, with their burdens. Imagine twenty of them in a room, all day, thinking about each other. Thinking about what was still going to happen to them. They could see a future, a little. They so nobly faced it, patiently waiting.”
Dysfunction often begets further dysfunction, just as trauma begets trauma, even if it looks a bit different. One generation of hurt feeds into the next. It’s a vicious cycle, unless you can get out. I know firsthand how past hurts can affect parenting. What a mother (or father) teaches a child is tainted by those old wounds that festered and never healed properly. But how does one get out and break that cycle? In Waitsfield, the alternatives are not always palatable.
“… those mothers took up the story they had been told, the big lie that had almost done them in, dusted it off and told it to their sons and daughters as if their lives depended on it.”
Despite the fact I like an emotional connection to a piece of work, I really admired that Sarah Manguso does not cue the orchestra to begin a somber tune. No need to pull up a chair to the ensuing pity party. There is not an ounce of melodrama to this story. It’s told so matter-of-factly that you will wonder if Manguso herself is covered with that layer of hoar frost. Until you reach that last paragraph and recognize the thaw, the warmth just below the surface. I wasn’t completely blown away by this piece of literary fiction, but I was impressed. It’s very episodic in nature, with a paragraph sometimes consisting of just a sentence or two. I would have liked the narrative to flow a little more smoothly, but that wasn’t what the author set out to do. It contributes to the overall chill of this book and was therefore quite effective. I won’t hesitate a second to pick up more of her work!
“When I remember the yard of the new house, I remember it in shade, in late afternoon, early autumn. I remember the whole town that way.”
October 9, 2025
just like me fr.
the primary emotional experience of this book is realizing, around the 75% mark, that it is not yet about anything. very shortly after, the book has the same realization, and throws a truly admirable hail mary in order to attempt to be an exploration of the violence of the female childhood in 30 pages or less.
it doesn't quite nail it, but i respect the effort.
in other news, i couldn't believe this was from 2022, because its dark nihilistic child narrator feels very dated.
but i still like this author's style.
bottom line: weird experience! but i've had worse.
the primary emotional experience of this book is realizing, around the 75% mark, that it is not yet about anything. very shortly after, the book has the same realization, and throws a truly admirable hail mary in order to attempt to be an exploration of the violence of the female childhood in 30 pages or less.
it doesn't quite nail it, but i respect the effort.
in other news, i couldn't believe this was from 2022, because its dark nihilistic child narrator feels very dated.
but i still like this author's style.
bottom line: weird experience! but i've had worse.
February 24, 2022
Very Cold People by Sarah Manguso is a 2022 Hogarth publication.
Ruthie relates back to us the story of her childhood, which takes place during the 1980s. Ruthie lives in what might have been considered an ideal New England town, of Waitsfield, Massachusetts.
The place was the home of elite Lowell and Cabot families and is very class conscious. The cold climate is not unique to the outdoors- the town is as bitterly cold on the inside as it is on the outside, harboring sickening secrets that bleed over from the elite into the more depressed areas of the town.
Ruthie’s family is poor, and certainly does not fit into the community- as her mother is Jewish and her father is Italian. While they struggle financially, Ruthie’s also suffers emotionally, as her mother is not only distant, but is the opposite of warm and supportive. Ruthie also struggles in school and with friendships, which extends beyond and below her own class.
As she grows into her teenage years, she begins to see truths about her own mother, her friends, and the town in which she has been trapped. Though her awakening is slow, it is profound, and comes just in time of allow Ruthie to save herself from a similar fate.
This short novel does not follow the normal format or formula and requires a little extra focus. I liked the presentation, though, and found it to be quite effective. Although I was all tucked in, warm and cozy, this book gave me a shiver I couldn’t shake.
The horrifying secrets, the emotional abuses, and the lack of any sort of comfort from the chill can feel quite uncomfortable. Ruthie is a very sympathetic character, and my heart went out to her many times.
Her ultimate triumph, though, takes the edge off the frosty atmosphere as the story closes. A palpable relief settled in around me, knowing the chain had been broken, at least for Ruthie, who not only survives, but also finds understanding and peace- a peace she has passed on to future generations.
Overall, this ‘memoir-like’ novel- which sort of reads like a journal, or diary or essay’s- is short, and spare- but packs a big emotional punch! Well done!
4.5 stars
Ruthie relates back to us the story of her childhood, which takes place during the 1980s. Ruthie lives in what might have been considered an ideal New England town, of Waitsfield, Massachusetts.
The place was the home of elite Lowell and Cabot families and is very class conscious. The cold climate is not unique to the outdoors- the town is as bitterly cold on the inside as it is on the outside, harboring sickening secrets that bleed over from the elite into the more depressed areas of the town.
Ruthie’s family is poor, and certainly does not fit into the community- as her mother is Jewish and her father is Italian. While they struggle financially, Ruthie’s also suffers emotionally, as her mother is not only distant, but is the opposite of warm and supportive. Ruthie also struggles in school and with friendships, which extends beyond and below her own class.
As she grows into her teenage years, she begins to see truths about her own mother, her friends, and the town in which she has been trapped. Though her awakening is slow, it is profound, and comes just in time of allow Ruthie to save herself from a similar fate.
This short novel does not follow the normal format or formula and requires a little extra focus. I liked the presentation, though, and found it to be quite effective. Although I was all tucked in, warm and cozy, this book gave me a shiver I couldn’t shake.
The horrifying secrets, the emotional abuses, and the lack of any sort of comfort from the chill can feel quite uncomfortable. Ruthie is a very sympathetic character, and my heart went out to her many times.
Her ultimate triumph, though, takes the edge off the frosty atmosphere as the story closes. A palpable relief settled in around me, knowing the chain had been broken, at least for Ruthie, who not only survives, but also finds understanding and peace- a peace she has passed on to future generations.
Overall, this ‘memoir-like’ novel- which sort of reads like a journal, or diary or essay’s- is short, and spare- but packs a big emotional punch! Well done!
4.5 stars
March 16, 2022
Update --
It came to my attention that perhaps I should note that *spoilers* are included - --
So, I suppose there 'are' some spoilers - (not much in the bigger context) - but
I did mention some 'content'.
A low 3 stars ….. I liked this book for a long time… I have so much to say about this book but I don’t have time right now so I will be back when I can.
I’m back….UPDATE:
The title of this book is very apropos….literally and figuratively….
sleety characters- chilly- snowy - uninviting (fictional) town. (Waitsfield).
Right about the time when I was beginning to get burned out…drained …..
ENOUGH ALREADY….
the ending came to a sudden stop…
DONE, THE END! (Over)!
So, I was happy to be relieved from all the depressing distraught, but then my inner-naughty-voice ‘instantly’ started spitting out cuss words after that sudden abrupt ending.
Many books that I love end too soon. I want more more more.
Yet
This book ended - stopped suddenly, yet I ‘don’t’ want more.
I don’t know where to begin so I’ll just give it a shot—
I liked this book a lot…..
….. honestly a real lot…
FOR A LONG TIME - more than half way.
I had already read Sarah Manguso’s once before.
Her memoir, “Two Kinds of Decay”, is an unforgettable story.
I had a pretty good idea of who Sarah was, and her history- coming into this novel.
I’ll be the first, second, third. fourth, and fifth, person to say she writes exquisitely!!!!
….I like Sarah’s writing —
….I love her writing —
….I’ll read her again—
….As far as being an unostentatious writer— unassuming and stark—
Sarah’s a master!!!
Soooooo…….[my rating in pieces]….
…I give Sarah 5 stars for her brilliant prose…..and making it believable that it was much colder inside this family‘s heated home - heated schools - and all indoor heated buildings than on the coldest snowy rainy day outside.
…4 stars for the ‘character-study’ of coming-of-age Ruth & “ALWAYS-THE-PROTAGONIST”- everything Mother.
…3 stars for (although often likable), too much detailed descriptions: (observations, imagining, negative slant about every aspect of life: people, places, things).
Too much of the same styling of self-expression (monotone-repetitive stream of consciousness type crafting) became exhausting.
…2 My gut overall total experience : 2.5
I’m not so sure how I feel about a well-written book that leaves me drain as ‘much’ as this book did!
I understand mixed ratings - high & low -
At a different time in my life — I might have appreciated this book more.
I could be changing a little bit…. as a reader, as a woman, as I am aging,
but at one time no book was too sad…no book too devastating.
It’s the light-weight rosy-cozy-books with little substance-of-depth that bore me…..
But in “Very Cold People”….the ‘negative-nellies’ were exhausting— it began to feel like pure whining….. memories from Ruth’s youth … coming-of-age….
Thank god it was only 191 pages.
I might have been in ‘awe’ over the exquisitely raw psychological complexities of emotional darkness and cerebral thought-provoking (depressing) aspects of this storytelling at ‘another’ time in my life.
Today …. it just all began to feel ridiculously ‘poor me’ vain-repetitive-overindulgent-victimized -and depressing…
There ‘were’ definitely things I liked about this book—
But, overall….
I was left feeling depleted, and worn out.
Ruth was an only child. Her mom Jewish. Her dad Italian; an accountant.
Everyone had more than Ruth: better shoes, clothes, better hair, better barrettes, stickers, bikes, backpacks, houses, TV’s, food, friends, enjoyment, confidence, money, cars, education, teachers, coaches, doctors, Mom’s, Dad’s, and better things to share in school during “share & tell”….
Plus ….everyone else fit-nicely in the community - other than Ruth and her immediate family.
And….
“Ruth couldn’t admit to the power of her desire”.
…Ruth’s Mom was judgmental and narcissist. “The protagonist” in every story and situation.
Mom didn’t like her mother-in-law very much because she was sure she hated Jews..
Shabbat dinners, and Passover dinners - with Aunt Rose and Uncle Roger felt simply like a contest in who would find the afikomen (matzo cracker) ….
Ruth felt bad at Hebrew School because everybody else knew their Hebrew name. Ruth didn’t.
Ruth’s father wore a fake Rolex….(it was an issue?/!)….who cares?
Mom sat on the couch a lot — watching the television yeah really not watching.
At one period of Ruth’s life - she started reading every book she could find with the word DEATH on its cover.
At one time or another… either her mother or father would look at Ruth with hateful joy.
Ruth’s mother was never embarrassed by their thriftiness… She didn’t mind buying “used foods”….
Favorite toy (for a short period): A Bright Light …. Her only toy that she could plug-in only Ruth did not feel worthy to own it.
In Ruth’s house they had powdered milk and never threw any food away.
Mom did most of the grocery shopping at a gas station. Ruth ate a box of crackers for lunch and sometimes a box of macaroni and cheese for dinner. Her mom drink diet Pepsi and TAB and cooked with canned soups.
Mom, was often about to start a diet the next day
I’m not blind… I can connect the dots ….
the relationship between Ruth, the coldness she felt within her family, herself, and others, with the snowflakes on the windowsill….
I understand (intellectually), the beauty-of-bleak…..
But truthfully …. experientially ….. I tired of comparisons about the haves and the haves-not. I didn’t care about comparing fancy wedding announcements from homemade cut-out ones…
Many of the observations by Ruth were very astute….[the writing is powerful - masterfully written]….
…..but for me ….I preferred Sarah Manguso non- fiction stories of sincerity— sadness, horrific medical struggles— than this fiction -vignette styling -
that ‘tells’ me that the weather is cold -
‘tells’ me the people are unsympathetic- with no falsetto variation of in voice or emotion….
Given that my thinking, feeling, and mood can be affected from information I take in…. I ‘noticed’ the way my body responded
….I figure I count ….as much as acknowledging a marvelously written book.
So….there ya have it - by best effort in trying to review this book and honor my own feelings.
3 stars
It came to my attention that perhaps I should note that *spoilers* are included - --
So, I suppose there 'are' some spoilers - (not much in the bigger context) - but
I did mention some 'content'.
A low 3 stars ….. I liked this book for a long time… I have so much to say about this book but I don’t have time right now so I will be back when I can.
I’m back….UPDATE:
The title of this book is very apropos….literally and figuratively….
sleety characters- chilly- snowy - uninviting (fictional) town. (Waitsfield).
Right about the time when I was beginning to get burned out…drained …..
ENOUGH ALREADY….
the ending came to a sudden stop…
DONE, THE END! (Over)!
So, I was happy to be relieved from all the depressing distraught, but then my inner-naughty-voice ‘instantly’ started spitting out cuss words after that sudden abrupt ending.
Many books that I love end too soon. I want more more more.
Yet
This book ended - stopped suddenly, yet I ‘don’t’ want more.
I don’t know where to begin so I’ll just give it a shot—
I liked this book a lot…..
….. honestly a real lot…
FOR A LONG TIME - more than half way.
I had already read Sarah Manguso’s once before.
Her memoir, “Two Kinds of Decay”, is an unforgettable story.
I had a pretty good idea of who Sarah was, and her history- coming into this novel.
I’ll be the first, second, third. fourth, and fifth, person to say she writes exquisitely!!!!
….I like Sarah’s writing —
….I love her writing —
….I’ll read her again—
….As far as being an unostentatious writer— unassuming and stark—
Sarah’s a master!!!
Soooooo…….[my rating in pieces]….
…I give Sarah 5 stars for her brilliant prose…..and making it believable that it was much colder inside this family‘s heated home - heated schools - and all indoor heated buildings than on the coldest snowy rainy day outside.
…4 stars for the ‘character-study’ of coming-of-age Ruth & “ALWAYS-THE-PROTAGONIST”- everything Mother.
…3 stars for (although often likable), too much detailed descriptions: (observations, imagining, negative slant about every aspect of life: people, places, things).
Too much of the same styling of self-expression (monotone-repetitive stream of consciousness type crafting) became exhausting.
…2 My gut overall total experience : 2.5
I’m not so sure how I feel about a well-written book that leaves me drain as ‘much’ as this book did!
I understand mixed ratings - high & low -
At a different time in my life — I might have appreciated this book more.
I could be changing a little bit…. as a reader, as a woman, as I am aging,
but at one time no book was too sad…no book too devastating.
It’s the light-weight rosy-cozy-books with little substance-of-depth that bore me…..
But in “Very Cold People”….the ‘negative-nellies’ were exhausting— it began to feel like pure whining….. memories from Ruth’s youth … coming-of-age….
Thank god it was only 191 pages.
I might have been in ‘awe’ over the exquisitely raw psychological complexities of emotional darkness and cerebral thought-provoking (depressing) aspects of this storytelling at ‘another’ time in my life.
Today …. it just all began to feel ridiculously ‘poor me’ vain-repetitive-overindulgent-victimized -and depressing…
There ‘were’ definitely things I liked about this book—
But, overall….
I was left feeling depleted, and worn out.
Ruth was an only child. Her mom Jewish. Her dad Italian; an accountant.
Everyone had more than Ruth: better shoes, clothes, better hair, better barrettes, stickers, bikes, backpacks, houses, TV’s, food, friends, enjoyment, confidence, money, cars, education, teachers, coaches, doctors, Mom’s, Dad’s, and better things to share in school during “share & tell”….
Plus ….everyone else fit-nicely in the community - other than Ruth and her immediate family.
And….
“Ruth couldn’t admit to the power of her desire”.
…Ruth’s Mom was judgmental and narcissist. “The protagonist” in every story and situation.
Mom didn’t like her mother-in-law very much because she was sure she hated Jews..
Shabbat dinners, and Passover dinners - with Aunt Rose and Uncle Roger felt simply like a contest in who would find the afikomen (matzo cracker) ….
Ruth felt bad at Hebrew School because everybody else knew their Hebrew name. Ruth didn’t.
Ruth’s father wore a fake Rolex….(it was an issue?/!)….who cares?
Mom sat on the couch a lot — watching the television yeah really not watching.
At one period of Ruth’s life - she started reading every book she could find with the word DEATH on its cover.
At one time or another… either her mother or father would look at Ruth with hateful joy.
Ruth’s mother was never embarrassed by their thriftiness… She didn’t mind buying “used foods”….
Favorite toy (for a short period): A Bright Light …. Her only toy that she could plug-in only Ruth did not feel worthy to own it.
In Ruth’s house they had powdered milk and never threw any food away.
Mom did most of the grocery shopping at a gas station. Ruth ate a box of crackers for lunch and sometimes a box of macaroni and cheese for dinner. Her mom drink diet Pepsi and TAB and cooked with canned soups.
Mom, was often about to start a diet the next day
I’m not blind… I can connect the dots ….
the relationship between Ruth, the coldness she felt within her family, herself, and others, with the snowflakes on the windowsill….
I understand (intellectually), the beauty-of-bleak…..
But truthfully …. experientially ….. I tired of comparisons about the haves and the haves-not. I didn’t care about comparing fancy wedding announcements from homemade cut-out ones…
Many of the observations by Ruth were very astute….[the writing is powerful - masterfully written]….
…..but for me ….I preferred Sarah Manguso non- fiction stories of sincerity— sadness, horrific medical struggles— than this fiction -vignette styling -
that ‘tells’ me that the weather is cold -
‘tells’ me the people are unsympathetic- with no falsetto variation of in voice or emotion….
Given that my thinking, feeling, and mood can be affected from information I take in…. I ‘noticed’ the way my body responded
….I figure I count ….as much as acknowledging a marvelously written book.
So….there ya have it - by best effort in trying to review this book and honor my own feelings.
3 stars
August 15, 2022
Reading this book is like being invited to a beautiful feast with many courses where as soon as one waiter sets a dish down in front of you another waiter comes along and snatches it away.
September 28, 2021
A complicated kind of book. Beautifully written and heartbreakingly relatable and honest. A sort of coming of age book that focuses on shame, neglect, abuse. Quietly devastating.
March 16, 2022
3.5 In writing that is spare, not a word wasted, Ruthie's life is related from youth onward. The cold New England weather is reflected in the coldness of Ruth's family life. There is also a disparity in wealth as her family is not well off. These are short paragraphs, crisp shards, snapshots of a young girls life. She finds imaginative ways to survive and makes excuses for the things she misses.
"For a while I'd have to suffer, out in the open, the only girl without extra sneakers for gym class, but it was only because my mother's love was so much greater than all the other loves. It was that much more dangerous, so she had to love me in secret, absolutely unobserved by anyone, especially me."
When she is older she discovers her mother's past and learns why her mother was the way she was. It took me a while to get into the heart of this story, Ruthies life, but it was also in a way, fascinating. As she grew older, highschool years I began to relate to what these young girls went through. I know many of my friends whose fates were reflected in those of Ruth's. The dangerous world of girls.
"For a while I'd have to suffer, out in the open, the only girl without extra sneakers for gym class, but it was only because my mother's love was so much greater than all the other loves. It was that much more dangerous, so she had to love me in secret, absolutely unobserved by anyone, especially me."
When she is older she discovers her mother's past and learns why her mother was the way she was. It took me a while to get into the heart of this story, Ruthies life, but it was also in a way, fascinating. As she grew older, highschool years I began to relate to what these young girls went through. I know many of my friends whose fates were reflected in those of Ruth's. The dangerous world of girls.
February 14, 2022
4.5
“I like to visit with the exhausted girl who once was me. … My life felt unreal and I felt half-invested. I felt indistinct, like someone else’s dream.”
Ruthie reflects on growing up poor in her cold New England home.
There are frigid temperatures outside and inside the home she grew up in.
Her relationship with her mother is extremely difficult.. her mother is “cold people” and Ruthie finds out why later in her teens.
Ruthie’s thoughts on her girlhood are written in short paragraph style throughout the book.
I loved this style of writing.
“I like to visit with the exhausted girl who once was me. … My life felt unreal and I felt half-invested. I felt indistinct, like someone else’s dream.”
Ruthie reflects on growing up poor in her cold New England home.
There are frigid temperatures outside and inside the home she grew up in.
Her relationship with her mother is extremely difficult.. her mother is “cold people” and Ruthie finds out why later in her teens.
Ruthie’s thoughts on her girlhood are written in short paragraph style throughout the book.
I loved this style of writing.
January 10, 2022
Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐ ½
Genre: General Fiction + Literary Fiction
This is the coming of age story of a girl called Ruth, surrounded by very cold people in a small town (Waitsfield). Whether it is her mother, father, relative, or acquaintances. Everybody feels cold and distant. The story is narrated by her and through her eyes, we live her life, her difficult childhood whether it is in the emotional abuse that she gets or the way her parents are so toxic to each other and to her.
This novel is not written in a typical way. It feels more like a documentary or precisely a memoir and it flows beautifully. The writing style hooked me right from the start. At times I felt very very sorry for the main character and other times I laughed hard due to the mother’s self-centered attitude. Keep in mind that this book stays faithful to its title. You are not going to find any kind of hope or warmth or a change of attitude from those very cold people. This is a story not only about a toxic family but a toxic society. Although the main character never suffers from any physical abuse, the emotional abuse she suffers from is deep. This emotional abuse affects her mental health at a later stage. Physical abuse is present in the story though and it is suffered by other characters.
If you are a fan of stories about dysfunctional families/society you should not miss this one. It has all the solid ingredients be it an honest narrator, a good ending, and never a boring moment. The way it is written makes it a fast easy read. I loved it.
Many thanks to the publisher Random House Publishing Group and NetGalley for providing me with an advance reader copy of this book.
Genre: General Fiction + Literary Fiction
This is the coming of age story of a girl called Ruth, surrounded by very cold people in a small town (Waitsfield). Whether it is her mother, father, relative, or acquaintances. Everybody feels cold and distant. The story is narrated by her and through her eyes, we live her life, her difficult childhood whether it is in the emotional abuse that she gets or the way her parents are so toxic to each other and to her.
This novel is not written in a typical way. It feels more like a documentary or precisely a memoir and it flows beautifully. The writing style hooked me right from the start. At times I felt very very sorry for the main character and other times I laughed hard due to the mother’s self-centered attitude. Keep in mind that this book stays faithful to its title. You are not going to find any kind of hope or warmth or a change of attitude from those very cold people. This is a story not only about a toxic family but a toxic society. Although the main character never suffers from any physical abuse, the emotional abuse she suffers from is deep. This emotional abuse affects her mental health at a later stage. Physical abuse is present in the story though and it is suffered by other characters.
If you are a fan of stories about dysfunctional families/society you should not miss this one. It has all the solid ingredients be it an honest narrator, a good ending, and never a boring moment. The way it is written makes it a fast easy read. I loved it.
Many thanks to the publisher Random House Publishing Group and NetGalley for providing me with an advance reader copy of this book.
January 17, 2022
Sarah Manguso’s primarily known for her creative non-fiction but turned to the novel as a container for, what’s she’s labelled, telling the story of where she came from. Her narrative unfolds from the perspective of Ruth who’s looking back at her formative years in Waitsfield, where her Italian Jewish family were forever trying, and failing, to fit. Waitsfield’s a fictional place, a composite of the small colonial towns around Boston. Places that pride themselves on their heritage, where surnames, addresses and house size are markers of worth and placement in the social hierarchy. Initially this read like a throwback to an earlier era of literary expression, with echoes of the kind of coming-of-age story that used to be associated with magazines like the New Yorker. It’s a pared-down piece, there’s little dialogue, and not much in the way of plot. The action’s fragmented, presented in a series of short paragraphs, like encountering a scattering of snapshots, moments that rise to the fore of Ruth’s thoughts.
Manguso’s territory seemed familiar, overly familiar even, a struggling family, hand-me-down clothes, small-scale school and local dramas, friendships gained and lost, a young girl restless, eager to get out and see the world. But there’s something increasingly unsettling about Ruth’s story, a creeping sourness, a sinister undercurrent, a keen sense of the grotesque, all the more so for being represented in such a deadpan style. And it becomes clear that what links Ruth’s episodic recollections’s trauma but often just glimpsed, seen out of the corner of the eye, barely-acknowledged. Abuse is rife in this place, incest, sexual exploitation, emotional, physical, any and all kinds, handed down through generations and played out through the bodies of Waitsfield’s girls. Manguso’s novel’s cleverly constructed, meticulously observed, with everything coming together to form a haunting account of damage, patriarchy and power.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Picador for an arc
Manguso’s territory seemed familiar, overly familiar even, a struggling family, hand-me-down clothes, small-scale school and local dramas, friendships gained and lost, a young girl restless, eager to get out and see the world. But there’s something increasingly unsettling about Ruth’s story, a creeping sourness, a sinister undercurrent, a keen sense of the grotesque, all the more so for being represented in such a deadpan style. And it becomes clear that what links Ruth’s episodic recollections’s trauma but often just glimpsed, seen out of the corner of the eye, barely-acknowledged. Abuse is rife in this place, incest, sexual exploitation, emotional, physical, any and all kinds, handed down through generations and played out through the bodies of Waitsfield’s girls. Manguso’s novel’s cleverly constructed, meticulously observed, with everything coming together to form a haunting account of damage, patriarchy and power.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Picador for an arc
January 12, 2023
4.5 Stars
This is a story of belonging, or perhaps the other side, knowing that you don’t belong. That feeling that makes you want to disappear into the walls, to walk unseen through the streets, your school, your home, your family, your life.
’Her parents didn’t belong in Waitsfield, but they moved there anyway..Some people wore their difference honestly, but my parents were liars, illegitimate Waitsfielders, their off-whiteness discovered only after the paint had dried. By the time I was born, the house had faded to the color of dirty snow.’
Ruthie’s story reminded me of those years of Jr. High/High school, when friendships can be so shallow, but also feel so necessary. Who are you if your friends turn on you, or avoid you if you come from the wrong side of town, especially when you are someone whose parents can’t even seem to show you love or even a minimum of affection, let alone protect you? Who do you turn to when no one listens, or doesn’t believe you?
This story is shared almost as though she is baring her soul to the reader, as though perhaps someone will listen to her, believe her. It isn’t filled with beautiful prose, if anything it is simple as though to pare it down to just the simple truth. And that’s what made it feel so raw, so real to me.
’ I knew that I had agreed to play a part, and I didn’t know yet that I didn’t have to comply. My shame fell from the ceiling like snow.’
’My life felt unreal and I felt half-invested. I felt indistinct, like someone else’s dream.’
A coming-of-age story that is shared in an almost subdued, hushed voice, despite the ugliness and sense of despair that haunts Ruth. There is a quiet acceptance of the present state of her life, as well as a growing sense of hope that Ruth seems to keep to herself, as though to share it would destroy that hope for a different future.
A hauntingly beautiful story.
Published: 08 Feb 2022
Many thanks for the ARC provided by Random House Publishing Group - Random House, Hogarth
February 6, 2022
I'd seen this on many "anticipated books of 2022" lists and had previously thought Manguso's Ongoingness: The End of a Diary sounded intriguing so decided to give her debut novel a try.
I'll be honest - this left very little impression on me on finishing beyond a feeling of boredom. A coming of age story in small town America, it's pretty much all doom and gloom from the get-go: bullying classmates, abused friends, questionable parenting (the protagonists mother and father seemed particularly befitting of the label of "cold people" contained in the title) -- rinse and repeat. The writing was competent, but that was not enough to save the novel for this reader.
Thank you Netgalley and Pan Macmillan/Picador for the advance copy, which was provided in exchange for an honest review.
I'll be honest - this left very little impression on me on finishing beyond a feeling of boredom. A coming of age story in small town America, it's pretty much all doom and gloom from the get-go: bullying classmates, abused friends, questionable parenting (the protagonists mother and father seemed particularly befitting of the label of "cold people" contained in the title) -- rinse and repeat. The writing was competent, but that was not enough to save the novel for this reader.
Thank you Netgalley and Pan Macmillan/Picador for the advance copy, which was provided in exchange for an honest review.
February 25, 2022
My life felt unreal and I felt half-invested. I felt indistinct, like someone else’s dream.
Very Cold People
Sarah Manguso
•
Now THIS is literary fiction - in case anyone is looking for a good example of it. Or possibly a bad example. Either way, Very Cold People is many things...none of them good in my humble opinion.
•
First, don't trust author blurbs. This book has some well known names from the literary world touting it (I mean, Jhumpa Lahiri?!) and yet this could not be further from the caliber of Lahiri's writing - these blurbs have to be publication favors and they often lead us astray... so buyer beware.
•
Second, the jacket summary proved to be nothing like what actually unfolded- I felt totally duped.
•
Very Cold People is a very cold book - and I get that is (most likely?) by design. The writing is sparse, it feels like small diary entries; each page has but a few paragraphs on it- we are in the mind of a young, female, school aged narrator. But it felt as though I was reading the framework for a book that went from concept to publication without actually being written….like they missed the most important step. This reads like an outline- a minimalist one.
•
I picked Very Cold People up because I am a Massachusetts native - the town that Manguso writes about here has to be a neighboring town from where I grew up - and yet with the exception of her dropping some names and places around metropolitan Boston, this could have taken place anywhere. It is a dark and very boring coming of age story that reads like a memoir. And you know I love both of those, and I didn't love this. I didn't even like it.
Very Cold People
Sarah Manguso
•
Now THIS is literary fiction - in case anyone is looking for a good example of it. Or possibly a bad example. Either way, Very Cold People is many things...none of them good in my humble opinion.
•
First, don't trust author blurbs. This book has some well known names from the literary world touting it (I mean, Jhumpa Lahiri?!) and yet this could not be further from the caliber of Lahiri's writing - these blurbs have to be publication favors and they often lead us astray... so buyer beware.
•
Second, the jacket summary proved to be nothing like what actually unfolded- I felt totally duped.
•
Very Cold People is a very cold book - and I get that is (most likely?) by design. The writing is sparse, it feels like small diary entries; each page has but a few paragraphs on it- we are in the mind of a young, female, school aged narrator. But it felt as though I was reading the framework for a book that went from concept to publication without actually being written….like they missed the most important step. This reads like an outline- a minimalist one.
•
I picked Very Cold People up because I am a Massachusetts native - the town that Manguso writes about here has to be a neighboring town from where I grew up - and yet with the exception of her dropping some names and places around metropolitan Boston, this could have taken place anywhere. It is a dark and very boring coming of age story that reads like a memoir. And you know I love both of those, and I didn't love this. I didn't even like it.
May 28, 2025
{Warning: minor spoiler-ish content ahead!}
At a mere 191 pages, and every paragraph separated out from its neighbors by white space, this is really more of a novella - except it isn't really even that, since there is not much of a plot to speak of - it reminded me of such auto-fictional pensées in novelistic format as Drifts and Bluets; books that wander from subject to subject rather aimlessly, and then try to pull something amazing together in the final few pages. Except, when something resembling that finally appears in the final chapter, its nothing more than . Plus - wayyyyy too much menstrual blood for my tastes.
https://www.nytimes.com/2022/02/06/bo...
At a mere 191 pages, and every paragraph separated out from its neighbors by white space, this is really more of a novella - except it isn't really even that, since there is not much of a plot to speak of - it reminded me of such auto-fictional pensées in novelistic format as Drifts and Bluets; books that wander from subject to subject rather aimlessly, and then try to pull something amazing together in the final few pages. Except, when something resembling that finally appears in the final chapter, its nothing more than . Plus - wayyyyy too much menstrual blood for my tastes.
https://www.nytimes.com/2022/02/06/bo...
September 26, 2021
Ruth sets the stage for her family story with the very first sentence: "My parents didn't belong in Waitsfield, but they moved there anyway." When Ruth is born, the house, originally painted a color called Evening Fog had 'faded to the color of dirty snow." Being of Jewish heritage in the Massachusetts WASP-y enclave informs her life.
Unlike her best friends, Ruth never suffers physical abuse, however her upbringing is tainted with the abuse of neglect. We wonder at times why certain people have children at all. As the title infers, there is never a moment of warmth, and while there is no deprivation, Ruth's mother's narcissism pervades the household and controls the dynamic. The story spools out episodically, in short pithy fragments woven together. Beautifully written expose of a life that could have turned out tragically.
Unlike her best friends, Ruth never suffers physical abuse, however her upbringing is tainted with the abuse of neglect. We wonder at times why certain people have children at all. As the title infers, there is never a moment of warmth, and while there is no deprivation, Ruth's mother's narcissism pervades the household and controls the dynamic. The story spools out episodically, in short pithy fragments woven together. Beautifully written expose of a life that could have turned out tragically.
April 28, 2024
While this is not a warm-hearted book, it is filled with reflections on growing up in the 1980s that cultivate nostalgic reflections. The storytelling is formatted into these astute observations of the narrator, Ruth, from childhood living with her parents to having a child of her own.
Ruth sees her mother with unflinching honesty even from a young age. Readers are immediately absorbed into this raw, intimate picture of a girl who is relatively unloved and neglected, surviving the horrors of her upbringing and the dangers of being left alone to fend for herself in a world of adult narcissists and predators in positions of authority. Parents, teachers, family members, other people's dads, and a variety of other professionals chewing up children going through puberty and spitting them out.
A small town that seems idyllic and serene on the surface but underneath is a cesspool of psychological, physical, and sexual damage. But it's not all dark and full of sadness, Ruth's attention to oddly specific details about playing with Barbies, getting her first period, things her mother says and does, school memories, childhood birthday parties, it's just hysterical.
This is one of those weird, sad, amazing books for readers who love it as much as I do.
I will always show up for this.
A GIRL DINNER BOOK.
Ruth sees her mother with unflinching honesty even from a young age. Readers are immediately absorbed into this raw, intimate picture of a girl who is relatively unloved and neglected, surviving the horrors of her upbringing and the dangers of being left alone to fend for herself in a world of adult narcissists and predators in positions of authority. Parents, teachers, family members, other people's dads, and a variety of other professionals chewing up children going through puberty and spitting them out.
A small town that seems idyllic and serene on the surface but underneath is a cesspool of psychological, physical, and sexual damage. But it's not all dark and full of sadness, Ruth's attention to oddly specific details about playing with Barbies, getting her first period, things her mother says and does, school memories, childhood birthday parties, it's just hysterical.
This is one of those weird, sad, amazing books for readers who love it as much as I do.
I will always show up for this.
A GIRL DINNER BOOK.
March 5, 2022
Fuckin hell that was bleak.
November 22, 2025
white girl trauma porn. you go from one paragraph to another paragraph just reading about trauma of these white girls in a white town. There is no real payoff or insights and the pros is just fine. It was boring and mindless
March 12, 2022
To me, this book contains multitudes. The descriptives were so vivid, that there I was, Ruth, pulling out my eyelashes (no more than 5 a day) and putting them between the pages of library books. Daydreaming about the woman who died in the dining room of the house she lives in, or vomiting from her migraines. This beautiful story outlines the heavy moments of growing into oneself, the puzzles of our parents and how we fit into the world. The relationship Ruth has with her mother is extraordinary…and not extraordinarily pleasant. Hyper critical and distant, we endure her. I listened to this book on audible but will be buying a hard copy so I can revisit the beauty of this author’s writing.
April 16, 2023
Yah.... this is a no for me.
September 13, 2024
a heartbreaking reminder that to live is to hurt and be hurt, that to be a girl is to live with that hurt inside you, that to be a girl is to be your mother and your father and your best friend and your cousin and all the strangers you run into on the street. like sticking your fingers down your throat and savoring the taste of bile.
June 5, 2022
Well written, really depressing.
April 7, 2024
Bleak and depressing as hell. Ever feel like you're living in a world that's just a tad too big for your britches?👖
Ruthie tiptoes through the minefields of adolescence as every day is a tragicomic opera of awkward encounters, silent battles in school corridors, and dinners that feel more like diplomatic negotiations. Let me warn you that this novella is not the easiest to read and contains many grimacing moments. 😬
This is essentially a young girl's tumultuous coming-of-age story. No punches barred. No holding back. The title aptly captures the essence of "very cold," extending beyond characters to the ambiance and locale set in the fictional town of Waitsfield, Massachusetts. Can somebody pass me a warm blanket and light up a cozy fire? This shit hits like a goddamn blizzard. I thought Sarah Manguso did a great job evoking unease, nostalgia, and alienation in the thick of deep-rooted family scars and abuses. The whole thing was a tough pill to swallow. ❄️
I really dug the vivid and descriptive prose in this novella—Sarah Manguso's got a knack for painting a scene that sticks with you. But, oh boy, I was not a fan of the structure. It's got this memoir-ish, vignette vibe with snippets here and there, like flipping through a random photo album. Even as someone who can jive with non-linear storytelling, I found it a bit jarring. It felt scattered, and I was already battling being in the right headspace to navigate through it. It's in-your-face and doesn't pull any punches. Props to Sarah Manguso for the raw portrayal, but ultimately, the structure is what held back an otherwise good story. Fragmented vignette styles are not my cup of tea. 🚫
My go-to Starbucks has a free bookshelf, so I gave this one a go. It was still worth the short read. ☕️
Ruthie tiptoes through the minefields of adolescence as every day is a tragicomic opera of awkward encounters, silent battles in school corridors, and dinners that feel more like diplomatic negotiations. Let me warn you that this novella is not the easiest to read and contains many grimacing moments. 😬
"On winter mornings the light spread like a watery broth over the landscape."
This is essentially a young girl's tumultuous coming-of-age story. No punches barred. No holding back. The title aptly captures the essence of "very cold," extending beyond characters to the ambiance and locale set in the fictional town of Waitsfield, Massachusetts. Can somebody pass me a warm blanket and light up a cozy fire? This shit hits like a goddamn blizzard. I thought Sarah Manguso did a great job evoking unease, nostalgia, and alienation in the thick of deep-rooted family scars and abuses. The whole thing was a tough pill to swallow. ❄️
"What's curious to me now is that I didn't know at the time that I was suffering, so deeply involved was I in being saved."
I really dug the vivid and descriptive prose in this novella—Sarah Manguso's got a knack for painting a scene that sticks with you. But, oh boy, I was not a fan of the structure. It's got this memoir-ish, vignette vibe with snippets here and there, like flipping through a random photo album. Even as someone who can jive with non-linear storytelling, I found it a bit jarring. It felt scattered, and I was already battling being in the right headspace to navigate through it. It's in-your-face and doesn't pull any punches. Props to Sarah Manguso for the raw portrayal, but ultimately, the structure is what held back an otherwise good story. Fragmented vignette styles are not my cup of tea. 🚫
"I thought I'd die of it, but I didn't die. You can learn to eat violence. There is pleasure in not resisting. I dedicated myself to teaching my bully just how much a person can consume."
My go-to Starbucks has a free bookshelf, so I gave this one a go. It was still worth the short read. ☕️
December 18, 2021
That day I held my chin up, my nose pointed skyward…I’d gotten the idea from a storybook. Fairy-tale people, before their comeuppance, walked with their chins up, proud and prim. I wanted to be the proud, bad girl who trod on a loaf. I wanted to challenge the world to break me. I wanted to explain that I was not yet broken. from Very Cold People by Sarah Magnuso
Mothers hope to prepare their daughters for the world—the world as they experienced it, so every mother prepares them in a different way. The trauma they have experienced can be transmitted to their children for it colors their actions and response to the world and this becomes their children’s example and heritage.
Very Cold People is narrated by Ruth who tells the story of her childhood, her dysfunctional family, their poverty and later difficulty adjusting to plenty. Ruth’s story is filled with details about the run-down, drafty house in the right part of town. Snuggling up to the radiator for warmth. Bathing in water no higher than her hand. Her father’s car with broken turn signals. It was a life of making do without.
Ruth tells us about her troubled childhood, her problems with food, finding escape in books. She tells about her junior high friends, the girlfriend who dated all the handsome boys and drank, the girlfriend impregnated after years of abuse by her father, the girlfriend abused by the coach–who once inappropriately touched Ruth.
A mental heath crisis lands Ruth in the hospital. It is not a place of healing, but a ‘playground for sadists.’ She is able to escape and make a life.
We are surrounded by woman keeping secrets, Ruth has learned. And, her mother was one of them.
I was taken by Ruth’s voice, direct and open. I loved the attention to details that helped me relate to her life. How the entire picture of the family is revealed slowly throughout Ruth’s story.
I received a free egalley from the publisher through NetGalley. My review is fair and unbiased.
Mothers hope to prepare their daughters for the world—the world as they experienced it, so every mother prepares them in a different way. The trauma they have experienced can be transmitted to their children for it colors their actions and response to the world and this becomes their children’s example and heritage.
Very Cold People is narrated by Ruth who tells the story of her childhood, her dysfunctional family, their poverty and later difficulty adjusting to plenty. Ruth’s story is filled with details about the run-down, drafty house in the right part of town. Snuggling up to the radiator for warmth. Bathing in water no higher than her hand. Her father’s car with broken turn signals. It was a life of making do without.
Ruth tells us about her troubled childhood, her problems with food, finding escape in books. She tells about her junior high friends, the girlfriend who dated all the handsome boys and drank, the girlfriend impregnated after years of abuse by her father, the girlfriend abused by the coach–who once inappropriately touched Ruth.
A mental heath crisis lands Ruth in the hospital. It is not a place of healing, but a ‘playground for sadists.’ She is able to escape and make a life.
We are surrounded by woman keeping secrets, Ruth has learned. And, her mother was one of them.
I was taken by Ruth’s voice, direct and open. I loved the attention to details that helped me relate to her life. How the entire picture of the family is revealed slowly throughout Ruth’s story.
I received a free egalley from the publisher through NetGalley. My review is fair and unbiased.
March 18, 2022
A very disjointed coming-of-age story, told in scattershot bursts (short paragraphs, often seeming non sequiturs). Young Ruth is an only child in a dysfunctional family, growing up in Waitsfield, Massachusetts, home to elite founding families of Cabots and Lowells, where the coldness lives not only in the climate but in the people. We see her wilting under emotional abuse from her distant, hypercritical mother, and she struggles at school and has trouble making friends. She does eventually make friends, with a girl from below her social station and another well above. (Her mother is quite socially conscious and desperate to climb, but her family is very poor, so nothing doing.) Both girls come from families that harbour devastating secrets. As Ruth makes her way through her teenage years, she begins to better see and finally understand the rot in the town that permeates high and low social strata. So grim and depressing, and the choppy writing style bugged the heck out of me.
March 31, 2022
Amazing writing but unrelentingly depressing.
January 26, 2022
The title correctly asserts “very cold,” and, besides people, refers also to atmosphere and setting. Get a shawl or a blanket, and sit by a fire, because this coming-of-age story will chill you to your bones. The fictional town of Waitsfield, Massachusetts will leave a rime of frost covering you. There are constant moments of discomfort and dislocation, wrapped in generational trauma and abuse.
Ruthie narrates her life growing up in the 1980s in Waitsfield. She has a mixed ethnic background of Jewish and Italian parents, who were class conscious but didn’t have class. Moreover, they were not attentive or empathetic toward her. They cared more about status than culture, as evidenced by books they bought just for “show,” but never read. When her parents bought a house in a “better” neighborhood, Ruthie became more of a chameleon at belonging.
Ruthie felt the class distinctions and experienced the slurs aimed at her and others who weren’t WASP-ish. The city had moneyed and blueblood families that went back a few hundred years, the Lowells and Cabots, but some of those historical families were pretty penniless, as she learned. Ruthie learned to navigate the pretentions of others.
Not even one fraction of melodrama, this is gruff stuff, rough, disturbing, and direct. The unconventional structure is a series of brief paragraphs, or vignettes, like snapshots. It conveys the story through impressionism; the use of language creates torpor and stark images that loom over Ruthie’s life and her story. It’s the accumulation of these snapshots that wallops the reader. There’s gravid dread between these pages, so prepare.
Here’s an example of one paragraph, or vignette: “One night we all went to the movies. My mother bought a box of candy and a cup of popcorn and nothing to drink. She opened the candy and threw the plastic wrapper on the floor of the theater. I picked it up. She looked at me as if I’d done something stupid.”
Rather than a linear or even alternating time sequence, the story unfolds via these multiple moments, at times fitful, that you, the reader, will patch together in a sum-of-its-parts way. As the snapshots accumulate and become a full picture, the nuances will also echo boldly. A lack of momentum does slow the pace, which is my only complaint. The vignette style can pile up on passivity. But there’s a compelling payoff.
Manguso took a gamble, but ultimately I was satisfied. Just be patient. You won’t always understand the breadth of what is happening while it is happening, but it comes together by the finale. Inevitably, it is a shattering story. Snow won’t melt between these pages!
Thank you to Penguin Random House for sending me a finished copy of this Hogarth book for review.
Ruthie narrates her life growing up in the 1980s in Waitsfield. She has a mixed ethnic background of Jewish and Italian parents, who were class conscious but didn’t have class. Moreover, they were not attentive or empathetic toward her. They cared more about status than culture, as evidenced by books they bought just for “show,” but never read. When her parents bought a house in a “better” neighborhood, Ruthie became more of a chameleon at belonging.
Ruthie felt the class distinctions and experienced the slurs aimed at her and others who weren’t WASP-ish. The city had moneyed and blueblood families that went back a few hundred years, the Lowells and Cabots, but some of those historical families were pretty penniless, as she learned. Ruthie learned to navigate the pretentions of others.
Not even one fraction of melodrama, this is gruff stuff, rough, disturbing, and direct. The unconventional structure is a series of brief paragraphs, or vignettes, like snapshots. It conveys the story through impressionism; the use of language creates torpor and stark images that loom over Ruthie’s life and her story. It’s the accumulation of these snapshots that wallops the reader. There’s gravid dread between these pages, so prepare.
Here’s an example of one paragraph, or vignette: “One night we all went to the movies. My mother bought a box of candy and a cup of popcorn and nothing to drink. She opened the candy and threw the plastic wrapper on the floor of the theater. I picked it up. She looked at me as if I’d done something stupid.”
Rather than a linear or even alternating time sequence, the story unfolds via these multiple moments, at times fitful, that you, the reader, will patch together in a sum-of-its-parts way. As the snapshots accumulate and become a full picture, the nuances will also echo boldly. A lack of momentum does slow the pace, which is my only complaint. The vignette style can pile up on passivity. But there’s a compelling payoff.
Manguso took a gamble, but ultimately I was satisfied. Just be patient. You won’t always understand the breadth of what is happening while it is happening, but it comes together by the finale. Inevitably, it is a shattering story. Snow won’t melt between these pages!
Thank you to Penguin Random House for sending me a finished copy of this Hogarth book for review.
February 23, 2022
This novel reads more like CNF/memoir than fiction. The chapters read like individual essays. The voice is coldly observant of minute detail, detached from an emotional life, and maybe that’s the point. But what starts as a careful look at New England “coldness” and white privilege takes a sharp turn about midway through. Character after character suffers from sexual abuse, one friend after another, then a cousin, then another cousin, then the narrator’s mother. The narrator is committed to an institution for unclear reasons, sedated, restrained, molested, all while calmly observing the whole thing. It’s an unsettling read, a case study, an object lesson, but not really a novel.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
October 23, 2023
My two stars is mostly because I was expecting a novel and got what read like a boring autobiography. It was depressing and had no real story- just an endless recitation of a young girl's very seedy childhood, adolescence, and brief adulthood. The story ends abruptly- not with a bang but a whimper.
April 29, 2022
I’ve read Manguso’s four nonfiction works and especially love her Wellcome Book Prize-shortlisted medical memoir The Two Kinds of Decay. The aphoristic style she developed in her two previous books continues here as discrete paragraphs and brief vignettes build to a gloomy portrait of Ruthie’s archetypical affection-starved childhood in the fictional Massachusetts town of Waitsfield in the 1980s and 90s. She’s an only child whose parents no doubt were doing their best after emotionally stunted upbringings but never managed to make her feel unconditionally loved. Praise is always qualified and stingily administered. Ruthie feels like a burden and escapes into her imaginings of how local Brahmins – Cabots and Emersons and Lowells – lived. Her family is cash-poor compared to their neighbours and loves nothing more than a trip to the dump: “My parents weren’t after shiny things or even beautiful things; they simply liked getting things that stupid people threw away.”
The depiction of Ruthie’s narcissistic mother is especially acute. She has to make everything about her; any minor success of her daughter’s is a blow to her own ego. I marked out an excruciating passage that made me feel so sorry for this character. A European friend of the family visits and Ruthie’s mother serves corn muffins that he seems to appreciate.
At school, as in her home life, Ruthie dissociates herself from every potentially traumatic situation. “My life felt unreal and I felt half-invested. I felt indistinct, like someone else’s dream.” Her friend circle is an abbreviated A–Z of girlhood: Amber, Bee, Charlie and Colleen. “Odd” men – meaning sexual predators – seem to be everywhere and these adolescent girls are horribly vulnerable. Molestation is such an open secret in the world of the novel that Ruthie assumes this is why her mother is the way she is.
While the #MeToo theme didn’t resonate with me personally, so much else did. Chemistry class, sleepovers, getting one’s first period, falling off a bike: this is the stuff of girlhood – if not universally, then certainly for the (largely pre-tech) American 1990s as I experienced them. I found myself inhabiting memories I hadn’t revisited for years, and a thought came that had perhaps never occurred to me before: for our time and area, my family was poor, too. I’m grateful for my ignorance: what scarred Ruthie passed me by; I was a purely happy child. But I think my sister, born seven years earlier, suffered more, in ways that she’d recognize here. This has something of the flavour of Eileen and My Name Is Lucy Barton and reads like autofiction even though it’s not presented as such. The style and contents may well be divisive. I’ll be curious to hear if other readers see themselves in its sketches of childhood.
Originally published on my blog, Bookish Beck.
The depiction of Ruthie’s narcissistic mother is especially acute. She has to make everything about her; any minor success of her daughter’s is a blow to her own ego. I marked out an excruciating passage that made me feel so sorry for this character. A European friend of the family visits and Ruthie’s mother serves corn muffins that he seems to appreciate.
My mother brought up her triumph for years. … She’d believed his praise was genuine. She hadn’t noticed that he’d pegged her as a person who would snatch up any compliment into the maw of her unloved, throbbing little heart.
At school, as in her home life, Ruthie dissociates herself from every potentially traumatic situation. “My life felt unreal and I felt half-invested. I felt indistinct, like someone else’s dream.” Her friend circle is an abbreviated A–Z of girlhood: Amber, Bee, Charlie and Colleen. “Odd” men – meaning sexual predators – seem to be everywhere and these adolescent girls are horribly vulnerable. Molestation is such an open secret in the world of the novel that Ruthie assumes this is why her mother is the way she is.
While the #MeToo theme didn’t resonate with me personally, so much else did. Chemistry class, sleepovers, getting one’s first period, falling off a bike: this is the stuff of girlhood – if not universally, then certainly for the (largely pre-tech) American 1990s as I experienced them. I found myself inhabiting memories I hadn’t revisited for years, and a thought came that had perhaps never occurred to me before: for our time and area, my family was poor, too. I’m grateful for my ignorance: what scarred Ruthie passed me by; I was a purely happy child. But I think my sister, born seven years earlier, suffered more, in ways that she’d recognize here. This has something of the flavour of Eileen and My Name Is Lucy Barton and reads like autofiction even though it’s not presented as such. The style and contents may well be divisive. I’ll be curious to hear if other readers see themselves in its sketches of childhood.
Originally published on my blog, Bookish Beck.
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