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Hiraeth
She never wished for the life she has. If Farah Demitri Sastre were to be born again, she'd hope for a simple yet comfortable life. One that is not filled with catastrophe, one that will no longer be involved in future damages from past mistakes.
But what if the situation calls for blood? How could Farah defy her fate? How could she protect her family? Or will she even consider them as family when all along, she's been fed with lies?
Home, they say, is where the heart is. Will she ever find haven, or let life kill her hopes before she could even reach it?
But what if the situation calls for blood? How could Farah defy her fate? How could she protect her family? Or will she even consider them as family when all along, she's been fed with lies?
Home, they say, is where the heart is. Will she ever find haven, or let life kill her hopes before she could even reach it?
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April 11, 2025
Megan Cara’s Hiraeth is a family drama that leans into pain, legacy, and emotional messiness, with a surprising amount of maturity and realism woven into its fictional core. While the story doesn’t reinvent the wheel, it does give us a quiet but emotionally charged experience, complete with characters who feel complicated, raw, and all too human.
At the heart of the novel is the portrayal of family dynamics and I’ll say this: Megan Cara knows how to write people. Through subtle characterization, moods, habits, and unspoken tensions, she captures the chaos and nuance of growing up around unresolved trauma. It’s not always loud or dramatic. Sometimes, it’s just uncomfortable silences and unhealed wounds, and she gives that space.
One of the stronger aspects of Hiraeth is its willingness to face difficult topics head-on. The book doesn’t shy away from triggering themes like rape, suicide, and unrequited love and I appreciate that the author made a clear effort to show not only these traumas but the ripple effects they cause. There’s a genuine sense of accountability and emotional consequence here. Megan doesn’t pretend healing is neat or easy. She lets her characters carry their weight, and that gives the story emotional depth.
I especially respect the bold narrative choice of making Farah, the main character, an unreliable narrator even a bit of a villain in her own story. It’s refreshing to see a female lead written with such moral ambiguity. She isn’t there to be likable. She’s there to be real.
That said, the writing could’ve used more restraint. There’s a noticeable tendency toward flowery language and redundant phrasing, which sometimes bogs down the pacing and emotional impact. The prose tries hard to be lyrical, but it ends up feeling repetitive. A tighter, cleaner narrative would have made the heavy themes hit harder and more efficiently.
Still, Hiraeth delivers where it counts: in introspection, emotional honesty, and thematic bravery. It’s not perfect, but it doesn’t need to be. For readers who gravitate toward flawed characters, triggering themes handled with thoughtfulness, and family stories that sit with you long after the final page, this book may be worth the read.
At the heart of the novel is the portrayal of family dynamics and I’ll say this: Megan Cara knows how to write people. Through subtle characterization, moods, habits, and unspoken tensions, she captures the chaos and nuance of growing up around unresolved trauma. It’s not always loud or dramatic. Sometimes, it’s just uncomfortable silences and unhealed wounds, and she gives that space.
One of the stronger aspects of Hiraeth is its willingness to face difficult topics head-on. The book doesn’t shy away from triggering themes like rape, suicide, and unrequited love and I appreciate that the author made a clear effort to show not only these traumas but the ripple effects they cause. There’s a genuine sense of accountability and emotional consequence here. Megan doesn’t pretend healing is neat or easy. She lets her characters carry their weight, and that gives the story emotional depth.
I especially respect the bold narrative choice of making Farah, the main character, an unreliable narrator even a bit of a villain in her own story. It’s refreshing to see a female lead written with such moral ambiguity. She isn’t there to be likable. She’s there to be real.
That said, the writing could’ve used more restraint. There’s a noticeable tendency toward flowery language and redundant phrasing, which sometimes bogs down the pacing and emotional impact. The prose tries hard to be lyrical, but it ends up feeling repetitive. A tighter, cleaner narrative would have made the heavy themes hit harder and more efficiently.
Still, Hiraeth delivers where it counts: in introspection, emotional honesty, and thematic bravery. It’s not perfect, but it doesn’t need to be. For readers who gravitate toward flawed characters, triggering themes handled with thoughtfulness, and family stories that sit with you long after the final page, this book may be worth the read.
Displaying 1 of 1 review