Uh-oh, it looks like your Internet Explorer is out of date.

For a better shopping experience, please upgrade now.

Mother, Mother

Mother, Mother

3.9 13
by Koren Zailckas

See All Formats & Editions

From Koren Zailckas, author of the iconic memoir SMASHED: an electrifying debut novel about a family being torn apart by the woman who claims to love them most
Josephine Hurst has her family under control. With two beautiful daughters, a brilliantly intelligent son, a tech-guru of a husband, and a historical landmark home, her life is


From Koren Zailckas, author of the iconic memoir SMASHED: an electrifying debut novel about a family being torn apart by the woman who claims to love them most
Josephine Hurst has her family under control. With two beautiful daughters, a brilliantly intelligent son, a tech-guru of a husband, and a historical landmark home, her life is picture perfect. But living in this matriarch’s determinedly cheerful, yet subtly controlling domain hasn’t been easy for her family, and when her oldest daughter, Rose, runs off with a mysterious boyfriend, Josephine tightens her grip, gradually turning her flawless home into a darker sort of prison.

Resentful of her sister’s newfound freedom, Violet turns to eastern philosophy, hallucinogenic drugs, and extreme fasting, eventually landing herself in a psych ward. Meanwhile, her brother, Will, recently diagnosed with Asperger's, shrinks further into a world of self-doubt. Their father, Douglas, finds resolve in the bottom of a bottle—an addict craving his own chance to escape. Josephine struggles to maintain the family’s impeccable façade, but when a violent incident leads to a visit from child protective services, the truth about the Hursts might finally be revealed.

Now with Extra Libris material, including a reader’s guide and bonus content

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher

“Superbly unsettling...Provocative...A haunting meditation on family, love and unimaginable loss...A firecracker thriller full of whip-smart psychological insights.”
—San Francisco Chronicle

“Zailckas is a writer to watch and treasure...fiercely disturbing...one of the most profound and insightful books about mother-child relationships when they go devastatingly wrong.” —Dallas Morning News

“A creepy thriller [that] starts with an ordinary family and ends in nail-biting suspense…A horrifying and deeply moving look into the dark secrets in a seemingly ‘perfect family,’ this is a hard-hitting page turner.” —Parkersburg News & Sentinel

“A stunning debut that is sure to spark debate and cause a stir...Full of wise and witty observations, and a mounting sense of dread...brilliant firecracker-like prose, a page-turning plot, and an unmistakable voice.” —Paramus Post

“Think Mommie Dearest meets Psycho. Then just sit back, open the book, and have an absolute ball.” —Suspense Magazine

“Mind-blowing... Delving deeply into the psyches of a disturbed, vicious woman, an insecure man, and younger, developing minds, [Zailckas] cleverly uncovers the intense ways in which personal interactions affect each member of a family. Mother, Mother will certainly make you look at your relationships with your closest relatives in a very different light” —Woodbury

“Grab a copy of this book... her story is riveting. Don't miss it.” —Hudson Valley News

“An electrifying debut novel about a family being torn apart by the woman who claims to love them most.” —Chronogram

“[An] impressive debut novel...engaging, well-crafted.” —Bustle.com

“Koren Zailckas's Mother Mother is disturbing in the best possible way: believably. The slow, subtle darkness at the core of this book starts as a trickle and grows to a flash flood, and not once does it stop feeling absolutely authentic. Zailckas has written a gut-wrenching exploration of narcissism, dependence and family. It's an amazing book.”
—Kelly Braffet, author of Save Yourself
and Josie and Jack

“An exquisitely written psychological thriller...Just as captivating as her memoirs.”

“A riveting fiction debut…it’s the kind of book that keeps you up at night, featuring a mother to rival Medea or Mrs. Bates…The shocking and violent denouement shows Zailckas to be a consummate storyteller.” —Publishers Weekly

“Richly imagined and bring[s] to mind Susanna Kaysen's Girl, Interrupted... An excellent page-turner recommended for those who enjoy psychological thrillers and aren't afraid of narratives that look evil in the face.” —Library Journal

“Zailckas crafts an intriguing mystery surrounding this family that will keep readers on edge as she slowly peels back layer after layer of deception.” —Booklist

“A hall of mirrors reflecting chaotic maternal psychological mayhem reminiscent of Mommie Dearest or Push or Ordinary People.” —Kirkus Reviews

Product Details

Publication date:
Sales rank:
Product dimensions:
5.10(w) x 7.90(h) x 0.90(d)

Read an Excerpt

William Hurst

Her face was the first thing William Hurst saw when he opened his eyes from his not-so-sweet dreams. His mother, Josephine, was smiling down at him, her blue eyes misty-soft, sunlight streaming through her hair, the same way it did to the happy Jesus in Will’s Storybook Bible.

On this particular Saturday, mother was both a noun and a verb.

Behind her, at the end of Will’s bed, was the frog habitat he’d begged for all summer. It had a paddling pond for tadpoles and a rocky ledge where frogs could doze beneath a canopy of green plastic clover.

Will knew he should be jabbering with excitement. There she was, waiting for him to pump his fist and thrash with glee (not that he would ever dare jump on the bed). But something was off. The timing didn’t add up.

“Is today my birthday?” Will asked. “Did I do something to deserve an extra-special reward?”

“No,” Josephine said. “Today isn’t your birthday. And you, little man, are my extra-special reward.”

She reached for the boy’s face, as if to give his bandaged chin a playful pinch or tuck his too-long hair behind his earlobe. But then the phone rang and her freshly moisturized hand froze, suspended in the space. She pulled away and padded off in her slippers to answer it, a Velcro roller tumbling out of her hair and sticking, burr-like, in the carpet.

The house should have been quiet now that Will’s sixteen-year-old sister Violet had been banished. Oddly, the Hurst family home was louder. Even after his mother hung up her cell phone, her voice remained nervous, her actions rackety. Will followed her downstairs to the kitchen, where the radio was already on, cranked to WRHV. Cupboard doors slammed. Silverware barrel-rolled as she jostled the drawers.

The rotten-egg smell of his father’s morning shower wafted down the staircase. The well water was sulfuric. Violet liked to say that hell smells like sulfur. So do places infested with demons. If Will believed his mother—and he had no reason not to—demons were rebels like Violet. They fell from grace when they looked into God’s gentle eyes and announced they didn’t need him anymore.

At the kitchen table, Josephine asked, “Is a noun a doing word, a describing word, or a naming word?”

“A describing word,” Will told her between swallows of oatmeal.

Josephine’s smile—a bright sideways sliver of moon—made it impossible for him to know whether he’d answered right or wrong.

“Let me put it this way,” she said. “Which word is the noun in this sentence: ‘I always know what I am doing.’ ”


“I said, which word is the noun in this sentence—”

“No, Mom. I wasn’t asking, What? I was trying to tell you ‘what’ is the answer.”

“Oh,” Josephine said. “Oh, I was expecting you to say ‘I.’ But I suppose ‘what’ is right in this instance too.”

The portable phone screamed in its cradle. Josephine picked it up and wandered out of the kitchen saying, “No, I told you. I have a twelve-year-old special-needs son. She’s a danger to him. I can’t have her here.”

Will had autistic spectrum disorder with comorbid epilepsy. To him, that always sounded like a good thing—the word spectrum being halfway to spectacular. But Will knew his differences secretly shamed his family, his father, Douglas, in particular. At Cherries Deli, Will was always aware of his dad’s gaze lingering on the youth soccer leagues eating postgame sundaes. Probably, Douglas longed for a sturdier and more social son—a buzz-cut bruiser who could shower and climb stairs unsupervised, without the nagging threat of seizures.

Will’s mother tried to put a positive spin on his health conditions. Once when Will was in a wallowing mood, he’d blubbered, “I’m not like normal people!” And Josephine had consoled him by saying, “No, you’re not. And thank God for that. Normal people are dimwitted and boring.”

Will had received his dual diagnosis nine months ago, and his mother had been homeschooling him ever since. A onetime academic, Josephine was every bit as good as Will’s former teachers. Plus, she custom-made his curriculum. She was patient with Will in math, where it took him ages to grasp square roots, and rode him relentlessly in language arts, where she prided herself on the quality of his writing and his ability to read above grade level.

Violet used to tell Will that he was blessed to have autism. She was studying Buddhism, and she said that Will must have been an exceptionally good person in a past life. A patient, selfless, saintly sort of person. So in this life, he’d been rewarded for his past goodness with heightened sensitivities. According to Violet, Will felt things more deeply and understood things most people overlooked, and this made his everyday more like Nirvana.

Josephine didn’t appreciate his sister’s interest in Eastern religion. She didn’t like the humming sound of Violet’s Tibetan singing bowl, her woodsy incense, the picture of Geshla in a glitzy gold frame on her bedside table.

The Hursts were Catholic. Whenever Violet sat cross-legged with a strand of mala beads, Josephine told her to put away her “faux rosary.” Back in August, Violet had shaved off all her hair with their father’s electric beard trimmer. Will remembered Douglas storming into the family room, a long brown wisp threaded through his fingers, shouting, “Violet! What is the meaning of this?!” Without so much as turning her bald head away from her guided-meditation DVD, Violet had said: “Meanings are the illusion of a deluded mind, Dad. Stop trying to squeeze reality into a verbal shape.”

Violet would not allow herself to be squeezed into anyone’s reality.

“Violet is unpredictable,” Josephine liked to say. “Just when a person thinks she’s got Violet pegged, she transforms like ice into water.”

That was when the trouble started, with one of Violet’s transformations. His sister’s “extreme personality changes” were one of the reasons Josephine had spent the last forty minutes on the phone, whispering about “crisis wards,” “involuntary commitment,” and other words Will couldn’t find in his Scholastic Dictionary.

“Violet is sick,” his mom had explained weeks earlier, after Violet had once again made her dissolve into tears. “You know how parts of our bodies get sick sometimes?” she’d added, dabbing at her eyes. “Like, we get stomachaches or sore throats? Well, Violet is sick in the part of her brain that controls her feelings.”

Will assumed Violet’s brain was sick because she had stopped eating food. Well, not all food. Violet had recently stopped drinking everything except pomegranate juice or milk, and stopped eating everything besides Uncle Ben’s instant rice or a stenchy combination of mung beans and sugar.

As her body got smaller, all of Violet’s clothes started to look like disguises. She wore long-underwear tops, Douglas’s dress shirts, and low-crotched pants that made her look like one of Ali Baba’s forty thieves. Their mother said Violet wore a gauzy kerchief because people at school made fun of her bald-headedness. But when Will asked Violet, she told him she was covering her head because she was doing sallekhana.

“Is that Buddhist?” Will had asked.

”No,” Violet said. “It’s Jainist.”

“But she is suicidal,” Josephine told the person on the phone now. “I’ve done some research, and this Jainist thing—or however you say it—is a ritual fast to death.”

Still in her bathrobe, Josephine was hunched on a stool at the kitchen island. The remaining rollers were gone from her Bambi-brown hair, but she’d been too distracted to reach for her comb. Curls corkscrewed from her scalp at bonkers angles. “Presentation counts”: that was what she’d always taught Will. Seeing her unkempt disturbed him more than almost anything else, and that said a lot given the circumstances.

Will hovered by the stove, trying to feel the stitches beneath the surgical tape on his chin. He made no attempt to disguise his eavesdropping.

“I feel like you’re asking me to choose between my children,” Josephine told the mystery caller. “I love my daughter more than words can express, but I’m terrified of her. She critically injured my son. Uh‑huh. Yes. I am afraid for our lives.”

Whumpa whumpa whump. Josephine’s ballpoint pen was the only sound while the person on the line spoke at length.

“I know we’re not the only victims here. Violet suffers the effects of her condition more than anyone. Uh‑huh. I agree. We’ve tried to get her the medical attention she needs, but she flies into a rage at the very suggestion of it.” She paused and listened briefly. “That—” Josephine’s voice splintered. She jotted down 5150 hold on her notepad and framed it with stars. “That breaks my heart. But if you’re telling me this is her best chance at recovery, then I guess I don’t have much choice.”

Will’s chest twanged with pity and helplessness. He wanted to protect his mother every bit as much as she wanted to safeguard him. It was Will who got hurt last night, but their mother was the one Violet really wished dead.

Of all the crazy that had transpired the night before, Will had felt most unsafe when he saw the way his sister eyed his mother across the dining room table. How Violet-like she’d been, glowering with her hangdog neck and hooded eyes. Anyone else might have mistaken her for someone meek and self-punishing. But Will knew the truth: Violet thought she was proof of nature over nurture. She didn’t need their mom’s loving care to survive.

Will crossed the kitchen and put a supportive arm around his mother’s sashed waist.

Josephine cupped the mouthpiece with her palm and whispered, “Don’t worry, sweetie. You’re safe now. I promise. I won’t ever let her hurt you again.”

Violet Hurst

On her first night in the psychiatric ER, Violet found herself curled up on a stretcher in a hallway that smelled like a combination of dirty hair and Lysol. Her brain was still steaming like an engine turned off after revving, but thanks to the liquid charcoal she’d sipped earlier, she felt a little more coherent, a little less like the universe was a big holographic time loop.

On the stretcher opposite Violet was a thickset Hawaiian woman. She was sitting bolt upright, her eyes flitting around wildly.

“I feel a question,” the woman said. “Is it okay to be me?”

Violet’s first thought was for the woman’s privacy. She assumed the woman was praying aloud or having a heart-to-heart with a voice that she alone could hear. She tried hard not to look at her and instead stared down at the disposable foam slippers she’d received when she arrived barefoot.

At this time last week Violet had been registering by phone for the SAT. She’d been writing an English paper and trying to decide if she ought to go to the Halloween dance. All that seemed like it happened in a previous life. Less than three hours ago, Violet had been reincarnated as a mental patient. She’d walked through three sets of locking doors and a metal detector. She’d peed into a series of cups and had blood drawn from both arms. She’d been stripped of her clothes and handed a pair of pajamas that refused to stay snapped at the waist.

The Hawaiian woman continued her eerie chant. “Why can’t I be me? What’s so unlovable about me?”

“She’s talking to you, you know?” This came from the young Puerto Rican man on the stretcher to Violet’s right. He was lying on his stomach, a supermarket tabloid open between his propped‑up elbows. From the looks of it, he was methodically tearing up the pages and Frankensteining the shreds back together in grotesque combinations, pairing Angelina Jolie’s mouth with John Travolta’s chin and Simon Cowell’s nose.

“Me?” Violet asked stupidly. They were the only three people in the hall, save for the constant flux of orderlies and nurses.

“She says she’s an intuitive,” the man said.

“Oh.” Violet didn’t want to admit she didn’t know what that meant.

“Oahu, over there? She’s got the gift. She gets possessed by the people around her. She feels what we’re feeling, get it? Like some Invasion of the Body Snatchers shit.”

Suddenly accusatory, the woman stopped flailing and turned to stare directly at Violet.

“Who’s controlling you?” she demanded.

Violet thought of Oahu again half an hour later, when the intake nurse asked her, “Do you hear voices or see things other people cannot see or hear?”

While the counselor ran through a series of questions, spitting them out like rapid gunfire, Violet wept convulsively, drawing tissue after tissue from the box balanced between her pajamaed knees.

“Do you have a history of mental health problems?” the counselor asked. “Do you know your clinical diagnosis?”

“No,” Violet said. “Neither.”

“Are you currently taking any drugs, legal or otherwise?”

“No.” She paused. “Well, after school today I ate some seeds a friend gave me. Flower seeds. Morning glories?” According to the Internet drug forum Violet and her best friend, Imogene Field, had consulted, the LSA the seeds contained was a cheap, legal version of LSD. LSA was supposed to bring euphoria, rainbow fractals, and what one user called “an overall feeling of pleasant fuckedness.” But what began as a fun afternoon with friends had turned into a train-wreck trip when Violet went home for dinner. Every moment since had been mental cannibalism. A strange thought, but that was exactly how it felt: like Violet’s brain had swallowed two-thirds of itself.

“How many seeds did you eat? How did they make you feel?”

“Five, I think? And the water they’d been soaked in. I felt nauseous, mostly. And my thighs cramped up. I guess I also felt giddy and, later, spaced out and trippy. But then my family came after me.” Violet felt her eyes fill and run over. “Or maybe I lost it on them?”

After school, she and Imogene had gone to the Fields’ house, where Imogene’s brother, Finch, and his best friend, Jasper, had shown them a mason jar filled with water, lemon juice, and the ground‑up remains of the Heavenly Blue morning glory seeds that they had pulverized in the Fields’ coffee grinder. Mr. and Mrs. Field, who preferred to go by Beryl and Rolf, had been away at the studio apartment they kept in Manhattan, where they were meeting with a new oncologist.

Finch assured everyone that the seeds were organic.

Imogene suggested adding ginger, just in case the concoction made them feel nauseated.

Jasper questioned whether extraction was potent enough, so they spooned four or five seeds into each glass like a garnish.

The taste hadn’t been sickening. It had reminded Violet of wheatgrass. Jasper insisted it tasted more like very weak hot chocolate. It didn’t work at first.

“What happened when you lost it on your family?” the nurse asked.

“I was looking at my mom, and she was a different person. But it was also like she’d always been a different person. Like, at the end of every day, when no one else is around, she unzips her suit of flesh. I know it was just the acid distorting things, but as, like, an analogy it holds.” Violet rubbed her eyes. The sockets ached.

Meet the Author

KOREN ZAILCKAS is an internationally bestselling writer, and has contributed to The Guardian, U.S. News & World Report, Glamour, Jane, and Seventeen magazine. She currently lives with her family in the Catskill mountains of New York.

Customer Reviews

Average Review:

Post to your social network


Most Helpful Customer Reviews

See all customer reviews

Mother, Mother 3.9 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 13 reviews.
RobertDowns More than 1 year ago
I’d like to nominate Douglas and Josephine Hurst for parents of the year. He’s an absentee father who’s doing a real fine job of drinking himself to death, while she’s a narcissistic mother who’d like to split ends with her family and the entire populace at large. If ever there was a case for the Emancipation Proclamation, the Hurst parents are the spitting image of what honest Abe had in mind, because I’d like to emancipate myself from this particular situation, and I only had to deal with them for a few hours. If I had to deal with them for much longer, I’d lock myself in a loony bin, devour all the red, yellow, green, blue, pink, and white pills I could find and then secure myself to a bed covered in leather straps, as I wait for the needle injection. Then there were Violet and William Hurst and Sara-pist, who may, or may not, have been a reject therapist. Violet proved the more likeable of the two, a strong enough character to actually take on Josie the Soci, even if she did have to see more than a therapist to get her house in order and control the crazy. William, on the other hand, might as well have been a mini-Josephine, who had more than a few social issues, and what he may have often lacked in empathy, he made up for in the desolation of anyone who went against his mother. If I could have figured out a way to make the crazy stop, I would have, because it was all freaking nuts with a side of scary, creepy, and fubar mixed into this spider’s web. The Addams Family appeared normal enough next to this freak show that probably needed its own Big top, cotton candy dispenser, and caramel apple maker. But there were no sweets to be had here, only lint and pocket knives. The plot twists could have been a bit more twisted, as I had more than a strong suspicion on the final outcome of this tale about halfway through, but like a five-car pileup on the interstate in the middle of rush hour, I couldn’t look away, nor did I really want to. So if you’re looking for a character study in evil, along with a side dose in depth, despair, and human wreckage, you just might find yourself enjoying this tale. Although sleeping with a nightlight for your first night or two might not be such a bad idea either, if you have a weak stomach. I received this book for free through NetGalley. Robert Downs Author of Falling Immortality: Casey Holden, Private Investigator
TheStephanieLoves More than 1 year ago
I haven't read too many psychologically thrillers, but I really should more often. Mother, Mother is a book that's impossible not to enjoy; with an unconventional perspective on what it means to be a doting mother, it at once left me greatly disturbed and deeply satisfied, which is an emotive pairing I never expected myself to feel. First off, I should warn you all: this book is not for the faint-hearted. There isn't so much blood and guts here as there is a grotesquely screwed-up family... yes, it's that kind of scary. The false cheeriness—the cutting sarcasm—that floats in the atmosphere of the novel makes it all the more frightening; you can think of Josephine as a cross between the ultimate Stepford wife and Psycho's Norman Bates, which is a genius, but lethal combination. The story begins in Woodstock, New York, in the wake of the oldest Hurst daughter, Rose's sudden departure, which Josephine swears is all part of Rose's grand plan to turn her perfect family into a perfect wreck... or at least expose its so-called "perfection" to the world. Violet, the younger Hurst flower, suffers from what at first appears to be middle child syndrome: not good enough to replace her sister yet not respected enough to trump her coddled, autistic brother, William. As detached as she is from everyone in her family, including, fortunately, her mother, she and her brother share a convoluted connection in that they're both trying to find Rose, or at least find out what really happened to her. Both children try to figure out the blurry night when everything changed—when William was attacked, Violet institutionalized, and Rose, after a whole year of missing, reappeared—but the task proves more difficult than expected because only one person seems to have been in the right mind when everything happened: Josephine. The "real" events of that night slowly unravel to reveal Josephine's projectionist tendencies, her most horrifying defects, and the way she so obviously plagues each of her family members, but then again, when it comes to the Hursts, even real can't be trusted. The two points-of-view of Violet and Will are fascinating to read together, especially because of how sharply they contrast; it's like reading two different books interlaced, which mimics the polarity in Josephine's menacing personality. Will's logical and uncomfortably candid narrative is highly influenced and tainted, while Violet's is fresh and intuitive, although very, very cloudy. Both narrators are so easy to sympathize with, and yet neither are completely reliable; knowing which frame of mind to favor, is all up to the reader. With stunning characterization and a climax that confirms the worst of suspicions and shocks you to the core, Zailckas shows us the good, the bad, and the hideous of a family that's about to come crashing down under the weight of a calculated secret and a web of lies. Mother, Mother had my head spinning throughout; this is definitely the kind of intelligent read that will keep you in a constant frenzy. Pros: Sharp, astute voice // Fascinating subject matter and interesting take on a suburbian nightmare // Fast-paced // Will and Violet are brilliantly developed // The climax—it's got to be one of the best I've seen in contemporary fiction Cons: Multiple perspectives and flashbacks are confusing in the beginning Verdict: The multiple faces of a desperate mother are painfully exposed as her misunderstood and determined daughter and misguided and idolatrous young son attempt to crack the case on the disappearance of their doll of an older sister, Rose. Mother, Mother is delectable in the sickest, most disorienting, and most unorthodox way; completely disturbing and completely original, this psychological thriller is an impressive debut. Zailckas's abrasive first novel, chronicled with a building sense of dread—a lingering discomfort—is a reluctant masterpiece; a darkly comical tale about the manipulative means a mother will go to in order to get her way. Rating: 9 out of 10 hearts (5 stars): Loved it! This book has a spot on my favorites shelf. Source: Complimentary copy provided by publisher, via publicist, in exchange for an honest and unbiased review (thank you, Random House and TLC Book Tours!).
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I couldn't put it down.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
As a fan of Koren Zailckas's first memoir Smashed, I was overjoyed to read her debut fictional novel. I found it to be an amazing story with characters that were often abrasive and yet relatable in sometimes uncomfortable ways. Rose was shrouded in mystery for much of the book and the final reveal about what had happened with her was shocking and heartwrenching. I often found myself desperate to help Violet myself and get her the answers she needed. Will was at times annoying to me in his naivety and eventual manipulation and disgust for his father, though it was caused by his mother's manipulation of him in turn. I often found myself in a tug of war between being sympathetic and exasperated with him and his blind acceptance of all his mother said and did. However, it was a stark contrast to Violet's own actions and thoughts so it was a nice counterpoint to have, to see how children from the same home can have completely different experiences and lives. I am currently reading her second memoir Fury and it is heartbreaking and poignant how you can see how she has drawn from her own childhood to create these characters and create a fictional world that so closely mirrors reality. If you liked her memoir(s), you will definitely enjoy her debut novel. I can only hope it won't be her last.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Excelent read
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Love love loved it!! Been waiting for months to read it. Once started I couldn't put it down. 
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This will no doubt be among my top favorite reads in 2013. I absolutely loved it. It is the story of one of the most dysfunctional families you will ever read about and, hands-down, one the most insane mothers in fiction. It is a psychological mystery with a superb cast of characters. I could barely put it down!  The story was so well-written. I can hardly wait for another novel from this highly talented author. Read Mother, Mother.  You will love it!
RebeccaScaglione More than 1 year ago
I was sooooo excited to win this book from LibraryThing! Mother, Mother is Koren Zailckas’s fiction debut, and it did not disappoint.  Do you think her name sounds familiar?  If so, it is because you might know her from her nonfiction titles.  While I was not in love with her memoir Smashed, I was totally obsessed with Mother, Mother. Mother, Mother is told from the perspectives of Violet Hurst and William Hurst, two of the three Hurst siblings.  Their mother, Josephine Hurst, is someone you can tell is manipulative.  Where’s Dad in all this?  Wasted. Turns out, Rose is another Hurst sibling who ran away a little while before.  But after Violet has a bad drug trip, she quickly realizes that something is up.  Where is Rose exactly?  And how does this all connect with her manipulative (and potentially a little psychotic) mother? This is such a hard book to describe, but I loooooved it.  I rarely give books 5 stars, and while I may not be explaining this one in the best way, just know that this is a 5 star book in my eyes. I have to compare this book to Gone Girl in the way that they both have psychosis, manipulation, and a few twists you won’t see coming! Mother, Mother is an outstanding fiction debut that will keep you hooked from the first page.  Koren Zailckas must continue writing. . . because I MUST read more of her work! Thanks for reading, Rebecca @ Love at First Book
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I really enjoyed this twisted book, but I felt like the ending wrapped up quickly and kind of left me hanging. Super good read though!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Bored to tears with this book!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
this novel was only mediocre... the plot was interesting, but some of the dialogue was unrealistic and some of the writing was oversimplified
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Interesting, moves fast, but lacks emotional depth, especially in the main character. She had a devistating existance, but we REALLY dont know what shes feeling.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Here is another unhappy unhappy family its like reading social services case histories burn out give me a nice cozy mom